Sunday afternoon daydreams, shattered hearts, and new chapters.

As she sat at the table furiously penciling out how to make this paycheck cover everything, her mind wandered. She was transformed into a street in the middle of Kenya. A crowded, dirty street. There was a huge garbage dump there. And that little boy was digging through it. Looking for what, she didn't know. Food probably. Hoping to find something to sell, maybe. But something. The friend she was with seemed to know the boy. He shouted out a greeting in Swahili and before long the boy was walking and talking alongside them. She marvelled at his young age. It was apparent that the child had been living on these streets. He was filthy. No shoes. Smelly. Too skinny. And higher than a kite. It was the glue. The kids who tried to survive on the streets usually ended up huffing it to subside hunger and numb the hopelessness and fear they were feeling.

The whole concept crushed her. She just wanted to wrap them in her arms, tell them their creator is crazy about them, and let them play as kids should. As they walked the streets chatting with other kids, some joined them and some refused. They all had the same problems: Running away from home or told to leave and having nowhere and nobody in which to find safety. A few of the kids agreed to walk away from the streets and come back to the boy's home for rehabilitation and reintegration. But she wondered, would it work? Would it stick? And the ones that came only to run away would break the hearts of the missionaries she worked for. Hundreds of thoughts were flying through her head and she was struck by the harshness of the work that her friends did day in and day out. 

Her mind then flashed to Texas and the strange time she had there. Living as a "missionary" in the midst of a wealthy southern town. Taking buses everywhere and experiencing for the first time how difficult it can be to live without a car. Trying to offer hope to the thousands of homeless but seeing little improvement. Working to end human trafficking in brothels. Educating the church. Trying to help the girls. Being chased by pimps. Understanding more than she wanted to about this dark underground world. And seeing just how much evil and damage a person can cause. 

How did she go from there to South Africa, where kids live a life of tough experiences and dangers? Rape statistics at an alarming high. Parents often abandoning their children. Segregation causing deep economical and emotional wounds. And her friends live and work here every day. She was there just long enough for it to feel normal before being ripped away and sent home. And that was enough to break her heart for the country and her friends that struggled to make a difference in it. 

And her mind wandered back to the table she sat at. And the budget. These memories seemed so removed from the worries before her. Like a distant dream that almost seemed to be scenes in a movie rather than real life. After all of that, how is she here? No money. Not able to even afford renting a place to live. Working a "normal" job again. Trying to make ends meet while desperately longing to be making a bigger difference in the world. Starting school all over again, sure of what she's working towards but not sure how to handle living while she does? The most simple, mundane season she's had in decades is suddenly the most painful, most difficult. Because she no longer fits into the box she's found herself back in. She no longer wants to work in a job many are content in for years. She's seen too much and can't forget it. The heart she left with when she flew across the world got shattered along the way and the pieces are scattered in the soil of Kisumu. The concrete of old brothels in Houston. And the bush of South Africa. 

Tomorrow she will turn the page to the next section of her story.  A very different and less colorful section: America. College. Studying. Broke. Not sure where and how to live. And trying to figure out how this new person she's become will do in this environment. She feels like she doesn't have much to show for the last 4 years: Debt. A very old car. No home and no possesions. But the one thing she does have has come to mean more than it ever did before. She has hope and absolutely nothing can take that away from her. 

She an

Hidden in Plain Sight.

Today I was quick to judge a customer, placing them in a category I had no right to and was thoroughly embarrassed when I later learned of their very tragic situation. As I contemplated this on my drive home, I began to recall many times in which I have seen people misunderstood. Or when I myself overlooked someone right in front of me, failed to see how painful their life may be, or just plain sat in self-absorption until I was oblivious to the needs placed at my feet. There have been too many instances to count. And in the last few years, I have also been on the other end of things more than I like. I'm becoming pretty darned sure that is because I need to understand what it's like if I will spend my future counseling others.

I have only tasted a fraction of what a life in ministry and missions may be like. I am fully aware that I have dear friends who understand these intricacies with way more depth than I ever will. But none-the-less, let me use my tiny window of experience to paint a picture of what someone dear to you may be experiencing. I'm not saying these things to get feedback for myself.  My goal is simply bringing awareness to this stuff....

