my city.

You know that feeling of being on auto-pilot? The freedom it gives your thoughts to roam when you're en route to familiar places?  This week, as my feet covered the distance between blocks of uneven pavement and guided me through the streets that criss-cross through my neighborhood, it hit me. . . that has become my normal in this city that once so overwhelmed me. 

Then, there was the little dinner party from the other night. We went on for several minutes before I was able to think twice about the fact that it was all in Spanish. 

Now, let me clarify, language learning is a constant struggle for me. And over our table under the umbrella outside, I stumbled at times and probably abused the grammar more than I know. But it hit me. . . it may have been the first time that it felt so natural. 

And here, as I sit at my desk, I'm planning for my mom to come visit early this fall (flight booked!), and later, my friend since forever. I'm practically bursting as I count down the days to welcome them here and show off the places, things and people I've come to love and find such beauty in. And it hit me. . . I'm so proud of this city. 
My city. 

I may never fully be part of this place. I'll always be a foreigner, Spanish will always be my second language, and I'll always be the student of a culture that feels so different than what I've known. 

But it's starting to hit me. . . 

this city, Mexico City, is so deeply a part of who I am. 

There is something so raw and beautiful about the way it challenges me and causes me to look to Jesus. And today, I'm thankful.