Like we meant it

I've had a little too much Ecuador today.

For my adolescent lit class, I wrote an original story for young adults based on my experiences as a missionary kid and then had to present it this morning. 

For public comm, I gave a speech on the reality of missionary kids.

Am I exploiting my background? Where is the line between using your experiences to fuel your creativity and taking advantage of your unique youth to make your life seem more interesting?

Added to all of this is a homesickness that is becoming more and more acute as the days go by. I need my home, my bed, my cuisine, my country? Yes. I need my country, and whatever memories may go along with that.

We find strength to face the day

Disappointment is a part of life, especially when you're made of hope down to your very core. 

Disappointment is people not living up to your expectations of who you want them to be, who you need them to be. Disappointment is never getting to fulfill your lifelong desires. Disappointment is losing. Disappointment is not being good enough. Disappointment is drowning.

Since it's Easter, I feel like I should tie in Jesus somehow, but you know what? Even good Christians feel disappointed sometimes.

Tangible Evidence

Don't act so surprised, please, when
I know you've been waiting for this
day to come. The difference is that
I'm not 15 anymore, and the things
that marked my uniqueness back
then might be useless today. I'm not
the same innocent, wide-brown-eyed
girl I was, but I still can't look at
pictures without memorizing the
features on your face because it's only
the first time I've had tangible evidence
that you were a part of my life, a
touchable part of my life, at some point.
I'm still stuck with confusion eking out
of my every pore and I still want to know
what your face looks like [in person]
today. If it's the last thing I do, I'll take
my own picture of you, with face maybe
drifting closer to mine and fingertips
back where they belong from the times
of bustrips and cardgames and youth.