I’ve been home for five days now. The suitcases are unpacked, but they’re still sitting in the corner. A pile of souvenirs has spent the week on my cedar chest and everything from toiletries to notebooks is scattered throughout the rest of my room. I keep thinking that maybe if I clean up and put everything away, I’ll be able to make sense of my scattered thoughts, too. I doubt that it’ll be that easy, though.

Three weeks ago, on our first night in Bulgaria, we were asked to think about the trip and say a prayer. “Pray,” we were told, “and tell God that he has permission to do whatever he wants in you this week.” The words I prayed that night in my exhaustion were anything but calculated and fairly quickly forgotten.

What I prayed, though, was no easy prayer. I asked God to break me and put me back together new. I was asking, I think, for him to reach into the places I couldn’t and change something.

And he did.

I still can’t wrap my head around all the things that happened during our time in Eastern Europe. God is doing something beautiful in his people and for two weeks, we got to bear witness to it. I don’t have words for so much of it, but I am grateful.