Please *don't* hold your applause

"Nothing is more important than to learn how to maintain a life of purpose in the midst of painful adversity." -Timothy Keller

Before we moved to Mexico, Alan and I read My Utmost for His Highest everyday. And every.single.day the words challenged us, moved us, and mostly freaked us out. The one in particular that hit me the hardest wasn't about being radical and selling everything you owned (which we mostly did), or moving to a foreign land (which we definitely did). No, it was that one that said, and I'm paraphrasing, what if the work you are called to do never gets recognized? What if you go unnoticed your entire life? Would you still do the work? My chest is getting tight just thinking about this.

I didn't read that one and shrug it off because affirmation is like oxygen to me. My survival without it is debatable.

There is a personality profile out there that uses animals as the different types: Dog, Beaver, Otter, Lion. I am a straight up Otter. I am direct, open, I love making people laugh; if it's not fun I don't understand why we're doing it; when I feel stressed I will attack and be sarcastic; and I really like recognition and applause. In fact, I've asked if Alan could please applaud me more around the house. I mean, it's my love language, after all.

Recognition and applause are not bad things. They indeed are beneficial to encouraging others and affirming their work. However, they can't be the only things that drive us to do good in the world. Because if that's all we've got going for us, if applause is our oxygen, we will slowly die inside when we are in seasons of receiving little to no affirmation or recognition. In the seasons where it seems like no one is rooting for you, it will be almost impossible to maintain a life of purpose.

This has been a tough "season" for us. Multiple times a week we are talked down to or laughed at because of our lack of spanish skills, even though we are trying so hard. Our spanish skills also limit us in how we can serve, thus our ideas, gifts, talents are sort of dormant in this season. Oh, we try to use them, but trust me when I say that no one is applauding.

I don't say all this out of feeling sorry for myself. No, I've moved past that. I don't feel sorry for myself because I know this is a season of character growth. And as painful as it can be sometimes, I really am grateful for it. And the truth is, the greatest challenge has been this: even when no one around me is applauding or doling out affirmation, am I still willing to serve the God who called me here? Am I still willing to be present and faithfully serve as I said I would? Am I okay with doing work that goes unnoticed?

We were reminded a few times this week to keep Jesus the focus. No matter what else is going on around us, no matter how much our pride is being painfully chiseled away day by day, no matter how unnoticed we feel, we can still choose to keep Jesus as our focus.

Keeping Jesus as the focus looks like praying for our enemies (those who "rub us the wrong way").
Keeping Jesus as the focus looks like doing the dirty work, especially the unnoticed dirty work.
Keeping Jesus as the focus looks like daily expressing gratitude.
Keeping Jesus as the focus looks like blessing those who hurt us.
Keeping Jesus as the focus looks like finding our value in who we are and not what we do.

And if we can do that, if we can keep our focus on the One who formed us and knows us and loves us, then in the face of adversity, in seasons that are so hard and feel like they will never end, we can maintain our sense of purpose, stay present, and faithfully serve the God who called us here.

-M

Ps. If you're in a similar season, I would like to affirm your awesomeness. And for the record, as I'm affirming your awesomeness, I'm applauding you. Because sometimes we all just need a good round of applause.

What I hope for my kids

Moving to Mexico 13 months ago was not a quick decision, nor was it easy. It was 18 months from the time we thought about moving until we actually moved and it included several trips to Mexico to check things out, selling our house, quitting our jobs, and 6 months of fundraising.  Our kids were just 1 and 3 years old when it all began. Now they are almost 4 and 6. Time goes fast. So fast.

And yet at times, it goes s...o...o...o... s....l...o...w. Like when we first arrived, those first 5 days seemed like forever. Now that we've been here for almost 400 days, 5 days seems like a drop in the bucket, like who can't survive for 5 days?! But during that time, it truly felt more like 5 months, not days. Our stove didn't work, we didn't have a washer or dryer, the Internet wasn't hooked up yet, and oh yeah, we found out that we really sucked at Spanish and didn't know where anything was. We also only had received 30% of our support that first month which barely covered rent and the ingredients to make quesadillas 3 times a day.