In the last few years, I have worked for several ministries.  Being a missionary in a place like Texas doesn't seem like too huge of a thing. But while there, I experienced most of the issues missionaries would: Isolation, culture shock, severe loneliness, unhealthy authority, spiritual abuse, no way out, exhaustion, weariness, too much pouring out and not enough getting poured into, unrealistic expectations, financial hurdles, physical harm. These are all things that I would find most understood by my friends living in foreign countries.  Going from that to Africa was beautiful, but African living isn't always easy and at times it was very lonely. Being in a place where people and things have a completely different rhythm and having to navigate it is a hard thing. I didn't always try to talk to friends back home about it because if they haven't been, they don't understand. Then the decision to come home and plant myself was one that began in excitement over being back where I know everything and everyone. Except that didn't happen.......things were suddenly different at church. I was beyond broke from the years of ministry and found I can't find a way to get back on my feet. Going from "missionary" to nothing without a way to provide and survive and feeling none of your skills apply here is a very common struggle for those reintegrating. Most of my friends had bonded in my absence and I suddenly felt I had no place. Wasn't needed or noticed or wanted. Things had gone on and changed. But even more than that, I had. I am a different person than the last time I lived here. Very different. In a lot of positive ways (I learned, am wiser, have grown, and understand the world a bit better). But also in some painful ones. I now have people and places that my heart has grown to love and I'm always thinking about them. Missing them. I suffer from some severe grief or even PTSD from some of the darker things I experienced where I was. Some days I have no energy and start crying at random times because I'm too emotional to stop myself. It might be that I really miss a friend in SA or the things I got to do there. Sometimes it's a sudden memory of something crazy that was said or done to me in Texas and in the moment I am overwhelmed with pain from it. With grief that it wasn't what I had envisioned and dreamed and I had to remove myself. And the problem is that it's hard to explain and the people who are used to the old you aren't able to understand this time. I am really struggling financially, too. This is something else that all missionaries and a large number of those in ministry deal with but don't like talking about. We often serve full-time until we have to stop for a while because we're more than broke. Not because we're trying to look good enough or do good enough. But because we love it and we're wired for it. We only stop when we have to. These are things I feel often go un-noticed by the very bodies who sometimes commission us. We come home and a lot of the details are missed or forgotten. It's hard.  It can feel as if we are hidden in plain sight. Seen, but not seen. And I only share it all because I don't want people who work so hard in the Kingdom to become jaded and burnt out due to lack of care. Let's have our eyes open. Let's think about and notice those who need someone to love on them, care for them, simply see where they are and what they're going through, and help them heal and restore when it's needed.

A couple years, 7 ministries, and a continent later.

The most common question I am asked since returning to the states is "So, is it hard to go between cultures?" Most of the time I answer "You have no idea." But what I'm really thinking about is the people I have worked for and what I saw.....

The last few years of traveling and working for various Bible teachers, pastors, missionaries, and ministries have taught me one truth: People in these positions have a LOT of unique hardships that are rarely seen. And a lot of issues that their position brings with it. Things rarely talked about. Rarely understood by anyone who isn't in a similar place. Rarely dealt with. And they spend years feeling shame and the need to hide it. But how do I explain that to people here? How do I make it come to light? And what can I do about it, anyway? How do I handle the passion I've developed to see refreshment, wholeness, hope, and healing brought to people in these places?

Add to that that I've been going through a season of really struggling with my life. The last years, what I've been doing, where I am heading. I've been overwhelmed with all of it. I've often felt like I've simply wandered and floundered around the globe and when long-term missions or the ministries in Texas didn't work out like I'd hoped, I became convinced it was due to my short-comings. That I am just not good enough for anything but making coffee. During this last trip to Africa, I found myself having a bit of a freak-out. Single, in my 30s, more than broke, no plans after the trip, nowhere to go, nobody to go "home" to in any of my places. I was depressed. 

Until a friend helped me look at things from the outside. 

One day over coffee, she suggested that I think about what my passions are. What do I really want? What has God wired into me? And what's stopping me? So I thought. And I realized that I could help those in unique positions. That perhaps the very reason for the experiences I've had the last few years may be to see the need that needs to be met. To experience a taste of what it's like to be in difficult positions, and to know what it feels like. And then to get trained to help. 

So I decided to return home after Africa, scratch everything, and begin all over again. Make every decision based on what I love and know I can do and be, rather than on what is easiest, fastest, or other people's opinion.  It's been lonely, scary and exhausting figuring everything out. But it's also been kind of exciting. I've decided to go back to school. The best way for me to help others is to spend a few years getting equipped and trained.  For the next season of life, I will be studying and working hard to get a degree in Behavioral Sciences and Psychology. I'll add a class in Pastoral Counseling and then see where the Lord takes it. 

