numbers and dreams...

I tend to get in the habit of counting things, if you know me really well you can probably attribute that to my OCD tendencies.

All that to say, I just thought I would share a few numbers with you:

I teach 90 students a week.
I teach 23 classes a week.
I tutor 4 times a week.

I have 3 classes of the highest level of English on Monday, Wednesday and Fridays, along with 2 primary English classes. Meaning my youngest student is 10, my oldest being in their early 20s.

I have 2 official classes on Tuesday and Thursdays. One of those is primary, the youngest being around 10, and the other a beginner class for adults, in which, my oldest student is in their 60s. I just added 2 conversation classes for my most excelled students, with the chance to go to Portland, which takes place on Tuesday and Thursdays, as well. I end my day tutoring 1 girl I met through NOE last year. 

Class with the most students: 21

Class with the least students: 11

Those are the numbers for you, dear reader. These numbers are what my days consist of in this beautiful city. To think that God saw fit to bring me here to return, still astounds me. The friendships and the love that I have found here aren't like any other that I have ever experienced. 

What does this mean for you?

I hope you know that sometimes dreams aren't easily reached. Sometimes you have to fight for them every waking moment. Sometimes you have to let them go, only for them to come back to you in a way, that is unimaginable, incomparable to how you had always pictured it to turn out. Sometimes you have to learn to be right where you are. 

For me that meant, spending my waking hours, straightening clothes and lifting furniture in the Goodwill for two full years before I could finally live in Mexico. Two years where I packed my bag for a couple weeks out of the year to be in Mexico. Two years, in which, I begged God to finally take me home to where I knew that I always belonged. Two years with whys sitting stagnant upon my heart and wounds vulnerable to my own loneliness. But you know what?

I'm living in a city of over a million people, that was so unknown to me before I stumbled upon Max Lucado's words. I'm living and working in a place that I came to love so easily in three months, before I had to leave it with tears standing in my eyes and try to figure out how I could possibly leave the love found, behind. I wrestled with uncertain feelings and had no idea that I would ever come to know and love a city like that of Vicente Guerrero, but you see, dear heart, that's where we always go wrong. 

We plan and we fight for things to come out in the way we see fit, and at times, God let's those things happen-to wake us up. Remind us that He has more than our best in mind, that He is indeed the Maker of our heart's desires and that His plans are not our own. He is the author of our dreams, the perfecter of our faith. He struggled and lived this life, before we even came to be. He knows what makes our hearts come alive. The passion that rests on your heart is not like that of anyone else- your heart matters and you have a story to tell.

We are not our own. We are His. 

We should trust Him with our every dream and realize that sometimes we have to fight for them, fight for an understanding, be right where we are, before He can take us where we were always meant to be. 

And as I finish writing this, I'm praying for the eyes that come upon this mess of words. That you might believe these words to be said for you, because they are meant for beautiful, you.

Hold onto hope, dear. 

Keep on fighting, because sometimes the struggle comes out of nowhere-

and you don't feel anywhere near ready...but love, He doesn't wait for us to be ready. 

We find the readiness in Him. We find the strength and all that we need in Him.