People keep asking me how our family’s six months in Argentina were.
I have a hard time answering.
There’s the sexy part: I prayed in an Ecuadorian church, rode horses in the Argentine countryside, and once carried 10,000 pesos stashed in my boot.
But I also washed dishes, tried to find palatable soy milk, and fretted about how to dry my towels on the line without them getting stinky.
You can probably guess how many more dishes, milk and towels there were than currency hi-jinks, horses, and travel.
And there was also this: isolation. We had friends, but not the established network back home. We had no car. We had a language barrier that surrounded us wherever we went.
Don’t get me wrong—I have no regrets about going. In fact, for the first half of our trip, I felt exhilarated and a little guilty about not feeling homesick at all.
By the last month or two, I was tired. Drained from the low-grade headache it was to do anything. Worn out from riding buses with cranky children. Weary of not having an English-language library. And ashamed of how I coped…
I’m over at SheLoves Magazine today, talking about a sense of inadequacy, and the shelter God creates for us. Won’t you join me there?
I Used to Loathe Myself