There's a lot of questions floating around in my head. Do I really trust God? I say I do, but do I really allow Him to take control of my life? Do I believe God and and His promises? I want to be needed; how do I quench that desire in a selfless manner? Why don't I meet with the Lord every day? He's my first love. What is in my heart that in hindering me walking in victory with Christ, as He intends? How can I start to get the junk out of my life that is preventing an abundant life, lived to the glory of God?
As you can see, I'm being challenged. God is rocking my boat, big time.
On a positive note, in recent weeks, I've been given a few verses from Colossians that have helped the struggle surrounding my return to the US in about three months (still hard to say, but starting to roll off the tongue a little easier).
"And whatever you do, whether in word or deed, do it all in the name of the Lord Jesus, giving thanks to God the Father through him (ch. 3).
I'm preparing to work for the Lord wherever He takes me. It might be in a Lawrenceville, GA Starbucks. I will serve people their coffee in the name of Christ. Then, I'll bike home because I can't afford gas. ;)
"Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as working for the Lord, not for men, since you know that you will receive an inheritance from the Lord as a reward. It is the Lord Christ you are serving (ch. 3).
I've recently been struggling with some work-related stuff (PRAY over that, por favor). Anyway, I want to finish this time in Peru working with all of my heart, for God--not for any man. I think that God is using this experience to prepare me for future work/ministry situations.
"So then, just as you received Christ Jesus as Lord, continue to live in him, rooted and built up in him, strengthened in the faith as you were taught, and overflowing with thankfulness (ch 2).
Finally, may the remembrance of my salvation and what Christ did for me on the Cross consume my mind and heart and motivate me to meet with Him every day. I am so weak, but He is strong. May He build me up in Him and strengthen the faith He placed in my heart so long ago. Would that I overflow with thankfulness.
In fact, I'm going to go ahead and claim it: I thank You in advance, Lord, for the changes that You're working in me as I get soaked in hard storms and parched in deserted valleys. They're for a reason. I see Your goodness and Your faithfulness in them. Thanks for that, God. Move in me for Your name.
I give you thanks for preparing me for changes that are coming. Would you replace my fear with a joy in moving forward and seeing what is next. Give me a motivation to be active in this time and seek out what You would have me do. In the name of Jesus, I thank You.
A 'post dato,' Lord...As I prep for America, perhaps the most important prayer I could send to the heavens: Help my dad and his clingy tendencies. He's already threatening to chain me to a post in the backyard. Forever.
26.4.10
3.4.10
time is relative.
Living in a Latin American country has its perks, its negatives, and its learning curves. I offer up to the blog world a couple ideas and some funny experiences I've had while living in Peru concerning TIME.
Time. Hours. Minutes. Seconds. Days. Weeks. Months. Our time is precious and valuable, and growing up in the United States, I was taught that being on time is important. Since coming to Peru, my being-on-time obsession has lessened, and the idea of time has become somewhat of an anomaly. I no longer wear a watch. I've become really Peruvian in saying I'll be somewhere at 3:30, but I don't show up until 4 (still only to wait 30 more minutes on the Peruvian). Church starts at 11 am, which means it's okay to stroll in around 11:19 or later--it may have started by then, but probably not. Class starts at 7 pm, but people still walk in at 8, 15 minutes before it's over.
There are certain words in Spanish to indicate when something is happening. Some examples are "ahora," "un rato," "un toque," "un minuto," etc. We have some derivatives that come from these words as well. Let me explain.
I was recently in Lima and ran into my friend Ernesto. We chat and say we're going to catch up later, after he's done with work at 8 pm. I send him a text message about an hour later (approximately 3 pm) that says "Ernesto, call me later so that we can figure out what we are going to do." The text I receive in response reads in Spanish something along the lines of "Claro, podemos hacer algo AHORA" (gringa translation: "Sure, we can do something NOW."). I, the silly gringa, call Ernesto (aka Ernie ;) and comment that I thought he was still working.
"Si, estoy trabajando." (Yeah, I'm working.)
"Ah ya....entonces hablamos mas tarde." (Ok, then, we'll talk later.)
"Ok, ciao."
Hmm....
