We Will Not Run

 

“Porque eres extranjera…” he began rapidly, almost nervously, and my mind froze in alarm.

The young man at the checkout verbally identified me as a foreigner, then withheld my new purchase behind the counter and asked me something about my needing a special receipt.  I had broken the charger for my phone and was replacing it — a simple enough task, but heat flushed my face as once again I faced my inability to understand someone speaking Spanish this quickly.  International living is an incredibly humbling experience when you are not yet fluent in the language; a “quick” trip to the grocery store is a luxury from another life, and “simple” tasks like replacing a phone charger are not always so simple.

Still blushing, I asked the man if he could please repeat himself more slowly.  He cracked a smile and repeated himself, once again using that word “extranjera” (foreigner), and this time I understood him clearly.  He wanted to make sure this purchase wouldn’t get me in trouble with a bank in the United States.

I was surprised at the feeling that swelled in me when I responded to him in Spanish, “No, sir, I live here.  Thank you, but I don’t need a special receipt.  It’s okay.”

He gave me the receipt anyway, and I walked quickly out of the store.  As I moved, my mind replayed the verbal exchange, and I couldn’t shake the emotion.  I live here.  I’m not a tourist (anymore).  Oh, I have so much to learn.  Nobody knows that more than I do.  Yet Jesus has faithfully strengthened me through more challenges than I dreamed I would ever face during the past 7 months, and (if I am allowed to be this vulnerable) He has brought me to the other side of some pretty dark nights.

At the end of January, Jesus brought me to the cusp of a new season and gave me the choice: will I trust Him enough to step into it, not knowing the outcome?  Will I trust Him to fling open new doors and close others (temporarily or permanently)?  Will I trust Him to alter the route, deviating from “my plan”?  To trust Him enough to walk forward one day at a time and let Him determine the course, wherever it may take me?

Or, will I run?

I admit the latter has been vividly tempting at times.  As I type this, I am sitting alone at the tiny table in my tiny kitchen, approximately 1,500 miles away (translation: 2 plane rides and a lot of red tape) from my family, friends, and from all that is comfortable and familiar.  Yet as I sit here, I’m unspeakably grateful.  I realize my heart has been stretched and challenged, and, ultimately, now has greater capacity to be filled with Grace – an “Only God”-type of crazy Courageous Grace for this journey I’m walking.

I had reached my decision a few weeks ago, but it only hit me when the first words that instinctively came out of my mouth were, “Vivo aqui.”  (I live here.)

“We are not visitors anymore, Mahira.  This time, we will not run.” -Hassan, The Hundred-Foot Journey (2014)