on June

We moved back into Mexico, back into the 'hood back at the end of May, all sweet, no bitter. I missed this place, these people, in those few months away, missed it all mightily. Of course, memories show themselves nostalgic when you go away from a place. I confess, I forgot about those daily things that I can be so tempted to be annoyed by, like drainage projects that last for years and the roads that these projects destroy and the detours that these projects dictate... (and there I am, confessing how easily I am distracted).

I come back to Reynosa and to ministry and to this life with fresh eyes and a ready spirit. Not much can beat those first surprise greetings by my young friends, hugs around my legs right in the middle of the street, "Kreeeeeeeeeees-teeeeeeeeeeee...." The high-pitched and high-volume voices sing familiar but brand new after time away. The everyday tasks that life in team require don't weigh too heavy. The sweat runs into my eyes many a day while I reacclimate to borderland sun and humidity and for a short time, I just keep blinking. I have to stop for horses in the street one evening on my way home, and just laugh as they mosey along.

One ordinary day turns special when I get to linger over lunch with decades-old friends, all together for one rare afternoon. I have the privilege of playing auntie to my teammates' kids. I sit on the shore with another dear one and watch the waves roll in and out and chase down a fresh fish dinner at the end of the day. I use any excuse, long bridge lines, afternoons too hot to cook, to find nieves and tacos. I sit on a bench in dusty early evening and watch the neighborhood kids play ball. 

All that so very true and real and good, and yet, I can not ignore other realities. The bridge I cross multiple times a week now has serpentine wire strung across multiple lanes. The waits can be painfully long and alter how we receive visitors, even family, but those inconveniences seem very small in comparison to the sufferings of others very nearby. I spend time with girls from an orphanage, separated from their parents for reasons I don't know and they can't understand. I learn of changes in the lives our neighborhood youth and I groan out loud and want to cry out. I cry with a volunteer overwhelmed by the needs she heard and saw in others that day. Day by day I face my own issues and seek His wisdom and grace. I find a new to me hymn and put it on repeat. 

What patience would wait as we constantly roam

What Father so tender is calling us home

He welcomes the weakest, the vilest, the poor

Our sins they are many, His mercy is more

("His Mercy Is More," by Matt Papa and Matt Boswell)

I'm thankful to be back.