The hardest part of adjusting wasn't eating quesadillas for every meal, believe it or not. It was watching my kids transition. I can say now, 13 months out, that they are CHAMPS, but at the time, in those first few months, I didn't know. I didn't know if they would ever be my sweet kids who laughed and loved life, again. They cried about everything, they were angry about everything, they were frustrated by everything, they were hitting their classmates, and they hated Spanish--speaking it and hearing it. They wouldn't go to their class at church, they cried every morning before school, they came home with incomplete work everyday, and Olive spent more time in the principal's office and the infirmary than she did in her classroom.

I was sure we made a really big mistake moving here. I was sure we screwed up our kids for good.

I cried almost everyday because I missed my kids. I missed their smiles, their free spirits, their ability to be a good friend. I felt so unprepared and so inadequate to deal with this transition and I just knew that my kids would resent me for it. I wanted to pack up and go home and tell our kids that we don't have to do this. That it's not worth it. But it turns out that the fighting spirit I always got in trouble for as a kid comes in handy as an adult and apparently my kids inherited the same trait. Having a fighting spirit doesn't mean it was easy--it means that we just kept showing up, even when it was really hard, and eventually we all learned how to live here, 2500 miles away from all things familiar.

Many people have told us that this experience, if nothing else, would be amazing for our kids. Man, I hope that's true. I hope my kids look back at the time spent living here with fond memories and appreciation for exposure to another culture. There's a chance they won't ever do that or that they won't have those feelings for another 20 years. But whatever happens, here is what I hope for my kids:

I hope they remember the unusual amount of time we spent together as a family everyday. Someday this won't be our normal. We'll go back to the working world, they'll have extracurricular activities and want to spend time with their friends and they will grow out of wanting to play with Mom and Dad. I hope they remember all the times we spent playing hair salon and restaurant, the dance parties, and the hundreds of times we played school immediately after they returned from real school, which they allegedly did not like. I hope this instills in them that they were seen, heard, valued, and loved.

I hope they remember that not only is it possible to live with less, it's better. I hope they will have learned to be content in any situation. I hope they continue to use their creativity, not just to entertain themselves, but to add their small piece to this world. I hope they remember that most of the world lives on very little and yet is exponentially happier; I hope they remember that things are just things and they should never trump our relationships; I hope they remember that it's not just our broken and unused things that we give away, but true generosity involves a level of sacrifice, and sometimes that means our favorite toy or clothes. I hope they remember how exciting a cardboard box can be.

I hope they realize that they can do hard things because not only did they watch their mom and dad do hard things, like learn a new language in their 30s or try to order a dumb pizza in Spanish, but they did them too. They went to school even when they were left out because the kids didn't understand them. They began speaking spanish even when they made lots of mistakes. They went into their class at church without Mommy even when they felt nervous because the teacher didn't speak English. I hope they will have learned that being brave doesn't mean they won't feel the butterflies in their tummies or they won't want to throw up in their mouth right before doing something new or hard--but that being brave means they will do it anyway.

I hope they remember that loving God means loving people. And loving people doesn't look like talking about it, but it looks like doing something about it. I hope they remember that "serving God" isn't at the expense of serving their family. I hope they remember Love never looks glamorous, but that it looks more like building something really amazing, really slowly, with a lot of dirt involved. I hope they will have learned that loving people means offering grace, even when we are not privileged to know their story. I hope they will have learned that they are being passionately pursued by a loving God who doesn't care if they ever move across the world to "serve" him but that he cares about them, as is, no strings attached.

Most of all, I hope they realize that we are just two people who are doing the best we can not to screw them up completely, and that we didn't have to apply for any type of clearance to become parents--that more paperwork and scrutiny is required to become a member at Costco than it it is to have a baby and then to raise that baby. And if they forget all of the above, I hope they remember this: seriously, stop eating your scabs. Nothing good can come of that.

