"Are you nervous?" they love to ask.
I'm getting this question a lot lately, like forty-six times a day. My usual answer, accompanied by a light-hearted laugh and shrug of the shoulders is, "Not really. We're just going for it, you know?"
But yesterday I freaked out. One too many people had said one too many times, "Wow, what you're doing is really crazy. So drastic." For a brief moment I agreed and proceeded to get tightly wound into a stress ball, breathe rapidly, yell at my kids, and pace around the house while texting my BFs the depths of my panic attack. I'd copy and paste my text here, but it was inappropriate.
It all just piled up: the new language with hardly any vowels, the different culture, the fact that we don't really know anyone in our immediate community, the needs of my father, the effect on my kids, oy vey. Not only that, but I had the overwhelming feeling of, "What were we thinking!? We left a tropical island where Americans were practically begging to get saved for a freezing climate where we'll have to beg people to listen to us share the gospel like preschoolers in their language!?"
Thankfully my pseudo panic attack didn't last long. The emotional text vomit that I dumped on my friends made me feel so much better. I was back to my very-low-blood-pressure self within a few hours.
The bottom line is that Mark and I have done a couple really crazy things in the past because we were pretty certain God asked us to. By God's leading and provision, here we go again! Just wanted you to know that I've had a significant freak-out moment and am now ready to board the plane. Pray for us, please.