High and Low

I am currently wearing purple socks with Rainbow flip flops, a t-shirt with a hole in the armpit, some dirty pants that I ran in, and another shade of purple jacket.

The abrupt switch back to reality has been what you'd think it would be.

For 2 weeks I was on a glorious go-to-bed at 12, wake up at 10 schedule. Right, if you counted that you will count 10 hours. Let me tell you what 10 hours of sleep a night for two weeks did for me:

My face stopped breaking out, I looked five years younger, I thoughtfully reflected on life, I didn't want to fight with anyone.

We are now back to half those hours a night and I hope, I hope that someday I will be diligent enough to fall asleep at 9:30. That would be eight hours. A lofty goal, I know, but when you're working with kids... you just NEED IT.

If you're wondering what spiritual warfare looks like, let me tell you: There are times I feel incredibly isolated and alone in this barren state. As glorious as two weeks off of work was, it highlighted something a bit unpleasant: I don't really have friends here yet. As most churches do, mine has community groups- I've been planning on going (on Tuesday) for three weeks now.... three weeks ago on Tuesday my car was in the shop, two weeks ago someone stole my house key and I had to replace nine locks and deadbolts with my pink screw driver and $72 (Tuesday), and today my car has threatened to overheat when I drive it longer than 15 minutes. It's Tuesday.

HOWEVER, if you are wondering what answer to specific prayer looks like... last year I prayed I could teach English to refugees. I applied for over 60 elementary school positions (just general, not ESL), and the job I got was one I am not qualified for and which I did not apply for. In fact, the school district has attempted to dismiss me about four times now, and every time someone at my school fought for me and it didn't go through. (Wow.) I got three new students today, one who was found "in the desert somewhere" after crossing the Mexican border, and placed in a shelter for holding. For three months. Pretty likely he's an orphan. The reason I don't know the details is because my Spanish isn't good enough yet. I am the only teacher in an inner-city school, in a building filled to twice its capacity, in close scrutiny by the government for its "failing" record, who gets to teach English to refugees. *Wow.*

Enough about work. I'm going with Jonathan to buy tools for my broken car. :(