Home. The sound of it lifts the gray veil from before my eyes and I can begin to see more clearly. The past two months are lost in a dingy well that I'm finally beginning to crawl out of. My fingers clutch slimy stones, and the stagnant water has an unpleasant odor, yet I'm going up. Up and up and up. The circular patch of blue sky is growing little by little every day. Still, the thought crosses my mind: how did I even get here?
I arrived here as fresh-faced as a budding spring blossom. Everything was new and stimulating, buzzing with the energy of the yet-to-be-explored. The parade of colorful pollera skirts flashing through the city center rushed brightly past old antique buildings boasting three-tiered balconies and meticulous brickwork. The Old and New Cathedrals graced the city's central park, while people of all kinds shuffled by or lingered around. Young and old alike; local and foreign; rich and poor-all were in abundance. The juxtaposition of Escalades zooming down the cobblestone streets and shoe-shiners sweating over their labor was enough to send a person into a camera-clicking frenzy.
Cuenca had a lot of off, and its proposal was graciously accepted. My English-teaching job led me into the lives of many interesting and memorable people. I've been blessed with some great colleagues and dedicated students. I've known what it feels like to be the profe and receive hugs and praise from students. There have been laughs and jokes and innocent blunders from student and teacher alike that put smiles on many faces. Just as my students learned, I learned as well. I believe we all will never stop ingesting new information, experiences, and lessons.
Some lessons are easily learned; others can be a slap in the face. Accepting the return of an old struggle, confronting the empty pit of longing in my heart for those I love, and very slowly becoming an apprentice of how the world works took me on a journey almost as exotic as the Amazonian jungle. Still, they say what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. That phrase is a half-truth in my opinion. Self-starvation may not kill me, God-willing, but it will cause some definite damage. Can I get stronger after that? What if I am starved of what makes me truly happy: my family, my friends, my art, the sun? Spiritual starvation tries to threaten me, so I cling to the book that promises that another home is being prepared for me; a home beyond human comprehension, and so magnificent. This promise keeps me going, but it is no cake-walk, nor just peachy. So maybe I've been thrown some lemons, and maybe I'm making lemonade, and maybe I'm up to my neck in it...but someone keeps tossing out a life vest. And I praise Him for it
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