To such as these

I'm stuck.

My paperwork is lost in limbo - or as fragments in The Man's chimney - and I am not travelling when I intended to be travelling.

However, I will get my final rabies vaccination here - like whoa the excitement is too much I cannot pls stahp.

I do feel like I've been given a grace period within which to re-evaluate my packing choices (how many pens is too many, in the grand scheme of things), give myself a haircut (from I wonder if bangs are in to I have made a terrible mistake in three seconds flat), read a few more books (djinn and dragons; you don't know me), eat more leftover food (Best Before dates are for the weak), and encourage the few people who will actually miss me (whilst trying not to chortle gleefully).

Every so often I think about my foiled orientation, my team members, and my co-facilitators, and give a tortured, hastily-stifled meep.  But I'm mostly calm.

Because I know that God will provide.  He has to.  The next steps forward cannot be taken without placing my hand in His - whether it is staying in Edmonton or taking a hop, skip, and jump across the pond.  Both of those options are difficult and only God makes them bearable.  I like this feeling of helplessness because I (have to) give in to it so rarely.  The feeling that I have done what I felt called to do, and I have to trust outside myself for the rest.  Of knowing that there are so many bizarre ways I could fail, but my failure, others' faith, my success, others' expectations... don't matter.  All that matters is childlike surrender - a feeling I gave up on at the age of eight, after whirling my way across my grandparents' house like a dervish and coming to the dismal realization that my dancing skills were wasted on plebeians.

But what will you be doing??

I'm not sure why people expect me to be able to know this about Central Africa when I haven't been able to answer it in Canada, but that's normals for you.  I've whined before about the tendency to put missionaries on a pedestal - how someone not being paid overseas is held to some sort of higher standard of morality, job duties, results, etc.   I wonder if all rose-tinted bubbles will pop if I babysit for two whole years.  A few people have mentioned/prayed about something to do with children and, as I'm unlikely to bud like a hydra, I'm trying to prepare myself.

We all know how much I love children.  With their buggy eyes.  And floppy ears.

Wait, I'm thinking of dogs.

Kidding - I love small humans!

In an effort to convey that any God-given task would be worthy, I've made offhand remarks to the effect that I might be doing anything from wiping kids' snotty noses to working with displaced people groups.  A friend (and by this I mean missionary whom I greatly admire) shared her wisdom.

Apparently, in some languages, there is no word for life - only breath or nose.  So the end of Psalm 150 would read:  Let everything that has a nose praise the Lord. 

Which (aside from locking Voldemort out of worship) also serves to re-frame the depth of my service.  I plan to give their lives a bit of a spiffing up.  Possibly with tissue.  Gently and with care for the hard, crusty bits that hurt and, frankly, just look terrible.

And if I should ever take a selfie surrounded by those children and bracketed by hashtags, say a prayer for my lost soul.