Worth the Plums

polandMy toes have become the color of plums. My feet echo the constant sound of dragging over coblestone. My legs bare the constant thought of giving up.

No one could have prepared me for this extent of exhaustion, but once again, no one could have prepared me for this amount of love.

It’s week three here in Poland. I’ve already ditched the merely comfortable shoes for the matress-like grandma shoes, I have consumed more chocolate in my short 23 days than I had in the past year, and I have encountered countless people caring their life stories in their front pockets.

But all in all, I didn’t feel like a “real” missionary until my second Sunday.

Singing infront of the congragation, less than 20 faces looking up at me, I felt like the room was filled with my heart. I glanced at the woman I have been teaching as she looked up at me with her hand over her heart and a grin taking over her face. Next to her, sat the most recent convert to the church with an overwhelming look of joy (I promise it wasn’t my singing)..

And I wondered how I had lived my merely 20 years of life without them. How have I gone without this?

Standing there overlooking what many would conclude to be a practically empty chapel, allowed me the tiniest glimpse of the love God has for his children. It helped me forget about my aching feet and the terrible let downs missionaries encounter daily..

Becuase it suddenly was all worth it. Every bit.

Siostra Bak tag   PicMonkey Collagevvyu


2 thoughts on “Worth the Plums

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