Boundaries are our friends!

One of my favorite things to do is to sit for hours and hours with a friend and have a meaningful conversation about any and all aspects of life. Usually, my kids end up tattooing their entire bodies with markers or they decide to put their bathing suits on and play "beach" in the shower where they subsequently use every last drop of the shampoo, while I'm having these meaningful conversations in my livingroom. To me, it's a win-win. They get to have fun while I get to have fun.

I have a handful of friends who I talk to about all the deep things in life, like my dreams for the future, my struggles as a mom and wife, my shortcomings, my fears. Then I have several handfuls where I talk about my life more generally, including things like birthing stories and parenting challenges and cool things on Pinterest. Then I have several handfuls where I talk about The Kardashians and the weather.

This is called boundaries.

I really like people; I really like to talk; I really like to listen and ask questions; I really, really like honesty. This can be awesome, but it can also be a formula for disastrous relationships. I used to consider any person I ever hung out with a "close friend". They were on my invite list to parties and I thought I should be on their invite list to major life events, like weddings and baby showers. Turns out, that's sort of weird of me to operate that way, and it's not healthy. Friendships take time to develop, and they should do so slowly. And there should really be only a handful of the really close ones.

Now, I work on deepening my closest friendships by being vulnerable, loyal, and on their team. I deepen my other close friendships using the same values, but I just put the boundary at a different place. And it's the same for casual friends--I'm still honest and loyal, but the limit of what I share is different. Not because I'm trying to be deceptive, but because I'm protecting myself in the process. The verse in the Bible where it talks about casting pearls before swine being unwise never made sense to me until like 3 years ago, mainly because I didn't understand that not everyone was my BFF. Now that I know about limits and boundaries, I totally get the point of not casting my pearls before swine. My innermost thoughts, dreams, and fears are precious and fragile, just like pearls, and there are only some who can care for them properly, and those are the people who are safe.

Since the general public was invited to join Facebook a few years ago, it's been a love/hate relationship for most people. I hear it all the time, and have even felt it myself--Facebook creates discontentment, comparison, depression, etc, and it's NOT real. I understand all these sentiments, and I agree it can cause these feelings, but I would argue that it's not Facebook's fault--it's User Error.

Since most of us using Facebook grew up without the Internet, we didn't grow up learning how to navigate a social network. I first learned of the Internet in 10th grade in high school and was so confused about what it actually was. For 2 years I thought the Internet was Dogpile, a search engine that was the only one approved for use in our school. This might be why I still have a hard time Googling effectively...

It's no surprise that those of us near/over 30 years old find Facebook repulsive and alluring at the same time. It's no surprise that we want it to be real life--we've lived through high school and maybe college and we're done with the game of comparison. But I would argue that Facebook can be beneficial and not a source of depression or comparison, but it's up to you and me to create boundaries. Or in Facebook terms, it's up to us to know how to use our Privacy Settings. This isn't a catchy metaphor--I'm seriously talking about the real privacy settings. Use them.

Facebook is always, always, always going to be everyone's best moments. At least, I hope that's what it is. There's nothing worse than getting on and reading a bunch of Debbie Downer status updates. I don't want to know that you hate your husband, via Facebook. I don't want to know that you think this world is going to Hell in a hand-basket because someone said Happy Holidays to you at Target. I don't want to see photos of your emergency appendectomy healing process.

I can't control you, or what you post. But I can control what I read and how often I read it.

I have pretty rigid guidelines of who is in my newsfeed--if you're mean, you're out. If you're over 75 and posting provocative selfies--you're out. If you only post controversial issues--you're out. If you are a Debbie Downer, you're out. And if God forbid you ever mention that you lost your baby weight without even trying and how funny is that, lol, omg--you.are.for.sure.out.

