I’m finally putting together a photo book with my pictures from India – all 750+ of them. And then the added pictures that I’m getting from my fellow travelers. I can’t fully describe the feelings that fill me as I watch these pictures get uploaded. I just keep going back to those memories of sitting on the bus, taking picture after picture out the window.
The ladies around me sat paired all along the bus that took us all over the cities we visited, except the few who decided to sleep. And I? I was seventeen, unsure of exactly why I was there and a little bit more introverted than most. But though I was unsure of my purpose, I was wholeheartedly glad to be there and not about to miss a moment of what I could experience. So I took pictures out the window and drank in every scene outside the window as it went by. Some of the pictures are blurry, and some are the most beautiful things I’ve ever set eyes on. All of them make my heart cry, send me back.
There was a moment this morning – as I sat outside in the sunshine reading my book (one of the few I’ve gotten to read for pleasure this year) – where I thought to myself that I would be content if my life always looking like that: sitting in a lawn chair, basking in the sun with a good book. But who am I kidding? I’d just have horrible skin cancer and a feeling that my life had no meaning. I look back at these pictures and wonder if I’ll ever be sent back or if God has other places and people in store for me.
Regardless of where I go, or who I see, each of these pictures – even the ones not taken with a camera – reside in my heart. That’s really all we can do with our memories, isn’t it? Hold them tight and not allow ourselves to forget those moments that have formed us into who we are. I’m holding tight.