I’m afraid I don’t have time to make this final post written in the states an eloquent one, but I wanted to throw down the random thoughts that keep surfacing on my heart (bear with me through the rocky transitions).
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I’m at a full on sprint toward Honduras. Nothing is stopping me. I’m rolling into this like the giant snowball in that childhood book that caught everything in its path (does anyone else remember this?).
I’m excited. And nervous. But mostly afraid I won’t be able to handle my 70 pound suitcase and stuffed backpack (I want to bring so many books with me) once I actually hit the ground in Guatemala.
Despite these trepidations, I am confident it will work out. My anticipation has bubbled up and I’m just ready to go out and live this experience fully, intentionally and with great purpose.
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I feel like I could sleep for 48 hours straight (my brain could probably use the rest). I’ve been emotionally stretched and physically drained. Not that it hasn’t been good, filling, or helped me feel whole, but a lot has happened from leaving Boston to stepping foot back in Mount Carroll.
My goodbyes are complete, I’m crying less (probably because I started taking sleeping pills to help me rest), and I’ve been reminded in the smallest signs of my call to the Finca. Although I feel (lovingly) pulled in many directions, this is my journey for a reason (one I am quite eager to discover).
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Sign #1. My brother and his too-good-for-him girlfriend Anna recently came back from a European adventure. Rome was the last stop on their journey and Marcus had been gush-messaging me about how spiritually potent the magical city was.
The night he was back in Mount Carroll I was out with my childhood girlfriends so he left a small gift on my bed that he’d picked up from their travels.
I opened the dainty box and staring back at me was an image of a saint on a small metal Rosary box and inside beautiful, dainty, rose-pink Rosary beads. I was really tired, cried a little over how loved I felt and went to bed.
The next morning I picked up the metal box and took a closer look at the image. I realized (after some google searching) it was Saint Therese of Lisieux. My heart soared. She's the special patroness of missionaries and of the Finca!
Marcus would never have known to pick that special box (when I asked him, he explained that he thought it was Mary). I am certain it was a little hug from God, encouragement from Saint Therese (who is undoubtedly watching over me) that this is exactly what I need to be doing.
Sign #2. I went to Mass with my mom on Saturday and as we were exiting the church she stops, gasps and points at a (fairly) new statue in the corner.
We went over to investigate and sure enough it was Saint Therese. I looked at my mom, gaping, “Please pray to her. I know she’s going to be carrying me through this journey.”
Sign #3. “Vaya con Dios,” he said to me as he went to open my car door.
“Go with God?” I asked puzzled wondering where he pulled that phrase and why he was speaking Spanish.
“Oh, is that what that means? I just read it on the park bench we passed.”
“WHAT.” I ran back to get a good look for myself. Sure enough it read, Vaya con Dios.
“I guess that is sort of fitting.”
I grinned, “Ya think?!”
Climbing into the front seat I quietly said a quick prayer to St. Therese and thanked her for these final nudges, hugs and assurances from God, that she, a strong, courageous, bold patroness, will be walking with me arm in arm all the way to Honduras.
She’s absolutely got me.
St. Therese, pray for me.
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I’ve been overwhelmed with the amount of support I’ve received. I have never experienced such a smothering of care, attention, excitement, generosity.
People are truly attracted to goodness; to people who seek to do good unto others, who are courageous in their leaps of faith. It’s contagious. I’ve been brought to tears at the ways I’ve been encouraged in this decision to be a missionary. I’ve cried (literally) with neighbors, received (extremely) large checks from strangers, shared special moments with my closest friends who’ve forced me to slow down (even if this means putting their hands on my shoulders, looking into my eyes and reminding me of the enormous thing I’m about to do).
When I committed to mission work I knew it was a big deal, but I didn’t realize the direct effect it would have on my greater community.
Someone recently told me I have a special gift of bringing people together (rolling my eyes as I type this), helping others feel greater than themselves. But I think in a sense it’s true. Especially in these past few months I’ve been given the opportunity to bask in hugs and sendings off, and that’s letting them be a part of this journey.
It took me all the way up until my final days, but I finally understand that what I’m doing is way bigger than the details going to Honduras for 16 months, learning, growing and coming back a better version of myself. My community has invested in me. Their time, energy, money, advice. So many have poured themselves into being present, crying with and for me, attempting to express and squeeze in the right parting words.
I may be responsible for what’s ahead, but the people who’ve rallied around me are the ones who’ve actually gotten me here. It’s a part of their story, too.
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I want to be sure to do a quick thank you to my major supporters.
To my friends on the east coast (you know who you are). You made my move back home smoother and easier than I could’ve ever asked. Thank you for carrying me through one of my hardest life transitions. I owe you everything.
Chanel and Laur, my rocks. I keep replaying my goodbyes with you over and over in my head. It broke my heart to walk away from both of you. Thank you for being my sounding board for 3 years. Thank you for loving me exactly as I am. I feel so blessed to be counted as your friend.
Anne and Dennis. I still have your house key, and you better believe I’ll be using it soon. Thank you for your warmth, friendship, and joy. I love you so deeply.
To my high school pals and everyone I accidentally ran into in this small town. Please know how grateful I am for your encouragement. I have been overwhelmed with the excitement seeping from every corner of Mount Carroll. You are my roots, where I made my first discoveries, and hearing your cheers means everything to me. Thank you for lifting me up.
Levi (yes, you get a shoutout). You have been such a light for me. In the midst of my chaos, you’ve found more ways to make me laugh, feel and enjoy this time in a way I wouldn’t have without you. Thank you for your patience and steady confidence. I’m anticipating everything that’s ahead for us, especially that cup of coffee upon my return.
Maria (and Trevor). You understand me to my core. Our childhoods will always be intertwined, and it warms my heart to know we’re still growing up together. I am so grateful for your love. Thank you for being my home wherever you go.
My Nellie and sweet Theresa. You’ve both helped me through this transition in a special way only my closest smicks can. Thank you for grounding me in love, faith, trust that I’m on my way. I confidently step forward in this knowing I have you two to always fall back on. Thank you for meeting me where I’m at, doing everything you can (at this busy season in life) to take time to nurture our friendship. I love you both an awful lot.
To my family. Thank you for your cards, letters, texts, phone calls. For overflowing my heart with your love. I am so proud to be your niece, goddaughter, granddaughter, cousin, friend. Thank you for always going the distance to show me you care.
Mom, dad, and Marcus. Being home, starting this adventure with a reset in Mount Carroll is the best thing I could’ve done for myself. Thank you for the quirky ways you’ve supported me in this, for always being my homebase, and for loving me through it all. I miss our regular conversations already.
Meg. My light. My sunshine. My rock in literally everything I endure. My heart breaks to know I can’t gush to you daily about everything I will soon experience in Central America. Thank you for talking me off every ledge, for leading me deeper into understanding this fiat, for being my better half (sorry Jon), and for showing me over and over how much I mean to you. You are my very best friend. I will miss you every. Single. Day.
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That’s a wrap! You’ll hear from me in Guatemala, hopefully with more knowledge of Spanish!
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