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.
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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 a good baleada again? How do I begin processing what I lived in Central America?
I'm overwhelmed with emotion beginning to find an answer to just one question.
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All I really want is to be a rooster. And not the ones that wake me up at 4:00am with their loud crowing. But:
I want to be like that rooster made of metal standing alert on one leg atop a pinnacled roof stopping between engagements looking and listening equipoised to move in the direction the breath of God next blows. (Thomas Ryan)
Freely moving wherever the Spirit leads me next, especially during this transition.
Maybe it's visiting Casa 3 for breakfast or going to the beach with Megan. Maybe it's the early morning sunrise runs or cutting fresh flowers for the kitchen table. Maybe it's a conversation with my favorite joven or chasing the littlest around the campo. Maybe it's an extra hour of prayer or a nap in the hammock.
Spirit lead me. Holy Spirit guide me as I move in your direction, and finally return home.
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