This morning, Jesus tendered my heart to the idea of being completely vulnerable with you.
I'm still lacking support, but I'm trusting Him. He is going to provide. He always has. He always will. Last check, I think I'm about 60 dollars away from meeting my monthly goal.
If you would like to commit to praying or supporting me financially,
for this new chapter of my story, follow the link provided here:
Save the date on your heart and prayers: I'm flying out August 12th!
Dear Fifteen Year-old Me,
It’s been awhile, since I’ve acknowledged you, I know. Time has worn the hands of the clock and left open wounds on my heart. You, darling girl, have held pain and clenched brokenness; you’ve sat with poverty and made your home in the dust.
Precious one, you’ve beheld beauty on many accounts.
A language that has never come naturally has wrecked you.
And those people, whose chocolate piercing eyes heavily contrast your blue-occasionally-green eyes, have wrecked you.
And it’s a wonder that we are still here. That 11 years later one trip spent wearing out the five-word vocabulary would do something to you, it is beyond me.
Yes, 11 years later that trip you took on a whim; it did something to you.
After that week you never were the same. Those children didn’t fade along with the pictures; their names never did flee from your memory. No, they stayed with you. Every waking moment, those sweet little orphan children stayed with you.
You tried to ignore it, pursuing the easy, but love, they wrecked you. And a few trips and years later, you heeded the call to move eight hours away and study missions, because you knew that was going to be your life.
You moved and He moved with you.
And still yet, you just wanted to pack up your bags and move away forever. Those short-term trips would be the keepers of utmost joy, upon seeing those dearly loved, and utmost pain, when it would come time for the inevitable goodbyes.
But you would go, as many times as you could.
You would return with tears in your eyes and you’d feel pain like never before, because you knew that you were made for those children.
You were made for their country.
But God would need to refine you. He’d need to break down your walls and unclench your fists. He’d need to strip away your tendency to cling to people-so that all was left was just you and Him. He’d need to prove to you that He was and is enough.
And we are on the other side, years spent coming and going with tear-stained cheeks and a pain so foreign to others; that they would just never understand. No, they wouldn’t understand the gaping wounds that goodbyes left on your heart. But He would understand. He would always understand.
He would gently slow things down and you would be pushed and challenged to return to a country, that once was home, but would now feel so foreign. You’d have to adjust and remember what it once was like to make friends, again, to find yourself on the other side of the world.
And you would do so, thanks to His graces, but still yet, you’d feel the pull and tug. However, God would make Himself known in the rejection and in the waiting.
You’d actively pursue things on this side of the world, relieving debts, uncertain of what was to come.
Mexico would be out of sight, but never out of mind.
A year would pass with many closed doors, tear-stained cheeks, and family ties that would be redeemed and strengthened around the table. Out of the ashes, your family would rise.
And in hindsight, it would all be clear. Your extra provisions would be just what your family and the people around you would need.
It was always enough. It’s always enough.
And as I write to you of your journey, fifteen-year old girl, I’m overjoyed to tell you that you’ll be returning home soon.
Your feet will soon settle onto the dusty streets and you’ll spend your days walking to work, taking in the sounds of the never-quiet city, loving on the people that He made you for.
Dear fifteen-year old girl, confidence has given you a voice in a different language, and startled that part of you that used to hide in the pages of a book.
You’ve been blessed with a burden, dear daughter.
And eleven years later, He is taking you home.
Oh precious girl, those tears were never wasted; yes, He’s taking you home.