July 6, 2008 – Cry baby.

Well, I can’t say things are any more bright and sunny now, although the night’s sleep did help my feet. They were much less stiff this morning, but it still looks to me like a different pair of feet is attached to my legs.

Being a Sunday, today we went to Piotyr’s church, which was a lengthy walk. I can’t say it was much different than the walk from home to school in Florence, but yet again I am assured of how out of shape I am.

The beginning of this trip has so far been a humbling experience. I love traveling and have done enough in my life that I was so sure of myself on this trip. How the mighty have fallen. Instead of being in my element, I am decidedly out of it and down the street from it. I’m reverting to those high school days when walking behind the group meant feeling you weren’t cared for or noticed or important. And even though I am cared for in this group, I still feel like I’m more of a nuisance than a contributing group member.

True to the heart of the trip, however, I am trying very hard to hear God through my complaining. Yesterday, as I was laying flat on my back with my feet up, I had a very distinctive “I want my Mommy” moment. I wanted to cry and curl up and feel sorry for myself and I wanted everyone else to feel sorry for me too. I wanted for no one to want to go into town and for everything around me to stop. And maybe also for someone to fetch me water and chocolate. Of course, that’s not what happened. People did want to go into town and I was left all alone with my bad attitude and stupid fat feet.

Okay, I know that doesn’t really sound like an effort at discerning God’s voice. But as I was having my Mommy-moment, I thought about being a child and all the behavior and emotion that goes with it. I thought, Here I am, the big, bad world traveler. Here I am, wiping off the sweat and tears and pride from my face. Here I am, humbled and hurting and wanting. And I am reminded that at my weakest is when I am often at my worst. I am more selfish and petty and I try so hard—in all the wrong ways—to look better than I am.

So yes, here I am. I have swollen feet and big puffy hair from the heat. And here I am, with 5 band-aids covering a slice in my arm from where I ran into the corner of breaker box… after choking on communion wine. Still, despite the bitching and moaning, and occasional thoughts to the contrary, here is where I am and here is where I want to be. Well, maybe that’s not entirely the truth, but here is definitely where I want to want to be.

(But for the record: Preferably without the marshmallow feet.)