My plane left the tarmac in Uganda 13 hours ago, but part of my heart is still there. I am sitting in the Heathrow airport waiting for the next leg in my journey home. An 11-hour flight to L.A., a 4-hour layover, and another 2-hour flight to Bend, where the rest of my heart is. All in all, it is 30 hours from Kampala to Bend. How will I bridge that distance when I am home? Of all the Ugandan seeds that were planted in my heart these past two weeks, which will grow and flourish in the high desert of Central Oregon? What kind of gardener will I be? I was just reminded if a passage from Paulo Coehlo's novel,
Brida:"In life, each person can take one of two attitudes: to build or to plant. The builders might take years over their tasks, but one day, they finish what they’re doing. Then they find they’re hemmed in by their own walls. Life loses its meaning when the building stops.
Then there are those who plant. They endure storms and all the many vicissitudes of the seasons, and they rarely rest. But, unlike a building, a garden never stops growing. And while it requires the gardener’s constant attention, it also allows life for the gardener to be a great adventure.
Gardeners always recognise each other, because they know that in the history of each plant lies the growth of the whole World."
I must admit that I am now sobbing in the passenger lounge of Heathrow's terminal 5. I have planted a new corner in my garden, but I know in my heart that there are many more rows to hoe. I am tired physically and emotionally, but I am also inspired. I am returning home to my amazing family and friends, those lovely gardeners who helped to till the soil in my heart in preparation for this horticultural adventure. In 17 short hours, I will be soaking in their smiles and their hugs, their love and their support---those very things that fertilized the dream I have been blessed to live the past two weeks.
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