Later that evening we get together and I ask about this "ahora" business. How is "ahora" ("now") also later? Big question, one that opens a door for a HUGE discussion on vocabulary, context, and meaning. Here are my findings:
Ahora: "Now," as in a time period over the next 12-24 hours. Or in Daniel's case, 20 days when referring to his birthday. :)
Ahorita: Also "now" (perhaps even "right now"), as in the time period over the next 2-12 hours. (Marta ALWAYS says she is leaving "ahorita." After about seven times hearing this and counting the hours that define her "ahorita " [usually 1-2], I finally started to catch on that her "ahorita" is very different from my "ahorita.")
Ahorititita: Yet again, "now." Except given the amount of "tita's" tacked on the end, this could mean any number of definitions of now. Right now in a second, in a minute, in five minutes, in 30 minutes. Who knows.
Within this word group used to define a period of time, you have the same type of guidelines with the following (once again, context and person saying these words make the meaning):
Rato, ratito: Any given time; a little time.
Toque, toquecito: Even less than "rato" or "ratito." Literally, a little touch, a little time.
Un minuto, minutito: I can't even tell you how many times "Espera un minuto" (wait a minute) has turned into an hour.
Finally, we have another interesting thing happening in Latin America. I have yet to really figure out when "good day," "good afternoon," and "good evening" begin and end. In my very North American mind, morning ends at lunchtime, if not before. The afternoon begins around lunchtime and continues until 6 pm or so, and the evening commences at this time (we'll say sundown-ish) until you're partying late into the night.
Not so in Peru. Let's address this idea of "Buenos dias," Buenas tardes," and "Buenas noches." Here's a typical week with my watcheman (pronounced "watch.e.man," which the long "e" sound in the middle :) as I'm walking in and out of the neighborhood:
Sunday, 11 am. "Buenos dias, senorita." Fine.
Monday, 11 am. "Buenos dias, senorita." Monday, 3 pm. "Buenas tardes, senorita." Fine.
Tuesday, 3 pm. "Buenos dias, senorita." Huh?
Wednesday, 5 pm. "Buenas tardes, senorita." Same day, 8 pm. "Buenas noches, senorita." Okay.
Thursday, 5 pm. "Buenas noches, senorita." Oh my gosh...
I could go on, but you see what I'm getting at. There is no definition, and I'm just plum confused. Even after a year-and-a-half. I mean, sure, I hold to what I'm thinking is the "proper" separation of time. And I obviously respond in whatever manner they want me to out of cultural respect (I may be confused, but I have learned to not try and change the norm here based solely on my confusion). The thing is, we just need to get some continuity going on here in my opinion. I've now just gotten into the habit of saying "Buenas." Punto. No mas. I don't know what time it is, nor do they, so we'll just go with the generic greeting. Plus, it makes more sense to just go with the flow instead of laughing at the woman at the bank who has now just said "Buenos dias" to me at 4 pm. Maybe she's just tired after a hard day's work.
Time. Hours. Minutes. Seconds. Days. Weeks. Months. Our time is precious and valuable, and growing up in the United States, I was taught that being on time is important. Since coming to Peru, my being-on-time obsession has lessened, and the idea of time has become somewhat of an anomaly. I no longer wear a watch. I've become really Peruvian in saying I'll be somewhere at 3:30, but I don't show up until 4 (still only to wait 30 more minutes on the Peruvian). Church starts at 11 am, which means it's okay to stroll in around 11:19 or later--it may have started by then, but probably not. Class starts at 7 pm, but people still walk in at 8, 15 minutes before it's over.
There are certain words in Spanish to indicate when something is happening. Some examples are "ahora," "un rato," "un toque," "un minuto," etc. We have some derivatives that come from these words as well. Let me explain.
I was recently in Lima and ran into my friend Ernesto. We chat and say we're going to catch up later, after he's done with work at 8 pm. I send him a text message about an hour later (approximately 3 pm) that says "Ernesto, call me later so that we can figure out what we are going to do." The text I receive in response reads in Spanish something along the lines of "Claro, podemos hacer algo AHORA" (gringa translation: "Sure, we can do something NOW."). I, the silly gringa, call Ernesto (aka Ernie ;) and comment that I thought he was still working.
"Si, estoy trabajando." (Yeah, I'm working.)
"Ah ya....entonces hablamos mas tarde." (Ok, then, we'll talk later.)
"Ok, ciao."
Hmm....
