Rest and Hummingbirds

"Walking, stumbling
On these shadow feet
Towards home, a land that I've never seen
I am changing
Less and less asleep
Made of different stuff than when I began
And I have sensed it all along
Fast approaching is the day."
 - Shadowfeet, by Brooke Fraser





There's a hummingbird outside the dining room window that looks to be nearly as long as my hand. He hovers around the feeder, the sun catching the rich jewel tones of his body the same as when I would watch hummingbirds back home in Texas, but his size and length is possibly a third more than that of the fragile-looking creatures I'm used to. I must admit: not everything is bigger in Texas.

I get up to get some water and walk into my room for a sweater, and when I sit down again my heart rate has risen, as though I had just run those places. My body is still adjusting to the altitude. At night I have had trouble falling asleep, because my heart pounds heavier than it normally would and takes longer to slow. I've read that the elevation in the city of Quito is over 9,000 feet. Overall though, I haven't had any symptoms of altitude sickness, so I'm grateful for the fairly easy adjustment.

I arrived in Ecuador late Wednesday night after a fairly hectic travel. I'm staying in the home of other mission workers until I find my own place. The day after I arrived they went out of town to spend time with two of their grown children who are visiting from the States. I've had the house to myself. It's been quiet, and I've found that I'm very thankful for the time to rest and adjust and just be in this new place.

I keep thinking that it should feel stranger for me to be living in a different country, but it's not. I wake up in the morning and barely have to remind myself, "I'm in Ecuador". It feels natural, probably because I've been planning and working towards this for so long. During these days alone, I've taken the dog on walks around the neighborhood and tried to orient myself with various landmarks and small stores. The house faces a range of mountains on one side, and the busy city of Quito on the other. There is so much which is similar and so much which is completely different from the States, yet it's hard to accurately describe. There's beauty and sadness anywhere one goes: I want to accept the things I'm not familiar with or may not like, and rejoice in the goodness of God's presence in all parts of the world.

It's been a good few days of quiet thoughtfulness. I know that busy times will come, some which will be challenging mentally, physically, and emotionally. I want to be ready for those times, so for a few days I'm thankful for rest. Thankful for mornings to sleep in a bit after spending a long time trying to fall asleep. For uninterrupted quiet times when I can sing and pray out loud without being conscious of others (which has been a change from the last year, nearly, when I lived with a host family in Costa Rica and with my family before and after).

It's funny: my Mom has sometimes called me a hummingbird, because I often fly about from one thing to the next, filling my days with projects, work, and friends. That business will come soon enough. Maybe even tomorrow. Yet on this Sunday, I'm thankful to use this day exactly as it was intended: rest.