A Letter...

I've officially lived in Portugal for over a year...which seems entirely impossible. In celebration, I wrote a thank you letter to the country I've called home for 12 months....

Dear Portugal,
I don't even know where to begin. It sounds ridiculous to say it, but thank you. Thank you for patient people that smile. Thank you for loving tourists, Americans, and English. Thank you for introducing me to pasteis, roundabouts, a galão, and a million other things that I've been blessed to consider normal for the past year. Thank you for teaching me what diversity really looks like. Thank you for gently showing me that much of the world views things very differently than the majority of my family and friends...and that "different" isn't bad. It's simply different. Thank you for making me feel alive again...and reviving desires in my heart that were nearly dead.
I don't know how things will end between us... But know I'll always love you...and that wherever I end up, if it isn't with you, part of my heart will always long to be.

Love,
Erin

:)

Silence reigns...

I've tried to blog the past few days...but every time I start to... I edit myself. The following have been potential posts, but were cut....due to obvious reasons...
1) Yes, I know I'm tall...please stop staring...
2) 100 things NOT to say to a missionary
3) The next man that ogles my chest will get a kinesthetic reproduction of what the Philistines did to Samson...
4) 200 things you just shouldn't say to a single girl...unless your goal is to frustrate or humiliate her...
5) How do you say, "Get your nasty eyes off my chest." in Portuguese?
6) When you know you are surrounded by women...
7) So why can't we cast lots anymore?
8) My life in the fishbowl...
9) I don't know if you realized this...but I'm the GIRL. You telling me I should be with ____________ is pointless. Because I'm the GIRL. And I don't chase boys...
10) Didn't I tell you to get your nasty, filthy, trashy eyes...

Nope...just didn't think any were blog worthy.

Let me preface this post with the following statement: People are strange...and I include myself in that group.

Thankfully my journey home was much less exciting with the exception of a few odd moments.

Odd moment number one happened on the first flight to Chicago. I am fairly sure the girl in front of me was trying to market every skill she had to the whole plane...because we all heard about her "vast experiences" and everything else about her career. I know our plane was a little loud...but yelling wasn't really necessary.

Odd moment number two quite honesty left me speechless. As we were getting settled in for the nine hour flight, I looked over to find my seat mate undressing. She undid her bra, unbuttoned and unzipped her pants, took her shoes off and went to sleep. I was flabbergasted. Shoes...I understand shoes. But if your pants are that tight and uncomfortable, maybe you should wear different pants. And the bra...don't even get me started. When we were getting ready to land I got worried she was going to ask for help because she had some trouble redressing...

Odd moment four occurred with every Spanish old man. I recognize that some cultural differences occur between us...that being said, I've never fought the urge to yell quite so much. Anytime and every time I stood in line during my seven hour layover, I was cut by men. It didn't matter that there was a line behind me...they would simply walk around the barrier, right up to the agent and ask their question while I stood jaw-dropped that they had the nerve. It wasn't just with airport personnel either. When I went to order food...same thing. There I would be, next in line...and out of seemingly nowhere a man would skip the whole inconvenience of waiting and cut me off. I can handle it a few times...but I felt like after 24 hours of travel on little to no sleep I was going to lose it. I do know at one point I said, "Am I invisible? I AM in line..."

Odd moment five keeps happening. It's odd. I'm odd. But it smells like home here now. (I told you I was weird...) When I walked in yesterday, it was the weirdest thing to recognize smells here. I guess I hadn't ever been away long enough to notice what my home here really smelled like. It's just odd...but kind of fun to feel at home here.

And I am sure odd moment number six will occur when I visit my classroom and realize school starts in two weeks. Wow...how am I starting my second year here already?

I spent a lot of time praying before I came home that God would use this trip to really show me what He wants me to do in a year. I prayed that He would show me if I could return to the States and plug right back in to life and ministry...or that my heart had forever been altered to love serving and living overseas.

I don't think I quite expected God to answer. Or at least not to make it quite so obvious. Maybe what He is showing me is just temporary...or maybe He is going to teach me to once again be content where He puts me...even if it isn't necessarily what I love or want. I am not exactly sure...but I know He is making it so clear to me that I could be content the rest of my life to live in a country that is not my own. I really would be fine being an ocean away from everyone and everything. Because although there are people here that I love...I feel like I no longer fit...and honestly, I have no desire to fit back in. I don't really value what I used to value...and I can't imagine ever being back in that place again.

