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Displaced


Did I really travel solo to Romania with no lodging lined up?
And did I really stay the night at the home of my driver's family?
Did I leave the next day with a perfect stranger, and cross the border into Ukraine?
Did I really have no idea what I was doing?
Where I was going?
Who I was meeting?
Or how I would return?
Did I really end up in a college dormitory with a young woman who could only speak Russian?
And was I picked up the next day by more new people?
And did I really finally see firsthand the work of those serving refugees?
Did I really hear the stories in foreign languages?
Did I follow their gestures?
Did I receive their thanks?
Their complaints?
Their tears?
Their smiles?
Did I watch shell shocked children blossom during a day designed for them?
Did I walk the streets of Ukraine alone?
Did I really enter strangers' vehicles in foreign countries?
Did I adventure and get mistaken for a spy?
Did I meet friendly people who welcomed me into their homes?
Who fed me?
Whose children became my friends?
Did I watch fields of sunflowers streaming by as we sped back into Romania?
And did I really see the miles and miles and miles and miles of semi trucks really backed up that far at the border?
I have so many questions for myself.
And I know the answer to this wanderer's questioning will always, always, always be a fulfilled and grateful, "yes."

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