Yesterday we shared about our experience in Northern Ireland in front of our home church. It was the first time I had talked about it on an open stage to people who knew me before my experience and after. It could have been stressful and worrisome, but it was fun and relaxed.
People listened attentively and acted interested.
There was head nodding and encouraging smiles.
It was exactly the audience I would have wanted to have listen to me talk about something so dear to my heart.
Dustin wrote out our talk before we actually shared it.
If you must know the most simple way in which we are so very different, this sort of sums it up:
In his version there were about three pages of History and 1 paragraph of feelings.
My version was very much the opposite.
When someone asks me to share my experience in 40 minutes or less I can't help but feel cheated. It becomes incredibly emotional for me.
But at the same time, I do realize that most people don't want to hear the 40+ minute version. Nobody has time for that. (If you do, call me - we'll go out for coffee. I promise to ask you questions too.)
Perhaps the reason it becomes so emotional is because it is starting to get dream-like. We were here, then we were there, now we're here again.
Did it really happen?
How did the rain feel when it hit my face?
How long until I forget?
The soft whisper of the Croi - I can barely remember.
But I held it together. I talked about Peace Walls and Ray Davey. I joked about tea trolleys and art activities.
But then at the very end Dustin had stuck this picture in...
And I just couldn't talk.
Because I miss them, and others like them. And this was my experience.
Today I am thankful that I got to relive those emotions.
Even though it makes me sad, it is a feeling. A very real feeling. Proof that I was there. Proof that I loved. Proof that it happened.