Why You're Here

I decided to go to China on January 1^st, 2012.  I called P Rohm, sealed the deal, and by the next day my mom was already looking up plane tickets from Spain to China, and I was already getting asked, “Are you excited to go to China??”  Yes.  I was.  But it’s hard to maintain excitement for 8 months, and it’s even harder to exchange people and places you love for a basketful of unknowns.  I was excited, but I was more nervous, to be honest.  Why?  Because, though going to China was a valid, exciting response for the punks who dared ask about my future plans, China was not going to answer all the pervading questions: “What am I going to do with my life?  What do I actually want to do?  Can I do what I actually want to do?  Will what I do be a waste of my life?  What would He consider a full life?”

These questions, of course, weren’t answered when I stepped off the plane in Beijing, but I was definitely excited.  For real this time.  I had stressed, packed, planned, said my goodbyes; now I could just wake up each morning knowing that I’d experience a dozen new things that day, knowing that I’d mess up a dozen times that day, but I’d learn from it while flying by the seat of my pants.  That’s exciting. 

But it’s hard to maintain excitement for 9 months, even if those months are in China.  Grading is not exciting.  Lesson planning and photocopying and making PPTs and cleaning your ever-dusty house are not exciting activities.  But excitement can transition into contentment.  Even joy.

I was grading at Wei Duo Mei, a cute little bakery with a killer Mango sorbet, when it hit me.  This is where I’m supposed to be—right here in China, teaching my students about topic sentences, writing notes in their journals, playing cards with them in the office, doing mock interviews with them for college, and making them do crazy theatre games to learn about sports and hobbies.  Once again, Father has combined my passions, talents and lessons learned into this crazy, unexpected life that just fits.  I don’t know my future.  I don’t know if I’ll ever use my major, get married, have kids, or live on the same continent as my family.  And I don’t need to know that right now, because, right now, I’m where I’m supposed to be.  That’s a good feeling.

I keep reminding myself, “Live and love intentionally.  You’re living in China.  That’s why you’re here. “  But, maybe the better motto is, “Live and love intentionally.  You’re living.  That’s why you’re here.  On earth.”