Later that evening we get together and I ask about this "ahora" business. How is "ahora" ("now") also later? Big question, one that opens a door for a HUGE discussion on vocabulary, context, and meaning. Here are my findings:
Ahora: "Now," as in a time period over the next 12-24 hours. Or in Daniel's case, 20 days when referring to his birthday. :)
Ahorita: Also "now" (perhaps even "right now"), as in the time period over the next 2-12 hours. (Marta ALWAYS says she is leaving "ahorita." After about seven times hearing this and counting the hours that define her "ahorita " [usually 1-2], I finally started to catch on that her "ahorita" is very different from my "ahorita.")
Ahorititita: Yet again, "now." Except given the amount of "tita's" tacked on the end, this could mean any number of definitions of now. Right now in a second, in a minute, in five minutes, in 30 minutes. Who knows.
Within this word group used to define a period of time, you have the same type of guidelines with the following (once again, context and person saying these words make the meaning):
Rato, ratito: Any given time; a little time.
Toque, toquecito: Even less than "rato" or "ratito." Literally, a little touch, a little time.
Un minuto, minutito: I can't even tell you how many times "Espera un minuto" (wait a minute) has turned into an hour.
Finally, we have another interesting thing happening in Latin America. I have yet to really figure out when "good day," "good afternoon," and "good evening" begin and end. In my very North American mind, morning ends at lunchtime, if not before. The afternoon begins around lunchtime and continues until 6 pm or so, and the evening commences at this time (we'll say sundown-ish) until you're partying late into the night.
Not so in Peru. Let's address this idea of "Buenos dias," Buenas tardes," and "Buenas noches." Here's a typical week with my watcheman (pronounced "watch.e.man," which the long "e" sound in the middle :) as I'm walking in and out of the neighborhood:
Sunday, 11 am. "Buenos dias, senorita." Fine.
Monday, 11 am. "Buenos dias, senorita." Monday, 3 pm. "Buenas tardes, senorita." Fine.
Tuesday, 3 pm. "Buenos dias, senorita." Huh?
Wednesday, 5 pm. "Buenas tardes, senorita." Same day, 8 pm. "Buenas noches, senorita." Okay.
Thursday, 5 pm. "Buenas noches, senorita." Oh my gosh...
I could go on, but you see what I'm getting at. There is no definition, and I'm just plum confused. Even after a year-and-a-half. I mean, sure, I hold to what I'm thinking is the "proper" separation of time. And I obviously respond in whatever manner they want me to out of cultural respect (I may be confused, but I have learned to not try and change the norm here based solely on my confusion). The thing is, we just need to get some continuity going on here in my opinion. I've now just gotten into the habit of saying "Buenas." Punto. No mas. I don't know what time it is, nor do they, so we'll just go with the generic greeting. Plus, it makes more sense to just go with the flow instead of laughing at the woman at the bank who has now just said "Buenos dias" to me at 4 pm. Maybe she's just tired after a hard day's work.
1.4.10
Pascua.
Today is Day 1 of the feriado (holiday) here. Semana Santa. Holy Thursday. Anticipation of Christ's hands and feet being beaten into a cross by hands that didn't understand who He was. A tomb being opened for Him; after suffering an excruciating death, He is lain on the ground, wrapped in cloth, without breath. We can't forget that.
But Resurrection Sunday is coming, a day in which Christians celebrate a risen Jesus Christ. It really ought to be a celebration, a party; Jesus is alive! Death came, but life overcomes, and Jesus is alive.
"...that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures, that He was buried, that He was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures, and that He appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve.
-1 Corinthians 15:3-5
Last year I walked around Arequipa during this time and pondered the traditions that define this holiday. I was astounded at the idols, the images, the money being collected, the bells and fireworks going on, the processions, the people wearing crucifixes on their necks for three days only. It reminded me of the 18 years I was in bondage.
I forgot how it can be here, this "Holy" week. For some people, it's a time to cry and to mourn; for others, a time to party and to let themselves go with alcohol.
Today I wonder how I've contributed to the Kingdom in the last year. I'm not saying this in a manner of "works." I'm speaking from the perspective of a Follower of Christ who is called to speak the Good News: The Gospel of Jesus Christ.
Perhaps in a time that could be considered a crisis of faith, I've faltered in this. That's no excuse. May my life be a living sacrifice, regardless of how I might "feel." May my life speak and demonstrate what I believe. Am I a testament to the purpose of Christ's death and resurrection?...Am I living a life worthy of Jesus, being sanctified and becoming more like my Savior every day?
"By the grace of God I am what I am, and His grace toward me was not in vain.
