I am discovering something about myself, that I have subconsciously known for years…I am not meant to live here. By here I mean physically here in New Jersey, America, comfort, and stability. I feel uncomfortable. I feel discontentment everywhere I go because at the back of my mind I remember other places I have seen. I remember the dump in Honduras. I remember the naked poor lining streets of La Ceiba. I remember not showering for 8 days because there was no running water. I remember.
As I remember the various trips I have been on over the past nine years, I realize something crucial for my life. I love being uncomfortable and living among the poor. I love the feeling of making sandwiches for the beggar. I love the heat that makes my pores sweat more than ever before while I am carrying stuff for a villager. I love knowing my life had purpose there. I actually enjoy eating food that I can’t identify. Whereas here, I am lost. I feel like I am a foreigner in America sometimes because often I just feel like I’m not meant to be here.
I know God has me where I am for a reason- no doubt in my mind. Yet at the same time, I feel this beckoning to leave. My heart beats elsewhere. My passions live elsewhere. I am not sure if I meant to be a lifelong traveler abroad to the unreached and poor or if it is temporary, short-term solution to this consistent heartache. I wish I could really discern what is going on in my heart and mind with what God wants me to do. I am stuck in this place of uncertainty, slowing feeling the ache rise back in my heart for more. For now, all I can do is remember what I’ve experienced, remember the faces, and remember the moments that have forever changed my life. Remembering is what I have right now.