'Tis the Season

Colombia.

Ah, I never knew I loved it so much-- until I left it... I left it eight months ago.

And now I'm back... have been back for nearly a month now. Three and a half weeks gone and one week left. Just one week.

When I arrived in Bogota on December 17, I instantly felt the exhilarating rush of being in Colombia. I remember feeling like my pores couldn't quite soak in enough of Colombia. My senses were going crazy just trying to capture it all... capture it and store it-- treasure it. Everything screamed, "YOU'RE HOME," and I made no attempt to try and figure out exactly what "home" meant. My shampoo, my bed, my Colombian food... ahhh. I even found amusement in typical latin men whistling and yelling to grab my attention. Hahaha. There's nothing like home sweet home.

And yet, this home sweet home has the incredible capability of ripping my heart out and at the same time, intoxicating me with the overwhelming desire to stay here forever.

My last five months in college towns had made me wonder if the homeless existed in America. Yes, I know they do, but their simple lack of existence-- or at least, very rare appearance-- started wearing on my mind. After two days in Colombia, I re-realized that I was going to run out of money quite quickly if I intended to buy lunches for everyone I saw on the streets. And if buying them lunches would fix their problems, then I'd go broke in a heartbeat. But its more than hunger-- its depravity. And its not just one, its hundreds.

Within a week, I'd visited several ministries and slowly felt my soul recharged in ways I can't exactly explain. There's something beautiful about holding poor, dirty kids. There's something incomparable about running around and playing tag with these same kids. How do you explain the joy in their faces when opening up Christmas presents and getting... socks? Why is it that suddenly the fear of leaving without them feeling love and affection takes precedence over the fear of getting lice?

After two weeks of traveling the roads winding through the Andes Mountains, I felt relieved to remember that the world is more than cornfields in central Illinois. The mountains continually reminded me of Christ's majesty, the lush, green hills of his life and grace and the vast sky of his immeasurable power. I found my body unwinding and relaxing as I quickly adjusted to third world schedules-- or Colombian time. I loved it... I didn't mind the long waits or down time simply waiting for things to happen. I savored this culture that valued people above appointments.

And now?

Now, I'm facing the dread of leaving... of leaving this country, this culture, these people. I missed my family more than I felt comfortable admitting. I long to bring my friends back to Illinois with me... the rare treasures I've found in their depth, passion, love and godliness.

Yet, I know God's calling me back... there is a season for everything, and this just so happens to be my season of training. Oh, and how I dislike training... I rather be sitting on the streets talking to the homeless, hugging their children, feeding their families. But to those who have been given much, much will be expected. He's given me the privilege of being trained, so that I can most glorify him. Oh Father, give me your strength to be grateful for every season of life.