Esther 4:14
September 1, 2019
Ciudad Obregón, Sonora, Mexico
Steam rises from the sizzling arrachera steak and potato dish. This cut of meat is the pride and joy of Mexico’s Sonora region. On Sunday afternoons like this one, I like to take in the sights and sounds of the local culture. The restaurant, Mochomos, is bustling with large families and groups of friends enjoying the weekend. It’s been eight months since I moved to Ciudad Obregón as an expat. I’m still trying to find my rhythm in this city.
Though the music plays loudly overhead, I can still hear the slight tremble in her voice. I adjust the volume, holding the phone tightly to my ear and taking a bite of steak. She begins with an all too familiar lie.
“Oh, I’m fine. Same old really,” she sighs.
My mouth opens and then closes again. I know my friend. It will come out soon enough. She shares bits about her week; She tells me a story about her co-workers. I chime in with words of affirmation, waiting patiently. A young waiter scurries from table to table. He breaks his rhythm abruptly as a woman squeezes past.
“I miss what it feels like to really know myself,” she says, dreamlike longing seeping into every word.
And there it is.
“I’ve gone against who I am, and what I want, only to wind up right back where I started a year ago.” Though she can’t see me, I nod along slowly.
“There’s so much I want to do,” she continues, “but then there are other responsibilities, right? There’s all this pressure.” The table next to me explodes in laughter. I shift the phone to my right ear and signal the waiter for the bill.
“Krystina, that’s just it,” I say. “The anxiety that you’re feeling can actually propel you in the right direction if you let it.” She makes a humming noise, encouraging me to keep going.
“You’re at a point in your life where you’re searching for your purpose, you’re looking for direction, for permission. A lot of us are going through this. Before you do anything else, talk to God.”
“I know,” she says, “I just feel like the fulfillment I want is right there. I can almost touch it. I’m just stuck. I’d be really far away from my family...again! But I don’t want to look back on my life and realize that I haven’t progressed because of a sense of obligation.”
Now outside, the heat of the September sun slows my pace, drying my tongue instantly. I wipe beads of sweat from my forehead. A thin, middle-aged man pushes a soapy rag across the hood of a Nissan in the restaurant’s parking lot. I wave, recognizing his face from around the neighborhood.
“You know something? I should’ve just stayed in China.” I give her a moment as she fights for control over her tears. “Why did I come back here?”
I can feel her pain from where I stand. A lump forms in my throat. I poke around my bag for the keys, searching for the words. Heaven only knows how many hours, weeks, months she’s spent beating herself up about the decisions she’d made and the motivations that led her back to Philadelphia. Krystina is an expert over-thinker; we have this in common.
I’m quiet for a moment. I listen to the sound of cars passing, tires rubbing against the road. The cooling whir of the A/C is a welcome reprieve from the heat.
“Maybe you came back because of fear,” I say. “The fear of being extraordinary, of taking risks. Staying in China would’ve meant sacrificing familiar comforts.” Krystina stays quiet, listening and thinking.
“I feel like stepping into your divine, God-given purpose is like seeing the face of God. It’s like feeling Him all around you. Do you know how crazy that is? How many times did God reveal His presence in the Bible and absolutely transform those who witnessed that? Think about Moses. Think about Jacob. When you step into your purpose - that thing about you that will help others, that thing about you that will glorify God - I think you dwell in some of that divinity. And you have permission to do that Krystina. Your faith actually requires it of you. That’s kind of scary isn’t it? It’s scary that you are required to be extraordinary, because it must mean that you’re more than capable.”
We say our goodbyes as I start out towards home, radio turned off, relaxing into the silence. I ease the car past the iron gate, still thinking about the phone call. I’m wondering, not for the first time, if I had also been advising myself.
Photo Credit: Tesia Burgos @tesiabc
