Our squad made it safely to Santiago, Chile! This month my team is Unsung Heroes, meaning that, instead of having regular ministry, our task is to find new contacts for the future. We are assigned to the north area between La Serena and Arica. Please let me know if you have any information that we could use. Thanks!
While on a recent bus ride, I wrote a poem/rant/stream of consciousness. I was inspired by a quote that my much younger self used to love: “Sometimes you’re the windshield. Sometimes you’re the bug.” On a more spiritual level, it’s sortof like my own version of Ecclesiastes 3:1-8 (albeit less elegant):
There is a time for everything,
and a season for every activity under the heavens:
a time to be born and a time to die,
a time to plant and a time to uproot,
a time to kill and a time to heal,
a time to tear down and a time to build,
a time to weep and a time to laugh,
a time to mourn and a time to dance,
a time to scatter stones and a time to gather them,
a time to embrace and a time to refrain from embracing,
a time to search and a time to give up,
a time to keep and a time to throw away,
a time to tear and a time to mend,
a time to be silent and a time to speak,
a time to love and a time to hate,
a time for war and a time for peace.
I feel like this jumble captures my current experience better than a typical blog post, so I included it below.
Sometimes
Sometimes you carry the dust of one continent to the next in your nails and shoes and scalp and ear folds.
Sometimes people ask if you’re a traveling musician. Sometimes people ask if you’re homeless.
Sometimes your accent is such that people call you Argentinian. Sometimes your skin is such that people call you Gringa.
Sometimes you’re Proud To Be An American. Sometimes you’re Ashamed.
Sometimes you are catcalled and mistaken for a dude on the same day.
Sometimes the air smells like freshly baked bread. Sometimes the air smells like urine and sulfur.
Sometimes the earth is pissed on. Sometimes you are pissed off.
Sometimes the skies are headache white, blank pages. But not the Mumford & Sons kind. The writer’s block kind.
Sometimes you wish everyone would hurry the hell up. Sometimes you want to scream “CALM THE HELL DOWN.”
Sometimes your pack rubs your collarbone just wrong.
Sometimes you have bags on your back, bags on your front, and bags on your face.
Sometimes you’re in seat 19, but your friend is in seat 43.
Sometimes people smell awful, but you have to sit by them. Sometimes you’re the one that smells.
Sometimes people pack smack your face and don’t notice.
Sometimes driving through a tunnel is like The Perks of Being a Wallflower. Sometimes driving through a tunnel is like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory.
Sometimes strangers are kind and friends are hostile.
Sometimes well-intentioned people lead you the wrong way. Sometimes rude people grunt you the right way.
Sometimes you know you’re exactly where you should be. Sometimes you’re lost in a foreign city.
Sometimes social media makes you anti-social. Sometimes all you need is to reconnect.
Sometimes your sketches turn out exactly as you had hoped. Sometimes they are just sketchy.
Sometimes you have extra money in the food budget at the end of the month. Sometimes you purchase a three dollar Snickers out of your personal budget.
Sometimes your brain won’t turn off at night. Sometimes your brain won’t turn on in the morning.
Sometimes you fight the light. Sometimes you fight the night.
Sometimes the glass is not half anything.
Sometimes you get overwhelmingly sad without reason.
Sometimes you’re restless but oh so tired.
Sometimes people call you Impossible. Sometimes you are.
Sometimes people disgust you. Sometimes you’re disgusting.
Sometimes you feel free and excited. Sometimes you feel caged and mundane. Sometimes you feel on fire. Sometimes you feel burnt out.
Sometimes you feel like more than a conqueror. Sometimes you feel more than conquered.
Sometimes you feel usefull. Sometimes you feel useless.
Sometimes you burst with pride. Sometimes you’re humbly humiliated.
Sometimes you’re the complainer. Sometimes you’re the complainee.
Sometimes you idealize. Sometimes you underestimate.
Sometimes you resent. Sometimes you embrace.
Sometimes you want to go out, but everything is closed. Sometimes you want to stay in, but you end up on a stranger’s rooftop.
Sometimes your destination is closer than you think. Sometimes it’s much, much further. Sometimes you’re antsy to leave, but you have to stay. Sometimes you’re content where you are, but you have to go.
Sometimes you leave behind what you wanted to keep. Sometimes you are gifted with things you would like to get rid of.
Sometimes all you want is to go home. Sometimes you don’t think you’ll ever return.
Some frickin times.
