the beginning of a story ill one day tell my grandchildren

when i was 20 i thought i could change the world. i worked for a missionary organization in denver colorado and lived like one of those hippie communes minus the drugs plus a lot of Jesus. we were all under thirty and recklessly hopeful. i joined a team that was heading to bosnia within the year. one day in march we hopped on plane and the next thing i knew i was a riding on a bus through the city of sarajevo wondering what the hell i had just done. up until that point i couldnt tell you one thing about bosnia other than it was in europe and they had a war ten years or so ago. honestly my only memory of that war was watching a news program with bill clinton and hearing my mom grumbling about helping the muslims. now i was riding through this town that looked like the war had just ended yesterday. i remember thinking that it reminded me a lot of mexico just with a lot of holes in the buildings. upon entering our apartment i looked wide eyed from the balcony down into the city as i heard the first call to prayer. in those days refugees and landmines and mass graves and genocide were coffee shop talk. how does a 20 year old american girl ever take in the events that happened in this city....thats a whole nother post for a whole nother day.