This…
…is where I was born.
Where I grew up.
Where I buried myself in sand.
Where I ran.
Where my family is.
This was every single day for me.
It was replaced with American culture.
I learned how to drive.
I'd sit by the radio listening to rock music.
I learned English.
I became another person.
I buried this memory.
I worked.
My goals were school and work.
I craved the outdoors, so I camped.
I would cherish the smell of a good campfire.
I delighted in the annual Texas snow.
I call Texas home.
I know all the backroads.
I know the system.
I made amazing friendships.
I learned lessons I couldn't have learned otherwise.
I got to know the power of God.
I fell in love with Jesus.
The reality of this place hit me when the plane landed in Rio.
I couldn't wipe my tears away fast enough, as they stubbornly spilled out.
Where have I been?
4 years without coming… home.
The excuses flood my brain: I was in school,
I didn't have any vacation time, I didn't have
money for a plane ticket, I was too caught up in
life, I…. well…. I didn't make time. It didn't take
priority.
My family. My country. My heritage. My culture.
The warmth. The infectious joy of life.
The dancing. The affection.
And as if I hadn't been torn enough when I was
11 years old, torn away from this.
I am now torn again.
That same place in my heart is tearing for Brazil.
Daddy, could I do ministry here?
_______________________________
I'm ready for The World Race.
Give me a place that isn't America or Brazil.
The first time it wasn't my choice…
Now it is
And I don't know where God wants me yet.
