Getting Jostled

I find I have been jostled by Quito. Living in a different place, sleeping in a different bed, walking different sidewalks, eating different food, playing different sports has left me with new bruises, scrapes, and blisters. It seems each day my body surprises me with some new ache or pain. I am being jostled. 

I am learning new things about my body (I didn't know a sunburned ear could do that). I've also developed new calluses and stronger muscles. I am becoming accustomed, and in the process, learning how to live in a new way. I know my physical scars will heal and I will be more prepared for the next physical adventure.

I can commit to never playing soccer in flats or going outside without sunscreen again, but if I don't follow through, I'll just continue to hurt myself. I will continue to be frustrated, and I won't fulfill my potential.

I learn from my mistakes and adjust my behavior, but God does the healing and strengthening. I can't heal my skin, and I can't strengthen my muscles. God does both, and without calling my attention to it. Bruises disappear without my knowledge or effort.

I'm a bit of a klutz, and I pray for a sturdier body.


I find I have been jostled by Quito. As I've encountered new people, new cultures, new expectations, and new habits, I feel jostled, uncertain, off balance. Doubts and hang ups from years ago come back to my mind. Each day surprises me with a new question. I am being jostled.

I am learning new things about my soul (I didn't know fasting could do that). I anticipate new capabilities and strength. I trust my bruised soul will heal, change, and grow. God is making me ready.

I can commit to emailing my brothers or memorizing scripture, but if I don't follow through, I'll just continue to drift and wander. I'll never fulfill my potential.

Every day, I appreciate more and more the power of spiritual disciplines in my life. I read my Bible and pray, but God does the healing and strengthening. The fruit of the Spirit are not the fruit of me. I can't force myself to be patient, and I can't make my soul peaceful. God does both, and without calling my attention to it. Joy appears without my knowledge or effort. We call it maturing, but it is actually a miracle.

I'm a bit too careful, and I pray for a clumsier soul that will fall into new circumstances, choices, and relationships without apprehension. I need to be jostled so I can find my balance, so I can figure out what I'm standing on.

My bruises are encouraging because they remind me that discomfort passes and strength grows. 

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