Last night it finally happened. After exactly two weeks in Toronto and swallowing how hard some things have been hitting me, I couldn't hold the tears back anymore. And, as predicted, once they started it was a torrent. I know that I will survive the next seven weeks; I know that how ministry goes here will not be allowed to make or break my future; but, somehow, I cannot seem to tell my heart that.
I came here, called. I was sent, I went. Sometimes I feel as though my gifts are just sitting in front of me rotting, waiting for someone to pick them up and use them. Instead I do a lot of stuff that is still awesome and is obviously not a waste, but is not helping me stretch. I want to grow.
Maybe part of my problem is that I still have not dealt with the back home stuff yet. It is hard to conceive that when I return I will have no home church, no ministry, and no job. I also do not have a clear-cut living situation or any idea how to deal with fixing the broken things scattered through my life.
I do not know what to do.