I also decided to do some of the things I've always loved but believed didn't matter. 

I recently picked up my guitar again. I've marked MJC's theatre tryouts on my calendar. And since I was 3, I've wanted to dance. I was told my whole life that I should stick to my music because I was overweight. But no more. In September I will be slipping my feet into ballet slippers for the very first time. 

It's never too late. And your passions are put there for a reason. What have you always felt strongly about? What have you always longed to do? Learn? Experience? Don't let age, opinions, or easy ways out define your decisions. God designed you with certain passions unique to you for a reason. Go. Do it. Be scared. 

But sign up for it anyway. 

To be brave would be an awfully big adventure.

It's a word or phrase that seems to be everywhere. 

When you pick up a book it's hidden until the 3rd chapter, when you suddenly see it pop out at you. It's somehow in all the sermons you listen to, cleverly woven it. 

Regardless of the chosen playlist or genre, it will find it's way into your Spotify. 

And when you try to watch a movie to stop thinking about it for a few minutes, it ends up being the theme of the entire film. God's so incredibly creative and clever like that. When He wants you to learn something, there's just no use whatsoever trying to run from it. Might as well buckle your seatbelt and get ready for a ride. 

It began in a conversation with a woman in South Africa. As I briefly explained what I did, she said "You are very brave." I kind of snickered before I could stop myself. Brave?! Nope. I just hang out and help people. It's fun for me. Nothing very brave about that.  But more people from home kept using that word in communication with me. I just thought of how ridiculous that is. Especially because as I was in South Africa, I began to experience some pretty intense anxiety and depression. Something I had not dealt with in quite a number of years. That certainly pointed out that I wasn't brave. I whined and complained to a dear friend about it all the time and the only thing I felt was unstable. (Thankfully she reminded me it's okay to be a mess.)

When I found out I was coming home sooner than expected, it hit me hard. I cried. And complained. And was angry. A LOT.  I freaked out about leaving. I freaked out about separating from my friends. I freaked out about changes. I freaked out about coming home. I freaked out about the future. I just felt not ready for all of it. My "older sister" brought me to the airport. She hugged me and told me I could "be brave."  But all I was that day was so afraid of everything that the moment I had to separate from her at security, I simply began sobbing and didn't stop for about 7 hours. (The poor man next to me on that plane probably had the most awkward flight of his life.) 

After getting home, I couldn't decide if I wanted to see people or hide out. My emotions were all over the place and quite unpredictable. The thing that was so hard for me was that everyone wants to meet up with me and then spend time telling me I'm so brave. Which feels like the biggest lie in the world. I don't like that people see me that way while I'm sobbing as I drive home every night and texting Africa in tears saying "I can't do this. I don't want to do this. I'm so lost here. I just want to go back." But the thing is.....every time I turn on music, there's this theme of being brave going on with all the top songs. Every conversation with Africa ends up with "Be brave." Every book I open has the word popping out within pages. Every podcast I click on wants to tackle the idea. I can't get away from it! So I decided to do the only logical thing.....study it. Understand it. Dissect it. And be it. 

The more I've dived into studying the concept of bravery, the more I see that I knew nothing about it. My ideas of bravery before now included superheros seemingly without fear. Firefighters marching straight into flames. Soldiers working hard to fight for and protect our freedom. Those are all the pictures I'd put on the posters that plaster the wall of the grade-school classroom. And of course, when asked who the bravest person in the world is, I'd say Jesus. So naturally, I turned to scripture to study how He did things. My ultimate goal being to strive for His example.

This is when things began to get very interesting.

Jesus. Brave. Okay. What kinds of things did Jesus do? 

He stood up for what was right despite what was popular. 

He defended and protected to unseen and forgotten. He redeemed the ruined. 

