I have writer’s block.

There, I’ve said it. Recently, I’ve even found myself referring to dictionaries of quotations for inspiration like some seventh grader with an essay assignment. It’s funny, because it’s not at all as if I have nothing to write. The truth is, there’s simply so much going on that my brain, even on all cylinders, is unable to process it all.

Funny, today I looked back at some of what I’d written in anticipation of my original trip to Africa, long before I’d ever met Mama Lucy and before Epic Change was born. And I noticed something profoundly different from then to now. That first trip I had no agenda, no project plan, no objectives, just a blank slate on which to scriven the experience. Back then, the words were flowing; like Salt-n-Pepa or Missy Elliot spinnin’ a rhyme, I could weave a story. Everything was seen through fresh, new, yearning eyes wide open. I recorded every taste, smell and sound religiously to savor and share, not out of necessity, but out of wonder.

Recently, my eyes have been too focused on mundane to-do lists to look up. I’ve been fixated on computer screens, project plans and html code. The how rather than the why.

But I believe there’s about to be a moment when all this noise comes to an abrupt and total silence, when I remember the hope, wonder and wide-open eyes and heart of my original footsteps on the continent.

I will see the new school for the time.

And I can’t even begin to imagine how that will feel. But I know I will feel it wholly. For at least that split second (and hopefully longer) my brain will have no gnawing thoughts of “gotta get it done” or “what’s next?”. I’ll simply be basking in the glow of very tangible, very real fruits of our labor over the past several months. I only hope that my words return to me by then, because I must somehow capture the marrow of that moment. Save it in a bell jar, a relish for later when the season passes.

I remember stepping off the plane as I arrived in Kiliminjaro for my most recent visit near the end of last year. I remember the smell of warmth in the place, its drought-browness. I remember the look in Mama Lucy’s eyes, her broad, “welcome home” smile that seemed to say, “I wasn’t sure you were coming back…but I’m so glad you did.” So many people visit, make promises, leave with the best of intentions and never return.

I, on the other hand, am going back. After all, I have things to do, a gannt chart a mile long.

But here’s the thing: I need to forget about them. Sure, there’s a lot to get done. But for now the nagging voices of tasks, deliverables and deadlines need to fade. They will get done, but so much heartfully, so much more beautifully if I can forget about them for a minute and just reconnect with our purpose:

We share the epic stories of hopeful people to help them create change in their communities.

We share stories of hope. Instead of listening to the constant nails-on-the-chalkboard sound of my inner project manager, I need to listen and connect to the inspiring voices of the children, their parents and their teachers, and the incredible potential of this community – potential you’re helping to realize by investing in Epic Change.

So, as I wrote in my journal the night before I left for my first trip to Africa:

The rest of the trip is eyes (ears, heart and mind) wide open.
I wonder what we’ll see . . .

Having now been before, this much I know: it will be beautiful.

I leave today for Germany, and after a few days there, arrive in Tanzania on Friday July 4th. Stay tuned to see where the journey leads…and thanks for coming with me.

(Today’s inner soundtrack: Little Wonders by Rob Thomas)