I wrote this post while I was in Mexico back in October. My family went down for a week. It was a sweet trip, one that had been in the works for about a year, one where we celebrated my parents 40th anniversary. It was so special to see all of my siblings (and nieces and nephews) since only a small part of my family lives locally.
I'm sitting in a comfy chair, in a cool bar at our resort in Mexico.
Atop my head is a cute fedora. Or at least I hope it looks cute. My hair is in two braids like a child. Unlike a child, to my right sits the half-done tasty cocktail.
An open book lays on the table, and other than the sunburn that has chased me for days, all is well.
A few minutes ago, I stood in the shower. I stood there for a long time, letting the ocean sand and salt fall off, and the cold water refresh.
I feel similar about Mexico to how I felt about Vegas two years ago.
I love it. It's so fun. It's so fake. My family laugh about wanting another week here (probably more so because we're all together more than the location), but I miss the chaos of home.
Most specifically, I miss God. Here, I can go a day and He doesn't cross my mind. I think about the water, tequila, writing, my favourite server Antonio at the buffet ( one of the sweetest 15 year old my heart has ever met).
I don't need Jesus here. This magic land fulfills all of my earthly needs.
That fact terrifies me.
Home is chaos. Home is a new job the day after I get back. Home is the fact that I don't know when I'll have to move again.
At home, I am desperate for Christ because everything is chaotic. I seek Him. I crave Him. I cannot function without His leading.
Mexico is a dose of paradise. It really is. It's refreshed my weary bones and settled my anxious heart.
But home is good and better.
Now don't mind me I'm off to order another tequila sunrise.