-1 Corinthians 15:10a
These are questions to ask myself, to meditate on as I cry out to God to cleanse my heart.
I do hope Holy Week restores your faith, wherever you are. I'm praying it does mine. Let's remember that there is no mediator other than Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God, the great I AM. Born of a virgin girl, not a saint; made man while still God; completely perfect, offering us eternal life...and we can't earn it. We can't pray enough, we can't be good enough, we can't live or die enough.
It's just faith in Jesus.
"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. For by [FAITH] the people of old received their commendation. By faith we understand that the universe was created by the Word of God, so that what is seen was not made out of things that are visible.
-Hebrews 11:1-3
But Resurrection Sunday is coming, a day in which Christians celebrate a risen Jesus Christ. It really ought to be a celebration, a party; Jesus is alive! Death came, but life overcomes, and Jesus is alive.
"...that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the Scriptures, that He was buried, that He was raised on the third day in accordance with the Scriptures, and that He appeared to Cephas, then to the twelve.
-1 Corinthians 15:3-5
Last year I walked around Arequipa during this time and pondered the traditions that define this holiday. I was astounded at the idols, the images, the money being collected, the bells and fireworks going on, the processions, the people wearing crucifixes on their necks for three days only. It reminded me of the 18 years I was in bondage.
I forgot how it can be here, this "Holy" week. For some people, it's a time to cry and to mourn; for others, a time to party and to let themselves go with alcohol.
Today I wonder how I've contributed to the Kingdom in the last year. I'm not saying this in a manner of "works." I'm speaking from the perspective of a Follower of Christ who is called to speak the Good News: The Gospel of Jesus Christ.
Perhaps in a time that could be considered a crisis of faith, I've faltered in this. That's no excuse. May my life be a living sacrifice, regardless of how I might "feel." May my life speak and demonstrate what I believe. Am I a testament to the purpose of Christ's death and resurrection?...Am I living a life worthy of Jesus, being sanctified and becoming more like my Savior every day?
"By the grace of God I am what I am, and His grace toward me was not in vain.
-1 Corinthians 15:10a
These are questions to ask myself, to meditate on as I cry out to God to cleanse my heart.
I do hope Holy Week restores your faith, wherever you are. I'm praying it does mine. Let's remember that there is no mediator other than Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God, the great I AM. Born of a virgin girl, not a saint; made man while still God; completely perfect, offering us eternal life...and we can't earn it. We can't pray enough, we can't be good enough, we can't live or die enough.
It's just faith in Jesus.
"Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen. For by [FAITH] the people of old received their commendation. By faith we understand that the universe was created by the Word of God, so that what is seen was not made out of things that are visible.
-Hebrews 11:1-3
25.3.10
song lyrics.
this is a song by an awesome singer i recently came across named lindsey kane. it's helped me a lot recently--check it out, it's really wonderful. other songs i've been impacted by in my time here are "arise and by comforted" by watermark and "you are not alone" by kate hurley.
just when i thought this valley couldn't get any deeper,
just when i thought i was stepping out of it.
just when i thought the mountain was in my view,
that's when i saw You.
You didn't take me out of it, but You joined me in it.
You didn't lift me out of it, but You lifted me up in it.
You didn't pull me out of it, but You pulled me toward You in it,
and i know that i'll be okay.
just when i thought this mountain couldn't get any steeper,
just when i thought i was falling off of it.
just when i thought that valley was in my view again,
that's when i saw You.
(chorus)
Jesus, where would i be without Your sovereignty...
Jesus, where would i be without Your sovereignty...
thank You for this valley...
in it i will praise Thee.
just when i thought this valley couldn't get any deeper,
just when i thought i was stepping out of it.
just when i thought the mountain was in my view,
that's when i saw You.
You didn't take me out of it, but You joined me in it.
You didn't lift me out of it, but You lifted me up in it.
You didn't pull me out of it, but You pulled me toward You in it,
and i know that i'll be okay.
just when i thought this mountain couldn't get any steeper,
just when i thought i was falling off of it.
just when i thought that valley was in my view again,
that's when i saw You.
(chorus)
Jesus, where would i be without Your sovereignty...
Jesus, where would i be without Your sovereignty...
thank You for this valley...
in it i will praise Thee.
20.3.10
Nina comes to Peru!