This might seem harsh, but it's not much different than setting boundaries in real life. I choose who I spend time with in my real life, thus I will do it in my Facebook life. But with Facebook, I am more strict because it's a one-sided conversation. You and I can post whatever we want and we never have to see the other person's face, we never have to experience their reaction in person, and therefore we don't have to exercise empathy. So because I can't really know your motive behind what you're posting, I do what I do and create boundaries.

Look--life is hard for all us whether you know about it or not. Chances are, you're not going to know if someone's marriage is falling apart or if someone is financially in trouble or if someone loathes her body and would rather die than be fat, via Facebook. And you shouldn't know that. Those are pearls and they are not meant for sharing with the world. So consider it a good thing, a healthy thing that you don't know this information about most people on your Friend list. Because if they are taking it to Facebook, they are in worse shape than it appears.

I want to see the cute pictures of kids, the funny pictures of cats. I want to hear your thoughts and opinions (in a non-bully sort of way). I want to ask for advice and give advice when it's summoned. I want to see pictures of your growing baby bump, your new dog, and the Pinterest projects you're doing. Okay, really, I'd like to see the Pinterest fails, but whatever. I'll take both.

I have come to mostly love Facebook. It has been a source of sanity while living 2500 miles away from those I love the most, other than my sweet little family that I actually live with. I don't want any of you to stop using it because I love seeing all your amazing moments. I want to celebrate with you! Life is hard and if you get to experience something amazing and you want to share it, I want to cheer you on! And if I can't cheer you on, it's my issue to deal with, and one way to deal with it, is to set up boundaries. Say it with me, "Boundaries are our friends."

Three cheers for more cat pictures and Pinterest fails!!!

-M

Thugs & Pimps & Bros & (S)Hoes

**Since writing this, a friend brought up a really good point. She was saying how she doesn't like this shirt because the word Hoe is derogatory and offensive and no one would want to be referred to as such. I agree and I'm sorry if this post was offensive. So we added an "S" to Alan's shirt and it now reads "thugs & pimps & bros & shoes." Much better.**

Guys, I'm not super gangsta. Oh wait, you knew that? I see. Well, a lot times people assume all missionaries are gangsta. That's actually not true. No one thinks that. But what they might think is that missionaries know how to love people really well. I'd like to go ahead and unpack that myth for you.

I'm learning how to love others, even while they're in their darkest moment, but it's definitely not my strength. And by learning, I mean that if love were on a scale of 1-100, I'm at like a 7.5. I have a really, really long way to go. I want to run and go find someone else who is a lot kinder than me, a lot braver than me, to go and love people. Let me find someone to whom it comes naturally, because for me, it's hard work. It's so much easier to draw a line in the sand and stay on the safe side. It's easier just to shout "truth" at others, to form all my opinions about right and wrong, rather than walk across the line and be quiet with them and love them in their darkest moment.

But here's the problem: I love Jesus. It seriously is problematic, especially when I want to live a cozy, Pinterest-inspired life. Based on the fact that Jesus was homeless, I'm pretty sure he doesn't give a frick if my house is decorated well. Bummer. I love the way Jesus loved people! I want to give him a high-five for it and tell him how inspiring it is and then let other people try to love like He did. Because I know me. I know how impatient, selfish, and judgmental I am. And I know how much it hurts to love. How there are no guarantees--that just because I show someone love, they'll show me love in return or they'll make better choices. There's just no guarantee and that sucks.

"They are precious in His sight"

A few weeks ago we threw another Block Party of Love, this time right in the middle of the redlight district. We were legit in the middle of the buying and selling of sex; in the middle of injustice. Our goal for that night was to share God's love with everyone--pimps, johns, prostitutes, and anyone else who happened to be on the street that night. We set up right in front of a super shady hotel, which was a hole-in-the-wall kind of place. There was a bright light in the entry way and that's pretty much it. No sign. No door. And all night long, there was a group of men standing in front of the hotel, just watching. They couldn't afford to buy a prostitute, so they just got jollies from watching them come and go. My heart hurt. Ached. And then, I got angry. Any talk of showing love was gone--I couldn't. I was so mad, so frustrated, so sad, so desperate for something to change. I couldn't stop watching that hotel door either. I watched for over an hour, as men took prostitutes in, one after the other. The men were all smiles, and the girls were covered in shame. I saw it over and over and over. And my heart couldn't stand it. I simply checked out of our Party of Love and felt hopeless.