He faced the painful and the ugly rather than hide from it. He wept with those He loved. He felt all the emotions all the time about everything. He put others first. He served. He was humble. He didn't stop to build any form of home or empire or estate, even though He could've had the best. (“Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” -Matthew 8:20) He loved deeply. He hurt deeply for others. He noticed others-like really noticed them. He was honest. He rested when He needed it. He was real and vulnerable and raw. He often hid away to be with The Father. He truly sat with and listened to others. He looked into the eyes of the unwanted. The vile. The dirty. And told them of a King who was crazy about them. He believed when nobody else did. And He was simply himself. At all times. As I was thinking through these things, the whole picture of bravery in my head took on a new life. A new color. And a new form. I began to see what it could look like for me to be brave:

I can be weak. I can cry all I need to. I can be messy. I can be in a season where I have no clue what I'm doing with my life. I can feel lost. Homeless even. Unsure. Small. And I can be completely open about it without feeling any shame. As long as I am loving, leaning on, and putting my trust in the Lord. As long as I live in obedience to Him. As long as my daily goal is for others to experience His love, redemption, and grace. As long as I am serving and selflessly loving others. And as long as His Kingdom is what matters to me at the end of the day. As long as the mess isn't an excuse for inaction. You see, we don't have to have it all together. In fact, we don't have to have any of it together. Being brave just means that even in the junk we don't cease being crazy about who Jesus is and willing to be like Him. He takes care of the rest. Is that beautiful news for you today? It sure is for me. I think I'd like to try being mighty brave.

Easter Lessons.

This Easter was unlike any I can recall. 

Sure, I love Easter. Best day of the year! 

Everything about this world, life, who we are and how we do it rests on one man, an incomprehensible sacrifice, and an empty tomb. I adore Him. 

Most Easters consist of either being with the high school ministry in Mexico or celebrating at Big Valley Grace. It’s been years since there’s been any change in that. Until today. 

All week, the Lord has been convicting, teaching, working overtime on me. 

It hasn’t been the warm fuzzies. In fact, it’s been the total opposite.

Hard. Harsh. Tears. Conviction. Asking for a contrite heart and brokenness. 

Eish. (As South Africans say.) Watch what you pray for. 

I began the week being disappointed and trying not to sit in hurt and hold any form of a grudge. In the middle of desperately wrestling through forgiveness, I felt God saying “I want you to specifically do ____ for them."

“But Lord, I’m in the middle of explaining to you why I’m upset. 

How can I possibly do that when they’ve hurt me?” 

“Because I said so.”

So I begrudgingly obeyed. Feeling myself acting like a spoiled little child who stomps off to obey what she’s been commanded to do because she knows she can’t win this round. 

As the week progressed, the Lord gave me several opportunities to love on several people I just didn’t want to. Over and over. I did it with a grudge. What I really wanted was to withhold myself from them until they saw the light of things. Until they knew how I was feeling about their actions. And THEN. THEN I might decide to love them well. If they earn it. But knowing this to be quite an unhealthy way of doing relationships, I obeyed Jesus. In the middle of all that, I heard Him tell me very clearly that I needed to expand my willingness to love selflessly and give until it hurts. Now that’s one of those concepts that we often talk about, but it’s been a long time since He gave me a serious opportunity to learn this through action. I fought that. I could handle being selfless and forgiving and even loving well someone who has been really affecting my heart. But to give to them until it hurts? That was a very sore subject for days. And I finally gave in, knowing it’s pointless to try to argue with Jesus. And besides, it’s something I knew deep down I needed to be re-learning right now. 

This morning I was given another opportunity to lay aside what I wanted to do in the name of loving well. It was hard, but I knew the action itself is sometimes a physical act of forgiveness for us, so I stomped to it, mumbling grumpy things under my breath. And then thoroughly crying afterwards. (Hey. Forgiving someone doesn’t just make it all happy again overnight!) Then I went to church. And the pastor asked us if we’ve ever had to work at forgiving someone who didn’t even know they were hurting us. And how hard was it? He proceeded to remind us that Jesus did just that on the cross. His act was extravagant, totally selfless, forgiving, and giving until it hurt. (More than we’ll ever be able to comprehend.) He did all of this for every human-knowing how full of sin and ugliness and selfishness and rejection for Him we would be.  Can you imagine?!?! I can’t! He did all of that. with full foresight! 

And here I am whining about things that in comparison don’t matter one little iota. Can I live a life of generosity and extravagant love and forgiveness and selflessness? Without expecting anything back? Can I give until I am hurting and sacrificing, without it being tied to what the recipient will do for me? Freely and in joy? Perhaps without them even knowing what it cost? I have to try. Because my Jesus did it. And I want to reflect Him. 

