Too Much for Words

This summer keeps barrelling on without much regard to how much time I have to update my blog.

Today marks my seventh day as a Volunteer at Jubilee Partners. It's been scary, unexpected, familiar, too far, and too close all at the same time.
The other Volunteers are all very nice and I get along with them very well so far - although I sometimes go off to brood or read or sketch, which may be coming off as anti-social. Well, that wouldn't be too far off the mark. There's a couple of people here who seem very "main-stream". I don't mean that in the Counter-Culture Elitist way so much as the fact that a few seem very interested in partying and drinking and popular culture, which I didn't expect from anyone who wanted to come to Jubilee. It probably has something to do with us being such a young group. Perhaps they are the ones who will most benefit from being here.
As far as faith is concerned, I'm still finding myself very confused. Part of me feels like I should be staying home and looking after my family, as fruitless and thankless as that would be. A great deal of me wants to escape to Ryan's room and never leave. Sometimes I get nervous when there are a lot of people in the K-House (the main house where the Volunteers live and the entire community meets for meals). The other Volunteers are either very mainstream (as I mentioned) or I've-Been-Doing-Service-My-Entire-Life-I'm-So-Close-To-God-type people. Neither type helps me feel less alone in where I stand. If I can't recover my spirit here at Jubilee, I don't know where else to go. This is my last option, and possibly my last chance.
My chief jobs at Jubilee are (in descending order): driver, correspondence assistant to Don Mosley, painter, laundry person for the K-House and when the refugees leave, and back-up computer consultant. I will also teach the advanced beginner class and do refugee childcare.
The word "advanced" is very relative. Coming from Berundi, which suffered the same genocide made famous in Rwanda, the refugees I am teaching are having a difficult time reading analog clocks and can only comprehend the present continuous tense so far. They can count money and are more-or-less literate in their own language, but chances are that they will never meet a stranger in Atlanta who also speaks Kirundi. They only receive two months of instruction at Jubilee, no matter what their level. Then, they are removed to Atlanta, where they will receive two months of financial aid before being let loose in a country that's 'foreign' to the absolute extreme meaning of the word. My students have children, few job skills, and no way to comprehend most of what will be going on around them in Atlanta. I can't fail them. I can't let myself do that. Of all the injustices they have suffered after being removed from their homes and imprisoned in refugee camps, me not being able to help them would be the greatest sin of all.
It just hit me last night that Ryan will hear from Northwestern in the next week or so. There is no reason he wouldn't be accepted. I must stop day-dreaming about what fall would be like if he were to stay at UGA. It won't happen.
I'm so scared. I've been dreading this throughout our relationship. I knew it was coming. Oh, Lord, I don't know if I could survive losing him.

I leave with my first word in Kirundi that I've learned, spelled phonetically.
"Ensawa" = "Good"