When I got home, Alan asked me how it went and I just cried. And the next morning, I cried more. And then during church, I cried again. I wish I was a lot cooler about this kind of stuff. Like I could show up, love people, leave, and feel awesome. But apparently I'm not that cool. I showed up, I was highly disturbed, I couldn't engage in the manicures because I was mad about the fact that once the manicure was over--once their 15 minutes of being served and loved through an act of kindness was over--they were going to be bought for sex, most likely using those very hands we just washed, and I definitely wasn't feeling any love towards the pimps or johns. See? This is why I have a really really long way to go in loving others in their darkest moments. But it's a twisted Gospel to believe that love is only for certain people, that love is only for those who love us in return, and that we show love when it's convenient for us.

I don't know. I just keep thinking about how Jesus came to me, loved me, and continues to love me, in my ugliest, darkest moments. I keep thinking about how I love Jesus and how I want others to experience this love, too. And so I keep showing up, even when it's inconvenient, especially when it's uncomfortable, and trying my best to channel my inner-Jesus-love. And the more I do that, the more I realize it's not about me at all--I will never save the world. In fact, I will never change one person. Love--the unconditional Jesus kind of love-- is what brings hope to the hopeless, freedom to the enslaved, peace to the anxious, and change to the most hardened of hearts. I am choosing love.

-M

Seasons

I've been thinking a lot about how life is one long strand of different seasons. And this can be a refreshing thought, if you're in a rough season, or a scary thought, if you're smooth sailing right now. It always makes me laugh to think how resistant we are to the changing of seasons instead of accepting that this is what life is. Life is change.

Pretend these are the horses I'm wrangling.

As we begin the second year of our 2-year commitment to be in Mexico, of course we are thinking about what's next for our family. After experiencing so much transition for the last 2 1/2 years since we started the process of moving to Mexico, all I want to do is move to Idaho and live on a farm, drink coffee on the front porch with Alan, homeschool my kids, and live off the land. I am 99% sure this might be a knee-jerk reaction to living in a slightly crowded, busy, farm-less city, but there's a chance I'll be wrangling horses and saying farmer things like 'Yee-haw' and 'Woah Nellie' in the near future.

Moving to Mexico was a dream of both Alan and I. We both felt peace about coming, we both felt a passion to fight human-trafficking, and both had a desire to come and serve in whatever way was needed. What I'm not sure we were prepared for was that reality of me being the one working while Alan took care of things at home. We pretty much had an entire role reversal and with that, small identity crises. And in the last few weeks, I've been having a hard time with these roles, because in the deepest part of me, not only do I want to be home with my kids, baking muffins, breaking up squabbles, talking about school, and occasionally giving them a bath, in the near future, we want to adopt children. And that's when Alan reminded me that it's a season. And then I reminded myself of that one post about being content. Whatever.

We are in a season of serving, learning, depending, learning, trusting, and lastly, i don't want to leave this one out--learning. It is strange because it is simultaneously so good and so hard. Similar to parenting or marriage--it's not easy breezy but with hard work, it's so rewarding and fulfilling.

And the real gift is being able to remain present in the current season while planning and dreaming for the next. When I'm single and long to be married, I relish in my independence and seemingly endless opportunities. When I'm married and longing for children, I enjoy the every-night-date-nights, sleeping in, and rational conversations with adults that don't include things like "please don't eat your poop." When I have young children and long for them to grow independent, I cherish the endless cuddles and I-love-yous, the innocent questions, and the uninhibited, carefree fashion sense that includes things like helmets, bee antennae, and only one pig-tail.

