The Last Supper

As we come upon our last day in Jamaica, emotions flood. This place has taught me: how to love others well, that it is okay to not be okay, that you’re gonna get called “whitie” every day so just get over it now, you will sweat in places unimaginable, 23 girls CAN actually get along for 2 weeks (praise the lord), 200 Jamaican dollars does not make you rich, mosquito spray is like gold over here, sleepovers with locals actually aren’t that weird, journal every little thing or you’ll forget it all, the meat WILL have bones in it, no matter how safe it looks, your white clothes will be brown, “can I play with you hair” actually means “can I rip out your scalp”, being called pretty girl isn’t as special as you think, sleeping on church pews is a huge luxury, the drinking water will never stop tasting like your backyard pool, “yes lawd” is a serious term here, nobody likes being woken up by a cowbell, stock up on food at lunch because dinner is always rough, chicken foot soup is just as appealing as it sounds, and that little boys will touch you in weird ways, it’s a given. But all in all Jamaica has given me a new outlook on love. How to receive it, how to give it, and how to fall deeper and deeper in love with Jesus each day. Thank you Spanish Town, Jamaica for 10 days I’ll never get over.

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