There’s no crying in baseball.

But there is a lot of crying in goodbyes.  It seemed like just yesterday I kissed my parents goodbye in Charleston, SC.  But sometime over the hour flight to DC, I became a crier.  I am not a crier, I don’t enjoy crier, I am a ugly crier- I get real red and splotchy.  However, I tried to cry the last week I was home, sadly the only emotion I remember really feeling was frustration and anticipation.  Now as I sit in a new day, you losers are still in Thursday, all I want to do is hug my momma and talk about boys (probably boybands instead) with Brooke.  There maybe a box of hot glazed doughnuts from Krispy Kreme between us.

0617 ov baseball tom hanks no crying in baseball It could be that it is because I watched a “League of Their Own” on the flight from DC to Dubai, but I really wish a Tom Hanks look-a-alike would find me and just say- “There’s no crying, there’s no crying for goodbyes.”  Sadly, this would be a lie.  I wish it weren’t true- but it is.  No matter how much I wish that the crying would stop- it is a reminder.  I have found two things in the crying:

  1. It reminds us of the past- I am not crying because I am tired and wishing I was back home watching tv with brooke- eating bonbons.  As much fun as that would be- I do not want to be that girl.  I want to be on the path I am.  I am so excited I am sitting in Dubai- waiting an extra 4 hours because they messed my ticket up, wondering if they will let me take my luggage or if I am going to have to go with what I can carry.  I am so happy that this specific door was opened for me and that I will be on a two year adventure.  But the memories bring me to tears – it makes me thankful. Thankfulness that I have a friend that will call their mom who works at United trying to get my ticket worked out.  Friends that sent me cards of encouragement and are supporting me financially, even though I know they need the money.  Family that catered to my every wish in the last weeks, and to parents who stood at the gate until I couldn’t see them waving- telling me they loved me, that I made them proud, and that they were praying for me.
  2. My tears remind me of my calling.  I can remember to the day when I was called to go.  I remember my outfit, and the bus ride, the candy I was giving out, and the little girl I prayed with, I remember the smell of the dump, and utter chaos they lived in.  When I think even for a minute of what is at home- I instantly remember what He called me to- He called me to go.  So its bittersweet, I recall with love all those I left at home, but my heart picks up when I think of all those He has called me to-

So I dry my eyes, blow my nose, and try to pretend no one can see me crying- as I remember the crowd behind me, who cheers me on and is supporting me and as I think of the people in front of me who He called me to- So I say goodbye and I tear up- but I know there are promises in these drops of water and it is not all for nothing.

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About knbohman

I am 25 years old. I work in Charleston. I have a pretty ridiculous imagination. If I were quieter I think I could of been an amazing librarian or museum curator. I love crafting and reading books. If I don't know something, normally I will just make it up and say it with confidence. If I had more courage I could of been a stand-up comedian. I love learning facts and quotes...and one day I will try out for jeopardy.
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