This year, Easter has been different. It’s been a good long look at the self-centered person inside. It’s been brokenness over the ugly thoughts and desires I can have. It’s been realizing I’ve barely begun to grasp what loving lavishly and extravagantly at all times looks like. And it’s been the knowledge that I truly don’t know what it really means to give until it hurts. But I have the perfect example. The empty tomb meant resurrection. New hope began. The world was changed. And He continues all of those things.  It didn’t stop that day. He is always at work on beautiful resurrections of things in our lives, hearts, homes, families, relationships. He restores. He brings things back from the dead. He makes them beautiful and gives new hope and a new beginning. And He even changes our entire world. The empty tomb doesn’t just mean Jesus was raised from the dead. It means everything else gets to be, too. 

Broken Tiles.

It's been an interesting season. South Africa has swept in and whisked me off my feet. I've found myself falling in love with this place and missing others all at the same time. Living in a foreign country that sometimes feels so familiar and sometimes feels totally alien. Learning new things daily. Taking in the colorful tapestry of culture, language, accents, and places. And then-like being hit over the head from behind-suddenly trudging through the mud and muck of some very difficult things that I didn't see coming. Finding myself in the presence of that old familiar voice I never wanted to hear again. Anxiety. Depression even. Waking up one day and being shocked when I glance in the mirror to see that brokenness and messiness have hit me in a new and unique way and the person who was once inside this shell is somehow very different right now. That realization is quite frightening at first. And was fought against. Despised, even. Until finally accepted. Which is actually the best moment of all, because even though I may not see it all leave at that moment, I begin to learn the meaning of it. I begin to understand that only when I am shattered and helpless on my own can I truly begin serving others well.

I have rarely felt this many emotions at once. A visa extension was denied and instead of coming home in June or July, I am on a plane in 2 weeks. I went through some serious sobbing when I found out. Anxiety flooding my veins as if it was taking over and draining me of my life. I don't feel ready to leave this place. The people. New and old friends. The way Jesus has absolutely blown my mind with sunsets, people, nature, animals, children, culture, ministry. There've been days of watching Him work overtime. And days of talking, exploring, learning, and laughing with dear ones. Days of working alone and quietness and wrestling with myself. Sickness. Good health. Loneliness. All of it. And it's going to end more suddenly and abruptly than wanted. 

Yesterday I awoke a bit different. A bit more like the person I am used to. 

A spark in my eye and an extra jump in my dance. (My feet aren't thanking me. Zumba blisters is a thing and they're not happy that I'm "all about the bass" lately.) There may be many things that are disappointing me right now-places and people and things that are taking me by difficult surprise. There may be the biggest mix of emotions ever felt at once. Emotions that change by the hour sometimes. Trepidation over a future I know nothing about. Will it be hard to adjust to things and will others understand? Will I fit back in or have to start over? Is there a place for me? What'll I do? Who will do it with me? How do I live? No idea. No plans. No fall-backs. No "Well, if THAT doesn't work out I'll just......." 

Yesterday the Holy Spirit whispered to my heart. He reminded me that this is the opportunity for the greatest adventure yet. And that it's okay to have a huge knot in my stomach right now. It's okay to say "I have no Earthly idea what the heck I'm doing." As long as I still choose to step onto the ride, lift my hands, and allow the operator to be in charge rather than insisting I understand where it's headed, how fast, what waits for me, and how long it'll take to get there. 

It's okay to feel all the things. It's okay to be in a million pieces. I am seriously learning that there is a way to absolutely flourish in that state. And do it beautifully. 

Being honest about things and refusing to sit in a dark self-focussed corner. It is possible to use that soft and sensitive state to love even better and gentler and more fully than before. After all, Jesus served all of humanity the very most when He was in His messiest, weakest, and most shattered state. One beyond any I will ever know. He spoke, encouraged, loved, took care of, and lived an example in the middle of unbearable pain. And that is the balance I must learn. To stop being ashamed of it and allow it to make me more beautiful even if I don't understand how that works. All I know is that when you have a bunch of shattered pieces of broken tile from different things and places, and you pick them up and put them all together, you have one of the most beautiful inventions of all time. A mosaic. Some of it is bright, bold, and beautiful. Some of it soft and lovely and inviting. Some of it even reflects whatever is around it back onto itself to be glimpsed in the light of the colorful beauty. It becomes something to behold, one piece at a time. And that is what I long for. That is what we should all want to be.

Living In The Blender.

Most of last night was spent laying in the dark with eyes wide awake. 

