The last blog I posted was all about getting over myself.
You would think that, as a missionary, once I alert the world to the fact that I’ve learned some deep and profound (aka simple and basic) lesson, I would start to, um, you know, live it out??
Sometimes I wonder what’s going on between my ears.
Confession: I’m on twitter. I’m not one of those girls who texts in every other thought [Ronnie is having an ok day and got a Coke Zero at the store..], but I am the girl who follows random things like the news (ironically, my only connection to the world as I traipse through it), the World Race (which may or may not cause extreme excitement when I get retweeted), and Sorority Girl Problems (for those of you not familiar with this, essentially they’re little self-obsessed but often quite comical one liners).
Sidetrack over.
So.
Yesterday we didn’t have team time because Andrea wanted to work on her sermon for Sunday (which she rocked, by the way), so I decided to go to the neighborhood wifi hot spot and attempt to call home. It was about 9am EST on a Saturday- a little early for Meagan, but most other people I figured would be awake.
I bought some thirty cent ramen (you have to pay to stay and it’s the cheapest, so even though I was literally sweating through my clothes, this is the real life of a missionary) and started sending out the alert that I was free to talk.
Only one person even tried to call (that would be my darling cousin Rosie) and it didn’t even work.
Okaaayyyyyy.
Here’s the thing. I know that just because the people back home don’t have to walk across town to get internet doesn’t mean they’re always on. I understand that because you don’t need an hour and a half to hand wash your laundry in a tiny sink with no drain plug doesn’t mean you have unlimited amounts of free time. I realize that I am not a goddess to be worshipped from afar, and I actually don’t want people to feel the pressure to drop everything and come running every time there’s even the slightest possibility of talking to me.
I mean, I’m over myself.
Right?
Sorority Girl Problem: Nothing can make me want to have a violent rage meltdown like when technology refuses to work.
Right now, I’m more defined by “missionary” than “sorority girl.” That title connotes a bit of maturity, does it not?
So why am I still so worked up over the slightest trivialities?
I’m sorry for my many meltdowns. I’m sorry when my expectations are unrealistic, when my mood swings and sudden and fierce, when I’m not willing to extend the grace that I so desperately need myself.
And I promise that I'm still working on this whole thing called walking out the Christian life.
walking it out with John, Vinny, Allison, Kacie, Robin and KK
