It's official.
I'm not sure how I feel about that.
Mainly excited, I suppose, but most assuredly terrified as well. Will I forget everything I ever knew about Spanish and forget how to say the simplest of things? Will my host family be able to understand me amid all the uh's and um's? Will my gaffes be ludicrously awful? (Let it be known that I hate feeling like an idiot, regardless of the fact that it happens a lot.)
Already homesick, to a point, which is a weird feeling. I mean, honestly, how can you miss your mom already when you kiss her good-bye every morning and good-night every night? How can you miss whispering about your day with your sister, while doing that very thing?
Wondering why I ever thought it would be a good idea to go to a country where kidnappings and other freaky things are spoken of casually as things to be very aware of. How dumb am I?! Will I be safe? Will I even have the street smarts to know if I'm not?
Wondering if my church will be recognizable when I return. It's not like I want it to stay the same way; I don't. But I wonder if Jonas and Katya and Adeleide (the cutest kids in the world, by the way) will have forgotten me by the time I get back. I wonder if some wonderful people will come, and I'll miss a couple months of knowing them.
These aren't horrible problems to have. They're first-world problems, just as much as a shortage of the best caviar is a first-world problem. That is to say, they're not life-threatening or dire.
But you'll notice that 1 Peter 5:7 says to cast all our cares on God. Not most. Not just the really important ones. All of them. Which includes plane tickets and bus trips and twisted tongues and homesickness and, yes, even potential embarrassment.
As silly as all that is.
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