Dear Cara,

As I am typing this — literally as my fingers are typing these very letters — you are pulling out your boarding pass, walking up to the gate and getting on a plane.  I am so proud of you.

I remember you telling me way back when — sophomore year of college?  junior year? — that, one day, you wanted to live in a warm country and work with motherless children in whatever orphanage would let you come.  I am so proud of you.

In four short hours, your plane will land in Ecuador, your new home for the next year of your life.  You’ll get what little belongings you were able to bring with you, climb into a unfamiliar car and be driven to your new bedroom, the one where your orphans are waiting on you.  I am so proud of you.

It is unbelievable to me that, merely six minutes ago, you called from your layover, one last chat before it’s impossible for me to just call your cell whenever I feel like it.  I’ve waited all day, knowing you would call and dreading it at the same time.  Your leaving to do this has unearthed a selfishness in me that I honestly didn’t know existed before now.  I want you here, close enough for late night phone calls, lunch at Cracker Barrel.

And yet there you go, straight towards fulfilling the one dream that has meant the most to you, straight towards holding lonely babies in your arms.

There are no words, Cara.  But if there were, I think He would join me in this.

I am so proud of you.

amy beth