My dad was in a motorcycle accident last week; my sister called to tell me, but I haven't been able to talk with my mom yet. His leg was pretty badly injured – he'll be recovering for the next month or two – but thankfully other than that he's all right. Still, I hate that I can't be there right now. Maybe I'll feel better when I can talk to my parents; for now, though, I just want to go home.
That's the worst part about being here, knowing that bad things happen in this life, but being unable to bridge the distance when they do. At church we often have prayer requests for sick or dying family members back home, and those prayers are always extended to the people here who feel helpless so far away. It's a small world in many ways, but physically, my parents are 9,000 miles away.
I can't wait to see them. Twenty-six days to go.