Sebas and I took a road trip to a nature reserve called Pasachoa. It was breathtakingly beautiful. Even some of the most incredible postcards I've bought here couldn't hold up to this. The reserve was basically several hiking trails up the mountain, varying in time required to make it back. I initially opted for the shortest one so we could spend the majority of our time sitting and writing and thinking and praying. But when it only took 15 minutes to make it to the end, we decided to keep going. ....And going ....and going. We contemplated heading back, but then we met some people along the way who told us we would reach a gorgeous view if we went 20 minutes longer. So we kept going... and an hour and a half later? Still no view. Only the view of the abounding forest surrounding us. Which was also nice, but I was frustrated. I was looking forward to the view. On the way back, we took a different path, which was more fun, but almost completely covered in mud. Not sure yet if my shoes will recover. lol We were slipping and sliding and singing and telling the path how we loathed it and wished it would die. It was a blast. We thought we would never make it out. At one point, Sebastian slipped into the splits and couldn't get up. Though did I help him right away? No. I stood there laughing hysterically and taking pictures of him.
On the way home, I rode in the bed of Sebas' truck. It's incredible how different and more real things seem when your watching them in the open air, uncontained, as opposed to through the window of a car.
Thoughts
It's like I'm transported back to Tulsa. For a few hours, I shut my door, turn on my music in English, read facebook messages from people in Tulsa, talk to my family and friends in English on SKYPE, and from there see in the background my house and the places I know so well.
Then I turn off my computer, go to the kitchen for a glass of water, when I pause half-way down the stairs, and realize--this isn't my house. I'm not in Tulsa. I'm still in Ecuador. And in a completely different world than I was a second ago. I have to speak Spanish and call someone else mommy and daddy and sissy. I'm not going to Silver Dollar City in 2 weeks. There will be no Turkey on Thanksgiving. It's not going to snow at Christmas. I can't drive over to Rachel or Katie's and talk the night away about everything and nothing until we fall asleep mid-conversation, too tired from laughing and crying to say anything else. My sister and source of bottomless hugs, isn't across the hall.
It's just not---not...home.
I am here.
And I am happy to be here.
I can't tell you how happy I am to be here.
I have the opportunity to learn a different language, a different culture, to pour into these beautiful people for an entire year, to grow, to rest, to learn about myself and my strengths and my weaknesses, to be a person Ecuador needs, to wholly trust Him for everything and learn to hear His voice...
It's amazing and beautiful--
But it's still not home.
Meditate on this...
A letter from Paul to the Philipian church--
"Don't worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank Him for what He has already done. If you do this, you will experience God's peace, which is far more wonderful than any human mind can understand. His peace will guard your heart and your mind as you live in Christ Jesus."
More Pics of Ecuador
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