Missing My Second Home

I miss the loud moving van advertisements at 7 in the morning
I miss the giggles of school-age kids as they come home from a long day of classes
I miss the broken English
I miss the neighbor dog that never stopped barking 
I miss the sound of a downpour on a tin roof
I miss hearing the worship band practicing familiar songs in Spanish at the church behind the apartment
I miss dancing and talking with my students
I miss my girls at the orphanage
I miss the hundreds of hugs given to me daily
I miss the looks I get from people who aren’t used to see such pale skin and blue eyes
I miss the price of groceries
I miss the mountains I saw just outside my door
I miss the hammock laying
I miss walking every where
I miss the dusty feet that were bound to happen the minute I walked out of my apartment
I miss watching fireworks in the Center from my apartment building
I miss the two children that were practically my own
I miss the independence
I miss the noises, the scenery, the culture. 

Honduras will always be part of my heart, no matter how long I’ve been away. Even though I spent three of the most challenging months there, the memories will never be forgotten. 

Although God has pulled my heart elsewhere, I know that Honduras will always be special to me. 

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