A Letter To Everyone Back Home

"Here we go at it three years later
Will you help me dream it all up again?"
- All I Have, by Matt Kearney



Dear sibling/parent/friend,

I'm sorry for missing your birthday/event/significant holiday. I wish I could have been there, I truly do.

Thank you for never making me feel guilty for not being there. Sometimes I do feel guilty, but that's my own thing, it's not on you. Because along with that, I can also feel guilty about having this whole other privileged life in the US which the youth in Ecuador I'm working with have, for the most part, never known. Some days it's hard in simply missing my favorite foods/activities/places, but when I can't find what I'm looking for on the grocery store shelf, I remember that I've never been hungry. When I miss paddle-boarding and even just driving, I remember that I've never had the singular focus of earning money any way I can, just a few dollars scraped up from selling gum or washing windshields or shining shoes. When I miss the open Texas skyline, I think how I've never had to claim a street corner and stop light to share with others, or be forced to a new one if someone larger and stronger wanted my spot.

I know you know why I'm here and not there, with you, but still, let me say again for the record that many days I wish I was there. It's not easy. It wasn't easy to come and it hasn't been easy to stay, even with knowing that for now, this is where I'm supposed to be. I'm the one who left (guilt sidles up once again) so thank you, thank you so much for making it easier to go. You made it easier by trusting me when I said I felt called. Not only that; you sent me, unselfishly. In Spanish, the phrase for 'everyone' is 'todo el mundo', which means, 'all the world'. My world has grown, expanded, been made larger by new people, new places, even a new culture, yet you are always my foundation. You are always all the world to me.

Sometimes, I think it can seem almost glamorous in a going/doing/serving type way to hear about the work of mission workers such as myself. But it's not all 'fighting the good fight', and even when it is, it can be discouraging. It can be planting seeds and not seeing anything grow. It can be lonely. I would love to say that just being called to something - whether that something is overseas or in your community or in your very home, all of which are equally worthy and never forget it - means you have peace about it. If only it worked like that. Instead, I worry about missing out on the important life events of people I love back home, and therefore fading from their lives. I worry about not making a difference here or anywhere. It can be an isolating feeling, and of course, when all this is swirling around, God doesn't always answer our prayers in the neat, timely fashion we'd prefer. Yet God is in the silence just as He is in the waiting.


Thank you for waiting for me. Thank you for understanding when I'm late wishing you happy birthday, or when I forget entirely. I am thinking about you, in short spurts and long ages and in bursts of longing to see your smile, hear your voice, hug you over and over again for all the times I've missed. I love you, and I miss you, and I cannot wait until we see each other again. I know that one day, I'll feel this way about those here to whom I've had to say goodbye. This second home has become a part of me. It's changed me, and I'm sorry if the change is at times odd, difficult. I'm sorry if I'm not entirely the girl who left, but is her with changes. I know you won't be entirely the people I said goodbye to, either. We've all changed, because that's what time does. I hope that in more time, together, we can understand those changes. I admit that in part it makes me nervous (the things we'll have to recount and explain) but let's make it into a challenge, shall we? You are ever so worth it to me. If needed, let us learn each other all over again.

I love you, and I miss you. (Te amo, y te extrano).


Until we meet again, many blessings,

Your friend/sibling/daughter,

- Sonnet