this is forty days. 

People measure success differently. I tend to be relatively goal oriented; losing weight, going gluten free, bible time, and being a missionary all seem to fit into this category. The first two weeks I was here when I had hit my “oh shit, that have I done” wall, and I knew I was not going home with my mom, I needed something to reach. Something smaller than a year or five months. Something I could grasp. After hearing a devotion on Jesus’ forty days in the desert, I decided I had to last in Medellin for forty days. And it was achieveable. I am still here. 

So what now? What happens after forty days? Well, I’m not exactly sure. February 14th will be a month in a half. And right now, I think I’ll survive to May. I still have shitty days. But I had those in the states, too. These shitty days I just don’t have the comforts that I had in the states; I have my savior. Maybe that is why I am here. Maybe I’m being stripped and emptied so that I can love Abba Father more intensely, so that I chase Him with more passion, more intensity. Maybe so I automatically cry out to Jesus first, that I reply solely upon He who is the Lord Almighty. So I guess my answer to “what now” is that I’m going to stick it out. Are things here perfect, far from it! My soul is in a regular and sometimes very uncomfortable toil. My life doesn’t really look at all how it used to. The only same things are me and Yahweh. Yes, I still miss my Jeni’s ice cream and my mom and my brothers and my coffee shop and my friends. But there is something here that God has for me, and so I’m waiting. I may never know what that is, but I was told to be here, so I’m here and I’m just going to keep being here for a while.

I think we (mostly I in this scenario) have this idea that when God calls us it is going to be easy-peasy-lemon-squeezy. There’s this thought that obeying the call is simple. Maybe simple in the idea of yes vs. no, but no. Look at Jonah, even after he had been spit out by a whale and followed the call, his soul was still in toil. He was not in a happy place. I’m not in a place where I regret this. Or where I don’t like the people of Colombia (I mostly adore them, there are some touch cultural things, but I love them). I’m not angry at God (anymore, I was for a few weeks). I am in this waiting. Waiting and serving. I guarantee I’m not just sitting idly. I’m pursuing the people here with the love that Elohim has filled my heart with. I aim to give all of my love to these children of God. And in the time I am pouring, I am hopeful for my King to soften and melt hearts. I am hopeful for my Savior to give me Spanish and smash language barriers. I am hopeful that I am a vessel. Sometimes holding babies feels so insignificant, but I figure I’m not here for no reason. 

So this is forty days. It looks like forty days says “this is uncomfortable and hard but now there’s no point in stopping.” My sweetest tiny looks for me when I’m not in sala cuna. She knows my voice. So maybe holding babies is important. I certainly enjoy it. Forty days looks like “maybe I wasn’t intended to be here for a year, but I will be here until May, until I shouldn’t be here anymore”. Cutting my ministry in time was embarrassing. I didn’t want the world to look at mean and call me a failure for not being able to make it a year,  but more than that it filled my spirit with a peace that I can only label as the peace of Jesus. 

So that’s forty days. Today is forty days. Tomorrow is forty one and so on. I’m here. 
The End.

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