It was 2:00, the heat of the day. Our team was off somewhere and it was just the two of us. We unlocked our room, put our backpacks down, and I laid down on my bed, watching the cluster of ants on the ceiling. There was the sign that the gecko had gotten into our room somehow when we were gone; a large dropping lay right in the middle of our entrance.
I listened to the hum of the bugs outside. The heat even seemed to make a sound, baking the earth; lethargy and loneliness sat heavy in my heart.
I released the thoughts I had pushed away throughout my trip. I prevented them from entering my mind so I could be fully present where I was; thoughts of home and my family would create a longing to be there with them.
They began to flood my mind.
I began to feel homesick.
I have certainly had homesickness before. It seems to being with a thought and then manifests itself in physical discomfort.
In third grade I went to my first sleep away camp in the woods in Wisconsin. Some nights I would lay on my top bunk in the dark, surrounded by the sounds of the other sleeping girls and I would ache, my stomach hollow, yearning to be home.
My mission for this trip was to love these children here in Thailand; I was showing love and indeed I even found that I had true love in my heart for them.
But if I'm honest, as the trip came to an end, it was an effort to continue to be fully present with the kids and show them love.
This is what they deserved though, so my mission was to do this until the very last minute I had with them.
When I was a teenager, I worked at a horse camp. I remember leading trail rides for the young riders. When the horse sensed the end of the ride, when it recognized that home was on the horizon, its walk become a trot. It was difficult to restrain the anticipation. I had to constantly instruct my riders to pull back on the reins, a gentle reminder to the horse that the ride is not over yet, and there still is work to be done.
This natural urge to race towards home is called a "homing instinct" and my homing instinct had to be managed in order to finish the trip well.
That was my true heart desire: to finish it well and leave knowing that my focus and energy was dialed in 100% all the time; I wanted to do my mission with all I had in me.
Our big event was still ahead. We had a field day planned, a day of games and ice cream.
It was an extremely hot day and our games started at 2:00. Everyone on the team paired off to facilitate an activity or game around the field. Another girl from my team and I were in charge of the parachute.
The kids were divided into teams and rotated the game stations every 20 minutes.
Our first group of kids were full of energy.
It was the heat of the day.
I was lethargic and a bit crabby.
I missed home.
I didn't have the joy I wanted.
But I wanted to give these kids what they deserved, an afternoon of fun with people who traveled around the world to love them and cheer them on.
So I decided in my heart that was who I was going to be, despite how I felt.
We put a bunch of beach balls in the middle of the parachute and the kids joyfully tossed them about, laughing and getting more and more aggressive as we waved the parachute up and down.
The balls went higher; the screams and shrieks got louder.
The sun got hotter. I could feel the beads of sweat running down the back of my leg.
Suddenly someone suggested to the group to put the smallest child, a little girl about the age of six, in the middle of the parachute.
Everyone went along with the idea, and she crawled to the center.
She laughed as all around her the parachute bubbled and danced.
The energy got stronger.
My friend and I who were leading this game felt threatened that it might overtake us.
Suddenly the little girl was no longer just in the middle on the ground, but she was in the air, being launched into the sky, and landing on the tarp. I pulled with all my strength to ensure that the parachute did not hit the ground; I pulled it with all my might to make sure she had a soft landing.
The mood suddenly became frenzied.
Higher and higher they launched her. They were cheering, chanting, laughing!!
My friend and I looked at each other. We both felt like we were losing control, yet we went along with it because everyone else was having such a good time.
Both of us tried to soften the girl's landing by pulling the parachute towards us and make it tight.
In my head I wanted it to stop; I started to feel panicked. I could tell my friend did too.
All of the sudden the energy in the room exploded. The girl was catapulted into the air so high; everyone shrieked.
When she landed, despite my best efforts, she landed through the parachute, as it suddenly tore.
The laughter stopped and instead there was a massive gasp as she lay on the ground.
We ran to her and cradled her hurt body; now people from all over ran to us, rambling on in a language I didn't understand.
The girl was injured. It wasn't serious, thank goodness, but nonetheless, it was under our watch.
A ripped, useless parachute lay before us.
The whistle blew; the kids began to rotate to the next group.
Our group of kids ran off to the next station.
The girl limped off to the nearest bench as a teacher hurried over to her aid.
I felt ashamed, ashamed that I lost control and a girl was injured and now our parachute was damaged and useless.
Before me stood a new group of kids. They were older boys, a bit rowdy, ready to play the game we had planned and were in charge of; but before them was the ripped parachute and we didn't have a plan B.
My friend and I didn't know what to do.
We couldn't think because our hearts were worried about the girl who was hurt under our watch;
we were stressed about the broken parachute and the group of kids who continued to flood in ready to play;
our energy was being carried away by the relentless oppression of the sun's heat.
The boys began to pick up the beach balls that lay around and throw them at each other, spiking them in each other's faces and trying to out do each other's strength.
In that moment, I had to collect myself and my wandering, worried heart; I had to bring myself back into what I was doing, the reality of the moment and take hold of it. I couldn't give up now.
I began to toss the beach balls.
I began to laugh and pour forth everything I had left.
Each beach ball I tossed took a lot of physical and mental and emotional stamina. Every time I grabbed hold of a new one I had to refuel my heart and mind and fully invest in the boys in front of me and what I was doing.
Finish strong; finish well.
This continued to be my mantra the remaining few days.
I had to learn to override my feelings and act in spite of them.
I had to act with the greater vision and purpose in mind.
And I can say, I did.
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The evening I arrived home to Oregon was filled with elation and appreciation for my children.
They held on to me. They were all smiles. I have to say it felt really good to be missed. ;)
However, I knew as the days moved forward and life returned back to normal, those exaggerated feelings of joy would fade. I would again struggle with fatigue, boredom and frustration.
I would let my emotions and my mood take hold and take charge.
They would control me, as they so often did.
One of the reasons I've found time-mostly in the early mornings before the kids get up- to write down all my experiences in Thailand was because I feel them leaving me.
Jumping right back into my life here, I knew that if I didn't record all that I experienced it would be gone and I didn't want that to be it.
I didn't want to lose the perspective and insight I gained.
I needed to reflect on the really difficult parts of the trip and remember how I was able to overcome and even thrive regardless of my physical and emotional state.
My time in Thailand was an investment not only in the kids in the safe homes, but an investment in myself, which then directly affects my family and those around me.
Going through my life the last seven years since having my children-(five since the triplets) I feel like I've been a prisoner to my emotions.
I believe Thailand gave me practice in being present, working hard, and being grateful.
I went to Thailand to reconnect to myself, who I felt like I've lost in the chaos of family and kids;
instead, I realized much of who I am is very much connected to who I left behind at home.
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