The tall 14-year-old boy strutted over to me with his typical eye-twinkle and smile. Soaking wet from the beach and giggling about the whimpy corn Ryan was trying to grow in our front yard, he wrapped me into a hug. In this small gesture, I knew he was acknowledging that he sees me, thinks I'm pretty cool, and wants only good for my little heart. It may sound like I'm reading into a goofy teenager hug, but I believe otherwise. ----------------- It's beginning. I'm entering a new season in my time as missionary. The season of hand-offs, conclusions, and a final adios. It's been a strong tug-a-war feeling in my heart: emotionally preparing for my return home and treasuring my remaining days. Questions continue to flood my heart: How will I adjust to living back in the United States - and in the midst of global pandemia? Moving back in with my parents? Using a washing machine? The cold? What does continuing relationships at the finca look like? Will I ever eat...
Just a young woman navigating the way of the world one prayer at a time.