My time in the Refúgio is almost up. On Friday at 16.05 I will be speeding along the runway before the nose pulls up and the plane slowly rises off the ground, spins around, and points itself in the direction of London Heathrow. I've been here for about six months (in fact, my time has spanned 6 months - January, February, March, April, May and June - but not quite been a six month duration) and it feels very weird to be leaving. This has become a home for me, in a way; in England I have nowhere to act as home since our house is being rented at the moment. It's an odd feeling to leave somewhere that has so quickly become so familiar, to return to a place once so familiar which will now feel foreign... almost.

From plunging my entire arm into gutters, to mowing the lawn with a glorified strimmer; from playing footy to running; from laying cement to laying flowers; from eating too much food to giving out food on the streets; from losing money to being given donations; moving along in faith and discipline with times of sturggling in the middle, making new friends and family along the way, this has been a trip I will not forget. God has moved in me and spoken to me in a way I wasn't expecting. I have learnt a lot, read a lot, loved a lot, and been loved even more. I have focussed, I have become structured (or at the very least, more so than before), I have slipped up and I have had to face the consequences. I've got back up, I've continued. I have grown in my relationship with my girlfriend as well, and feel far closer to her now than ever before, despite being over 1700 miles away. I've even got myself a tasty tan, and have built my muscles, if I'm being utterly shallow.

It's been fun, it's been hard. It's been relaxing, it's been tiring. It's been for me, it's been for them. Will I be back? you bet'cha!