My sister Cristina was able to come visit me a couple weeks ago, and it was a great time with a cool little sis (who is not so little anymore...[tear]). We caroused in Lima, didn't sleep for 24+ hours in order to get ourselves to Puno (via the god-forsaken town of Juliaca, also known as hell), and stayed busy in Arequipa. Overall, she was here for six days (tooooo short).
She is a blessing.
Also, thanks to my parents for letting her come and forking over the cash for the plane ticket. :)
**Below: Ginny, Nina and me on our sea lion adventure in Callao; Nina trying to get herself through a hole in Parque del Amor in Lima; Nina and me in Puno on Lake Titicaca. The video is of some ladies singing to tourists. They knew the song in a million languages, including Japanese. The sound in the background is a store in a boat that sells things....you can hear Marta say "Mira la tienda."
She is a blessing.
Also, thanks to my parents for letting her come and forking over the cash for the plane ticket. :)
**Below: Ginny, Nina and me on our sea lion adventure in Callao; Nina trying to get herself through a hole in Parque del Amor in Lima; Nina and me in Puno on Lake Titicaca. The video is of some ladies singing to tourists. They knew the song in a million languages, including Japanese. The sound in the background is a store in a boat that sells things....you can hear Marta say "Mira la tienda."
15.3.10
psalms.
just because...some good words i read the other day.
Psalm 55...
22 Cast your cares on the LORD
and he will sustain you;
he will never let the righteous fall.
Psalm 55...
22 Cast your cares on the LORD
and he will sustain you;
he will never let the righteous fall.
23 But you, O God, will bring down the wicked
into the pit of corruption;
bloodthirsty and deceitful men
will not live out half their days.
But as for me, I trust in you.
Psalm 56...
3 When I am afraid,
I will trust in you.
4 In God, whose word I praise,
in God I trust; I will not be afraid.
What can mortal man do to me?......
13 For you have delivered me from death
and my feet from stumbling,
that I may walk before God
in the light of life.
Psalm 57...
2 I cry out to God Most High,
to God, who fulfills his purpose for me.
10 For great is your love, reaching to the heavens;
your faithfulness reaches to the skies.
11 Be exalted, O God, above the heavens;
let your glory be over all the earth.
13.3.10
forward thinking.
It started with a Southern Living magazine.
I am sitting in a cafe in Arequipa, Peru, which has come to mean home to me. Behind me are Argentines speaking beautiful Spanish. While I listen to this tongue that I love so much, I also long for the South. However, I can't shake the other longing within me: Some seemingly impossible life in South America, Latin America, or Spain.
Flipping through the pages of this coveted gift that my mom sent me in an even-more-coveted box filled with goodies, I am reading the prose that describes my other home, browsing through images of perfect houses in Charleston and New Orleans, and imagining myself attempting these do-it-yourself projects that I know I'll never actually do. Beautiful photographs of my beloved South jump off the page at me: The mountains of Georgia and the coastal towns of the Carolinas remind me of long-ago memories.
And I just start to cry.
I don't think I'm crying because I miss America, but rather because I simply love the Southern states, my old stomping ground. And it hit me: I will be back there in about five months. One would think I'd be happy. Sure, there is excitement in the prospect of return, of seeing my family, hugging my puppies, drinking sweet tea, driving with the windows rolled down on still-sweetly warm August evenings.
But I know myself. I get restless.
I know that when I'm in Georgia, or wherever I end up, I'll miss my Peruanos, my ex-pat friends, drinking mate, going to the market on an almost-daily basis, walking everywhere, and having a ton of ridiculous stories that only come from living in a culture that is not your own.
I can't fathom being in Georgia for too long. I'm deathly afraid of going back to little prospect of getting a job, of living with my parents for who-knows-how-long, of the all-around awful economic situation that America has found herself. Perhaps even scarier is the thought of me staying and getting sucked into suburban vanity. As I read the magazine, I think to myself, "I don't want perfection, I don't want this Southern Living life."
That brings me to this: I don't think I'm meant to live in the United States forever. Or perhaps I should conjecture that I could live in a country not my own. This is a huge realization, one that I am unsure will come to fruition.
God granted my prayer, my dream, to come to a Spanish-speaking country and teach English. This was planted in my heart long before I met Him. He made it better and allowed that dream to evolve into ministry.
As I prepare to leave, to journey into the next step, what would God have me do next? What dreams and prayers set forth will he grant--to His glory?