And so it is now--I remain present in my current season of seeing the beauty that rises from ashes as rescued girls are experiencing healing and restoration and life; I enjoy this time of Alan running errands and doing the finances because truthfully, it's a nice break; and I cling to all the character growth that comes from living in a foreign country and trying to make sense of life everyday.

We talk almost everyday about what the future might hold. Obviously, we don't know and so much can change in one year. Our desire is to always remain open to possibilities and to continue asking God, through prayer, to guide our next step. And to remember that life is made up of ever-changing seasons that deserve our full attention and participation.

Reflections at the halfway mark

In a week it will be one year ago that we moved our family over 2500 miles from farm country to the second largest city in the world. In some ways it seems like we just arrived to our barely furnished apartment, trying to survive on our infantile spanish vocabulary. And in other ways, those days seem so far away--our apartment feels like home and we now have at least a preschooler's vocabulary. We came wanting to make a big difference in the world of human trafficking; instead, I feel like huge differences were made in us rather than by us.

As I reflect on this last year, the main thing I feel is gratefulness. I'm grateful for God's loving-kindness in one of the hardest transitions we've ever made together as a family. One of the biggest lessons I've learned is the freedom found in having your hands tied. 

I struggled with anxiety for more than half my life. 16 years, to be sort-of exact. One way I coped was white-knuckling everything in my life, thinking that if I controlled it, my anxiety would lessen. This has proven to be untrue. In fact, my anxiety has lessened since having to let go of pretty much any control I ever thought I had. 

Super-easy-to-understand Triangle of Life

Mexico has earthquakes. A lot of them. I've felt three since living here in the last year, but many more have happened--I just haven't felt them. We live on the third floor of our apartment building. All the earthquakes I've felt have woken me up from sleeping. I am usually really confused because my first thought is that Alan is just moving around a lot and then I'm annoyed. When I finally realize it's the earth moving and not my husband, I jump out of bed to run to my kids. Well, that's not true. Usually I elbow Alan to wake him up so he can get one of the kids. The problem is, since I have only lived in Pennsylvania, I have no idea really what to do in this situation. We can't evacuate--it's not safe to be in the stairwell. The "Triangle of Life" has something to do with finding a triangular space that will keep you safe, but considering how long it took me to realize it was an earthquake and not just Alan suffering from RLS, the chances of me digging up my geometry skills and successfully finding a triangular space are pretty slim. Basically, besides finding a triangle, we don't have lots of options. And so I hold one of our kids in my arms and pray. Hard.

Besides geometry problems, my previous life of eating only organic, local, and natural foods has been pretty much flipped upside down. One-stop-shopping isn't very common here. We go to market for fruits, veggies, fresh cut bacon, eggs, tortillas, and bulk grains; we go to the grocery store for things like peanut butter, cereal, and milk; we go the "health store" for quinoa and bread, which is pretty much all we can afford there; and we go to Costco for yellow lemons, coconut oil, and frozen pot-stickers. It's not easy to fill the pantry and fridge, and even when we do, it's many times not with foods I would've fed my family a year ago. And even more maddening is that foods don't have to have an ingredient label. My kids now eat Cheetos, Oreos, and Jello and have candy more days than I would like to admit. I could've white-knuckled it and not allowed my kids to partake in eating the candy at birthday parties (which occur on a bi-weekly basis); I could've sent my kids to school without any treats while every other kid ate their Cheetos and Jello; I could've told the kind people who babysat my kids that they weren't allowed to take my kids to KFC. But at some point, I had to resign.  The stress I was experiencing about food would kill me before any food I ever ate. I have learned to do the best I can with what I have. I am convinced that quality of life (emotional and spiritual) are much better predictors of future health than food alone. Maybe that's denial, but I'm okay with that.

