First Week Of The Rest Of Our Lives

Not gonna lie it’s been hard.

Which serves me right, because I was warned multiple times not to underestimate how difficult it was going to be. A lot of people come to the mission field after working like crazy to get there, and then it just keeps being hard for a while. But the naive optimism I seem to have an unending supply of blindfolded me to the coming heat, and now here I am with all these expectations I didn’t think I had, struggling for a breath in the midst of it all.

Every day my energy reserves are used up by navigating public transport, mentally processing every new thing we’re seeing, juggling Minna’s needs with the requirements of a new team, and supporting my husband as he walks through the hardest thing he’s ever done. By the end of the day, if all I’ve done is chat nicely, view apartments, and buy a meal at the supermarket, I feel as if I’ve run a marathon and am in desperate need of a cool, refreshing, semi-recognisable drink and some screen time. Usually followed by a pity party and another cup of tea.

The organs I would give in order to enjoy vegemite on toast with a side of Salt & Vinegar chips washed down with some L&P. Slurp. But instead, I’m walking through the supermarket and hoping the jar I picked up is in fact what I think it is, and skipping the meat because that means talking to someone who may not speak my language, which is totally my own fault. Duolingo didn’t stick how I thought it would and now I’m suffering the consequences of my flakiness. Nem, nem, I don’t need meat anyhow. Let’s go vegetarian for a night.

One thing that has been an utter and unbelievable blessing has been our Hungary team. I’ve heard some hard stories of people landing in a foreign country expecting a comforting and knowledgeable hand, but it not really working out that way for them. So I do recognise how good we have it, and I’m deeply thankful. We have the strength of ten people around us helping us through all the basics, urging us to move forward one tiny step at a time, at our own pace. They’re holding our hands as we walk in a daze through this new and amazing city that we know little about, teaching us how to catch buses, buy food, rent apartments, and just generally not die.

But - and I’m sure they would understand this all too well - they’re also new faces in a new and foreign place, and it takes some time to find out how our jigsaw pieces fit together. I know I like them, but are they coffee people or hot chocolate folk? And do they like hearty banter or are they the ‘less is more’ type. Do they prefer to eat out or is cooking for people what really gets them going? It takes time to figure that out about a person, let alone a dozen people, at the same time, in a new country.

It's all…very…tiring.

But.

This city is a beautiful city. This team is the best of teams. These people are beautiful people. Their needs are still valid. Our God is still a God who cares. He cares for them, he cares for us. He walks with us in dirty sandals as beads of sweat roll down my leg yet again because the bus aircon is a mythical creature that vanishes into the 32˚C heat every time the back doors roll open. I lift my arm to push the button for the next stop and He thinks twice about sticking around because I didn’t think to pack summer strength deo for my b.o.

So now we lean upon our calling. We were so sure of our footing when we were sitting in our house, surrounded by our possessions talking of exotic travel and doing good. Now it’s come time for payment. I hope I’m worthy of the calling, the investment, the time. And I hope I’m writing in a week, a month, a year, sharing about the faithfulness of God and the way he brought me through.

But please, someone, send vegemite.