My mother says that to quench my travel desires, I should be a flight attendant. I pray fervently (and sometimes shed a couple nervous tears) during every little shake on a plane. "Maybe a student tour guide, then?," she suggests. I remember my class trip to Spain when I was 16. God bless my tour guide. I still remember her: Kate, from England. If I were Kate, I would have hurt my obnoxious 16-year-old self. Another no-go.
My desires seem to be all over the place right now, and I confess it's hard to trust the Lord. I don't really know what I want, to be honest. Deep down I do long for stability, for a career, for a family. Kentucky writer Wendell Berry's words echo in my head, with themes of "staying" suspended in my conscious.
What do you do when you've fallen in love with two places, two peoples, and two cultures that are polar opposites? When the thought of leaving your birthplace for a long time floats through your mind, anchors in your heart, and you begin to ache? My stomach twists in knots over this idea of creating a home so far away from the South. From my family, my food, my traditions. My language and my vernacular. My weather, my sports, and my memories. And yet, I'm still enamored with this prospect.
Where is my next stop? Am I meant to practice the art of staying? That would be hard for me, I think. And yet, it would be another lesson to learn.
I am sitting in a cafe in Arequipa, Peru, which has come to mean home to me. Behind me are Argentines speaking beautiful Spanish. While I listen to this tongue that I love so much, I also long for the South. However, I can't shake the other longing within me: Some seemingly impossible life in South America, Latin America, or Spain.
Flipping through the pages of this coveted gift that my mom sent me in an even-more-coveted box filled with goodies, I am reading the prose that describes my other home, browsing through images of perfect houses in Charleston and New Orleans, and imagining myself attempting these do-it-yourself projects that I know I'll never actually do. Beautiful photographs of my beloved South jump off the page at me: The mountains of Georgia and the coastal towns of the Carolinas remind me of long-ago memories.
And I just start to cry.
I don't think I'm crying because I miss America, but rather because I simply love the Southern states, my old stomping ground. And it hit me: I will be back there in about five months. One would think I'd be happy. Sure, there is excitement in the prospect of return, of seeing my family, hugging my puppies, drinking sweet tea, driving with the windows rolled down on still-sweetly warm August evenings.
But I know myself. I get restless.
I know that when I'm in Georgia, or wherever I end up, I'll miss my Peruanos, my ex-pat friends, drinking mate, going to the market on an almost-daily basis, walking everywhere, and having a ton of ridiculous stories that only come from living in a culture that is not your own.
I can't fathom being in Georgia for too long. I'm deathly afraid of going back to little prospect of getting a job, of living with my parents for who-knows-how-long, of the all-around awful economic situation that America has found herself. Perhaps even scarier is the thought of me staying and getting sucked into suburban vanity. As I read the magazine, I think to myself, "I don't want perfection, I don't want this Southern Living life."
That brings me to this: I don't think I'm meant to live in the United States forever. Or perhaps I should conjecture that I could live in a country not my own. This is a huge realization, one that I am unsure will come to fruition.
God granted my prayer, my dream, to come to a Spanish-speaking country and teach English. This was planted in my heart long before I met Him. He made it better and allowed that dream to evolve into ministry.
As I prepare to leave, to journey into the next step, what would God have me do next? What dreams and prayers set forth will he grant--to His glory?
My mother says that to quench my travel desires, I should be a flight attendant. I pray fervently (and sometimes shed a couple nervous tears) during every little shake on a plane. "Maybe a student tour guide, then?," she suggests. I remember my class trip to Spain when I was 16. God bless my tour guide. I still remember her: Kate, from England. If I were Kate, I would have hurt my obnoxious 16-year-old self. Another no-go.
My desires seem to be all over the place right now, and I confess it's hard to trust the Lord. I don't really know what I want, to be honest. Deep down I do long for stability, for a career, for a family. Kentucky writer Wendell Berry's words echo in my head, with themes of "staying" suspended in my conscious.
What do you do when you've fallen in love with two places, two peoples, and two cultures that are polar opposites? When the thought of leaving your birthplace for a long time floats through your mind, anchors in your heart, and you begin to ache? My stomach twists in knots over this idea of creating a home so far away from the South. From my family, my food, my traditions. My language and my vernacular. My weather, my sports, and my memories. And yet, I'm still enamored with this prospect.
Where is my next stop? Am I meant to practice the art of staying? That would be hard for me, I think. And yet, it would be another lesson to learn.
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