Coming Home's the Hardest Part

Six weeks have passed, and the red dirt remains on my shoes, the tan lines have not yet faded, and the recollections are so vivid it's as if I was in Africa just yesterday. Everything triggers a memory. I wake up at 7. AM! Why the heck is my sleep screwed me up so bad?! The clothing choices are overwhelming so I pick the same black t-shirt and jeans. The food choices are overwhelming so I choose the same cereal for breakfast. As I put on layer after layer to shield me from the cold, I wish so deeply for that radiant African sun. Chapel is boring. Class is pointless. I miss my friends. The friends who I fell so deeply in love with after only four months and who I may never see again, and the friends I spent four months away from and who I may have lost forever. I miss God. I'm struggling through this all alone and I can't hear His voice or feel His presence and I don't know how to fix it and it's hard. I'm seeking happiness in the small things and I'm graduating in May and I'm trying to figure out my life but I'm lonely and it's hard. Will I ever rise up on the wings of those eagles?