Preparation

 I caught a glimpse of my old profile bio here, written around a decade ago. My “baby boy” is now a sweet sassy 10 year old and I am also mama to a set of boy-girl twins who bring me joy every single day (and some craziness in between). 

Most of all it was the phrase “this time of preparation” that caught my eye. Because, well, I suppose I’m still there.

I think it’s pretty obvious I started this blog with an eye on cross cultural ministry. With hopes that my little stories were only the beginning of many more. And who knows, perhaps they are, but for now, I’m like a ball of dough on the counter I suppose. The Lord is still preparing me. 

And for what, only he knows. But I think for the most part, I no longer use the image of preparation as a way of minimizing or avoiding the reality of life I’m living right now. A way of deferring the timeline of when and where God wants to use me and work in me.

He has prepared and is preparing me, and perhaps will always be preparing me, until I go home to Him. But at the same time, the life I am now living is a big part of what he prepared me for. There’s no need to wait for some hypothetical day in which he “calls” me to “something great;” he has called me to today. Today. To be a mom, wife, friend, daughter, sister, aunt, and hopefully a source of his light to those around me. He’s prepared me for this and continues to. And I want to be as faithful as I can be with “little,” rather than sitting around hoping to be entrusted with much (Matthew 25:14-30). 

But out of the vague and flowery and into the specifics. Why am I still stateside as a 34 year old when I thought at 17 I was preparing for and pursuing something else? Did I stop pursuing it?  Maybe, to some degree. And there are small parts of me that wonder if I should have done more. But a bigger part of me sees how much I needed to learn, and put into practice. A life of cross cultural ministry is a disciplined life, and I see I still need work there. Perhaps for those workers it is a desperate discipline out of necessity rather than practice, but all the same I suppose it must start somewhere. Habits. Habits make a life, so they must be chosen with thought. So for now I want to work harder at those, even if some days I feel I don’t know what I’m doing.

And I’ll be honest, life stateside can be challenging enough as it is. I never imagined how very challenging it would be just to be a good wife. How much effort could be put into being a daughter & friend to the best of my ability, or that motherhood, in some ways, “comes naturally” and in other ways requires study and planning and help. Life has certainly had its curve balls, the trials that come out of nowhere or challenges where I expected blessings & ease, and honestly the admissions to myself that I did not simply magically become a perfectly seasoned and wise woman overnight in my early 20’s as I think I expected. Alas, the trials (and my own failures & mistakes) continue to mold me into a wiser woman, by God’s great grace. I’m a different, and I think better, person than I was those years ago and it’s these “mundane” years that wrought that in me.

And yet all of this is preparation, and this preparation IS where wisdom comes from. I suppose it comes from study and wise living but it also comes from mistakes & failures & ensuring trials. In acknowledging weakness and recognizing limitations.  Boy, do I feel more weak and limited here in my 30’s than I did in my early twenties and teens (body, mind, & brain). Is it possible I’ve grown stronger in some areas and weaker in others? 

Yes, this season is heavy sometimes and I feel weak under the weight of it. But alas, such weight is where strength is built and such weakness is where I remember how much I need the Lord’s strength. I’m also thanking him lately for the strength he provides through others, it is a great gift I hope to pursue more. 

May I work hard in his strength & lean on him more, and may that bring much joy as I move further down this path he has for me, toward the sweet end standing before him at last. Further up & further in. 

Seeing the mountains anew

 *whhhhhhhhhh*

Pardon my cheesiness as I  blow the dust off this old blog. Wow, it’s crazy to look back on in so many ways. Much has changed since those early posts about Mexico and Albania and even my babies. 

I was 17 when I wrote those journal entries about my first week “by myself” in Mexico (and I still struggle to remember how in the world that whole idea & plan came about made sense in my young head). Yet even with my “mom brain” the memories come right back as I read.

So many years, so much change, and yet, as I look back, that girl is still in here somewhere. That’s what brings me back to this page— last month I had the chance to behold those mountains of Maneadero in person again.  8 years since the last time I had seen them, and more than 15 years since those two summers I dared to make myself “at home” at Casa Esperanza. 

The truth is, I almost didn’t go on this last trip. 34 year old me is apparently not so fearless as that 17 year old, or perhaps has a more realistic & seasoned head on her shoulders with maybe a few more burdens and responsibilities. I had some nerves about going with my husband and 3 kids, even with the group. We had a funeral and a sick child the day we were supposed to leave, and I felt my own stomach knot up a bit with anxiety, but things improved & we left the next day. My husband told me as we drove that he looked forward to glimpsing my “Mexico side” again, and I wondered if it was still there. For now, I was busy considering how I’d keep my kids safe and healthy, and wishing I had taken time to touch base & make plans with more old Mexico friends despite my hesitancy. 

But we made it. And on Tuesday morning as those gorgeously lush and imposing hills glowed their deep green down on me, my heart felt just the same. Conoci an ella otra vez… A slightly dreamy-eyed girl eager to build bridges to the “other world” before me.  Oh I won’t say there weren’t parts of me that wondered what that young girl had been thinking. That saw with a mix of embarrassment and pride my own naievete, and held in tension the idealism I once had with the realities and not-so-happy endings I know now. Perhaps some of that shall find its own post another day.

But. Those mountains are still here, and so am I. And so are many of those faithful believers who push on with conviction even after idealism is shattered. (More so, they’re still kind enough to remember me fondly and welcome me). Beautiful examples for me to look toward on the days I see no connection between the passion of my endlessly hopeful teenage self and now. 

It’s all there. I just have to let go of fear, and look.