My Kingdom Awaits

I lay in bed under my new white mosquito net watching heat lightning flash out my open window, waiting for the rain. I could feel in the air, smell it on the wind; every part of me was caught in expectation. It was coming. And then, like every biblical miracle, it broke over the house, singing on the tin roof and washing everything clean. I fell asleep to the lullaby of the Liberian rainy season for the first time in 10 months, and I had such sweet dreams.

I dreamed that when I came down the hill to my yard, Favor and Martin and all the other children came running up to greet me, taking my bags and hanging off my arms, chanting and beaming and so blessedly alive.

I dreamed that when I saw Fatu and Lydia and Maryline again they threw themselves into my arms and cried about sisters reunited.

I dreamed that 400 students left their classrooms to "bust" (fist-bump) me, exclaim in joy at my return, and ask where Ms. C was. I was not prepared for how incredibly happy I was to see Martin's face again.

I dreamed that the miracle of my return and the hard work of willing friends swept the dust and cobwebs from a home left housing only hope and ghosts for a year. And that small hands flipped through bright picture books while little voices chattered to one another about the strange things they were looking at.

I dreamed that humble gifts of cinnamon and vanilla were received like frankincense and myrrh.

I dreamed that Abel came and sat small to lecture with me, and broke my heart with stories of staying locked in the house all day to keep from getting Ebola, of families collecting the ashes of their burned loved ones to bury to mark their passing, of hunger and uncertainty and overwhelming fear. And that we laughed over how tall Mustafa has grown, and celebrated the possibility of these two bright boys getting scholarships to the vocational high school when they reach tenth grade.

I dreamed that Sunday morning brought an early wake-up call and a walk through rain-damp grass to a little church down the hilll, of singing and chanting, seeing Annie again, holding a baby girl and being in the beating, stomping, rejoicing heart of a community again.

I dreamed that we all came together for a meal of spicy potato greens and fish over rice, rewriting the memory of another, more sorrowful meal.

I dreamed that I walked through the market again, that everyone I met welcomed me back, that even on Sunday the market was full of life, rebuilding from a time of the exact opposite.

I dreamed that I was home.

And I awoke to find that it was not a dream.

I am home. And though time and suffering have changed this place, it still has room for me, and open arms to bring me in. I am home.

I'm coming home
I'm coming home
tell the world I'm coming home
Let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday
I know my kingdom awaits and they've forgiven my mistakes
I'm coming home, I'm coming home
tell the world I'm coming home