So what does it all mean? I don't know yet. I know for now it means the awkwardness of recognizing that things will never be "normal." I know it means I feel like I'm losing anything that would have previously tied me down or made me long to return to the States. I know it means that sometimes when I'm with people here I wonder what's wrong with me...why am I so alright with disengaging from what used to be so comfortable and important to me?

And while sometImes it has been overwhelming...I know it's really just answered prayer....and God working. And with so many other things in my life...sometimes He has to bring death before He can bring life. So once again...He's walking me through another process of death...and I am learning that in the valley of the shadow of death there is great joy...because He is always beside me, quietly leading....patiently listening...and sweetly understanding the things that no one else will ever understand. And the valley always eventually leads to the mountaintop...

Excess...

I feel like that could describe America...simply put: excess.
An excessive amount of food, space, cars, and churches. Everywhere I look it just feels like excess. There are so many other things I'd like to write...but some things are better left kept unsaid.
Why do we need so much? Or feel like we need so much? Acquiring things is a way of passing time... A hobby, and even a justified excuse for not being more involved in things that actually matter.
I feel like in some ways God has used this trip to show me who He saved me from becoming...
And for that I am grateful...

A Material Girl

Today I probably cried the dumbest tears I've ever cried. In fact, I was mad that I would ever even consider crying over such a stupid, ridiculous thing. I hated that it mattered to me. I hated that it bothered me. I hated my heart. And I'm pretty sure my tears were sin....if tears can be sin.

Coming home has been a weird and odd thing. The things that I thought would be awkward have been completely wonderful. It's been other things that have caught me off guard. For instance, I walk into my room and open up drawers and see all the things I left behind. I look in my closet and see piles of shoes I haven't worn. I walk around my house, and I see all my things that used to hang in the room of my very own apartment. I drove my car...my first car that I paid for and loved...but is no longer mine. All my "things" are now either someone else's, hanging on someone else's walls, or occupying space and collecting dust.

And I have found that this has started such a war in my heart. As I drove home from the dentist in my old car...it just got to be too much. I miss "my things." I miss getting to be a materialistic American with money to spend on clothes, shoes, and things for the house and having it be completely acceptable and not bother me or anyone around me. I miss disposable income.

And more than anything...I hate that about me. I hate that I miss that. I never, ever think about that when I am in Portugal...because I love where God has me. But coming back and seeing friends who don't bat an eye about dropping money here or there on ridiculous, frivolous things...and can shop without really considering whether or not they can truly afford something... it makes me frustrated. Because I used to be able to do that...but can't anymore.

Isn't that stupid? And sinful? Ugh, wretched, wretched girl that I am. Who will rescue me from this mentality of materialism? Christ Jesus...

Today I found a book and started thumbing through it. Ironically (or perhaps I should say, divinely) this is the quote I read:

"We rationalize these passages away...'Jesus wouldn't really tell us not to bury our father, or say goodbye to our family, or actually mean we needed to sell all we have and give it to the poor. What Jesus really meant was...' And this is where we need to pause. Because we are starting to redefine the Jesus of the Bible and twist him into a version of Jesus we are more comfortable with...a nice, middle class, American Jesus. A Jesus who doesn't mind materialism and who would never call us to give away everything we have. A Jesus who would not expect us to forsake our closest relationships so that he receives all our affection. A Jesus who is fine with nominal devotion that does not infringe on our comforts, because, after all, He loves us just the way we are. A Jesus who wants us to be balanced, who wants us to avoid dangerous extremes, and who, for that matter, wants us to avoid danger altogether. A Jesus who brings us comfort and prosperity as we live out our Christian spin on the American dream."

I know how good it felt when I was getting ready to go to Portugal to purge my life of things...and to know that I was following Him. It's interesting that now, a year later, when faced with them once again...my heart is a little torn. Am I really alright with this life? Could I really "do" missions? What is my heart really craving and desiring...a life of radical abandoning of self? Or my own Christian American dream?