Not enough

It feels to me that this isn't enough.

I try to explain the concepts best as I can, and she agrees, but I don't know if she understands. I don't know if she thinks about them, because she doesn't seem to be terribly surprised. And terribly surprised is always a good thing.

When she does come up with a statement that contradicts the truth of the gospel, I immediately jump at it and try to explain. But as I open my mouth I realize I don't know if what I say is right either. I know what's presented is a farce, but I can't find a counter and I don't want to cause more damage.

Transference. I don't want transference. I just want the gospel preached and that's it.

I feel like I should be putting in more effort. I should be doing more than last minute recaps for two hours worth of theological expounding. Yet I don't. I swipe up on my News Feed, laughing at stupid cat videos. I tap on links to that Forever 21 sale with free shipping and spend hours trying to draw myself back from purchasing anything, only to do just that. I look at flight deals online hoping to score one that'll get me out of blasted Abilene and decide in the end I don't have enough money.

But I have no concern for the Word.

I wish there was someone here to guide me, to mentor me, but I don't. I am encouraged everyday 9000 miles away from here, but satellite-sent speech isn't the same as one's positive, pervasive presence. Something tells me I should be back there, but I am selfishly wishing I could take everyone with me to America. But I can't, and there's work to be done back home too.

I would wish it weren't that complex, but I'm starting to get a jist of what life is - complex. It's not suppose to be easy, and if it were, I doubt I'd want anything to do with it. It's funny how I pray for kingdom come, though I wish there was more I could do here. Who do I pledge my allegiance to, really?

I know I said I missed people back home. I miss her, and her, and her, and her, and her, and him, and him. I really do. But if I leave, I'll also miss this, and this, and this, and this, and that and that. When I'm home, I'm limited. I'll be a child again, I'll be in a cage again. I'll have expectations to succumb to, my overthinking might culminate into flesh and bones.

But here, I am free.

Or at least that's what it looks like.

I don't know really and I'm flustered.