That seems to happen a lot these days. 

I was upset about so much of the injustice I have seen and experienced here. 

A vivid imagination was playing scenarios over and over on the walls of my mind, 

continually upset about the unfairness that I have experienced even in a few short months. Ridiculous fees that were unwarranted. Someone (I probably trusted) stealing good money and a phone from me. Anger burned under the surface, wanting to find just the right moment and spot to explode. 

This morning my dear friend reminded me that these are common things in South Africa. I must not allow anger and bitterness to consume me, or I will be swallowed whole like so many here. This is the way the enemy is at work in these parts, and I have to let it go. (Let it GOOOOO. Let it GOOOOO. There. It’s in your head for a week now. You’re welcome.) All of this was coming from someone who’s repeatedly been robbed, mugged, and treated unfairly by those who should’ve been safe. To witness her attitude completely put me in check. I can’t imagine all she’s been through. 

My entire morning and then some was spent in tire shops, trying not to impatiently tap my foot and make it obvious that I am not a fan of the pace with which things are done here. Can’t they see I was dressed in my dance gear and trying to squeeze Zumba in at the gym? What was their problem? I thought to myself how it will be such a comfort to be back in the states. And as soon as that thought entered my mind, something in me immediately said “Will it, though?!” I had a sinking feeling that little voice was very onto something. Something unsettling. I didn’t want to think about it, so I tried to get lost in my book. And ran smack into Kelly Minter describing the challenges of re-integration and reverse culture shock after spending time in the Amazon. Her beautiful and colorfully crafted words resonated so well that I believe she just may have taken a glance into my brain before writing them. 

Here I was, sitting in a tire shop, reading about what I will soon experience upon returning to the U.S.  A sweet woman sat down next to me and asked me where home is. ( A question I am asked daily because as soon as I speak I give myself away.) 

For some reason, I completely froze. I didn’t quite know how to answer her. Nothing I could have said to make it simple seemed right. I tried to maintain my calm composure as I slightly freaked out on the inside. Home. Well, do you mean the small Dutch community I was raised in? Haven’t lived there for a long time.  How about the mountains my grandparents were forest rangers in-where I hiked and explored every summer? Or the beautiful Oregon coast that hosted my Spiritual growth and taught me about unconditional love? Perhaps it’s the Santa Cruz redwoods and the small conference centre where I worked and lived nestled away- finding Jesus and myself among the canopy of those old beautiful giants? Maybe home is the safety, beauty, and serenity of my friends and their property in the Washington countryside. A place where I know I shall always find peace and be allowed to simply be. Or the big southern charm of Texas, where my tendency towards big hair, country music, cowboy boots, and serious women’s ministry is completely normal. So much of myself needs not be explained in the big city and big ministries among the southern heat.  Right now I’d say home feels a lot like South Africa. I’m used to the way things are here. And the various cultures, the beauty, the frustration, the visible scars that I see all over this place daily but love deeply none-the-less. The children and their un-briddled enthusiasm over the camp of a lifetime. The slower pace that life takes. The way my friends tell me I am considered “family status” and are always available and checking on me, making time for me, letting me share in meals and game nights and loving me well. The thought of “home” becomes suddenly quite overwhelming and lost to me all at the same time. And like Kelly describes in the book I’m reading, I will forever be missing all the paces I am not. Nowhere will ever feel complete to me again. And the gravity of a life lived with that fully begins to set in for the first time. When I am here I miss the states. When I’m in California I miss Africa and Texas. When I’m in Texas I miss Washington. It’s a puzzle. A puzzle of life in ministry and missions. I have only experienced a slice and I’m forever ruined for normalcy. This makes me even more amazed of my friends who’ve lived this for years. The puzzle is never solved outside of knowing my true home is waiting for me in eternity. Amidst the constantly feeling “out of place” with any group I’m around, I recognize the strange and unique blessing of living this way. Learning to love in all conditions. Extending mercy and grace especially when I may not feel like it. Especially when the people I most want to understand don’t. They can’t. 

As I contemplate these things, I simply say the the sweet woman sitting beside me: “Home is many places. I’ve been privileged.” Just then the car is ready, and I smile, knowing that when I get to the gym, the same songs that we dance to in Modesto and Texas will loudly fill a room filled with at least 4 cultures. Suddenly everything feels a little less big and shaky.  Sure, I have an interesting road to navigate from now on, but the little things like this make it all okay.