And finally, living on support (donations made to us by hard-working people) has proven to remove any sense of control I thought I had on our security. When money is tight, I can't just work more hours or pick up a part time job. We literally live on the kindness of others and that, my friends, cannot be controlled by me. And so each month we thank God for every penny that comes in, knowing that it is undeserved and at a very basic level, unearned, meaning our man-hours do not directly relate to our income. And the months when the amount we receive doesn't match the amount we need, we trust that God will meet every need. And instead of figuring out how to get more money, we pray for resourcefulness, contentment, and most of all, peace. We are literally learning what it means to "let go and let God", for reals.

I actually feel lighter--not physically because eating corn tortillas everyday doesn't help anyone's figure--but emotionally. And though I still get anxious now and then, I don't live in it. Not having options, having my hands tied, has given me the freedom to let go and enjoy life in a new way, and I'm so grateful.

First world problems in a developing nation

It's been a little hard getting back into the routine here. For the month of July, we were in the States, speaking english, driving on empty roads (222 traffic? Piece.of.cake.), playing in wide open spaces, and spending time with people who know us well. It was pretty magical. Now we are back to our reality--speaking spanish, driving on the-opposite-of-empty-roads, playing on bricks, and continuing to work on not offending everyone we speak to, just by simply being us.

I was feeling sorry for myself, for my kids especially, for a few weeks. I know--that's a really long pity party. I was sad that they didn't have any outdoor toys to play with; I was sad that making friends was so dang hard because of the language; I was sad that Olive was missing the "First day of Kindergarten/Riding the Bus" milestone that all my best-friends' kids were celebrating and that she'll never get to have; I was sad that my spanish regressed--a lot; I was sad that I couldn't talk to the sweet old lady on the bus because it just takes that much effort to formulate educated thoughts; I was sad that our dream is to adopt children and I just can't see how that is possible living on a tourist visa in another country, on other peoples' money. You get it right? I'm not saying all of these emotions aren't valid, because they are. But when I wallow in them, it's time for someone to smack me in the forehead and remind me these are first world problems in a developing nation and I have so much to be grateful for. Do you know another first world problem I encounter everyday? Watermelon with seeds. It's maddening.

And somewhere in the midst of this, I was reminded through a figurative smack on the forehead, of the value of practicing gratitude and being content in all circumstances. No, my kids don't have any toys to play with outside, but they have dirt to dig in to search for snails. How cool is that?! Making friends is hard, but we're doing it, and we have so many friends in our life here, in Mexico, that have shown us so much kindness, grace, and love. Olive has no idea she missed this milestone of Kindergarten--I'm pretty sure she is fine. My spanish is improving at the same rate that my pride is being diminished and soon I will be able to chat with the sweet old ladies that sit beside me on the bus. As for adopting, miracles happen. I've not only seen them, I've experienced them.

Check out these snails!

And as I chatted with at least 3 different friends in the US, at separate times, I was sharing how I was feeling discontent--I wanted to just move back and feel comfortable again--they all expressed how they wished they were here, in my shoes! And the light went on that discontentment creeps in anywhere, so easily, and it is such a killjoy. When I'm here, I want to be there; when I have this, I still want that; when things change, I want stability and when things are stable for too long, I want change. Ahhhhh! This is the perfect way to paralyze a life and make it useless.

I started mentally listing things I was thankful for and then as I was on the bus or walking somewhere, I would go through the list and just thank God for all of it. And as I list all that I am thankful for, I can't believe that I ever felt sorry for myself. In fact, I almost feel shameful. But then I remember that shame is a killjoy too, so that's not allowed. (Another killjoy? Candy Crush Saga. Don't. Just don't.) As I type this my heart is literally pounding when I think of every single thing there is to be thankful for because it so overwhelming.

So with that, life is crazy. Sometimes it's crazy-good and sometimes it's crazy-hard. Sometimes it's crazy-funny and sometimes it's crazy-boring. This is life and I want to be present in all of it, always with a heart of gratitude.

This makes me laugh. Hard.