Today marks 13 years since we set foot on American soil in a country we little realized would be one we would be living in for longer than we had ever lived on any other continent. As I look back over the years, I see a mural of difficulties, joys, hardships, laughter, tears, and adventures. I see times of terror and times of amazement, times that wrenched us apart and times that pulled us together, times of mourning and times of happiness, times of change and times of constancy.
I will be honest, the past years have forced me to stretch and grow beyond what I have felt comfortable with, and yet I continue to live feeling like I must be stretched even more. I recognize the blessing that God has given me of the ability to live in a country of freedom, and yet I grieve the losses that have been mixed in with the blessings. I have learned what it means to feel like you are further away from God than the bottom of the deepest ocean and I have experienced how it feels to cling to God as your only Hope because there is no other.
I came to America an 18-year old young woman, scared, excited, unsure of what the future would hold. I'm not sure today that I would have chosen the path I've taken if I could have seen the direction it would have gone. The verdict is still out on that one. This entry will not have a satisfactory "this is the lesson I learned and I'm so glad this happened to me" ending. Because this is real life and sometimes real life is messy and it doesn't get cleaned up into the perfect sermon illustration. Maybe I'll check back in in another 13 years and give you my conclusion.
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