“I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us.”

– Romans 8:18

The first two weeks in Honduras have been some of the hardest I’ve ever walked through, and somehow, at the very same time, some of the sweetest and most stretching.

If I’m being honest, the first week hit me like a wave I didn’t see coming. A deep wave of anxiety and depression that settled in heavy. Heavier than the heat, heavier than the work, heavier than anything I expected. We’re living on a small farm right now, days filled with manual labor, sustaining the land so it can sustain others. It’s beautiful in purpose but exhausting in reality. Moving things back and forth, working muscles I didn’t even know I had, sweating constantly, smelling like the farm by the end of every day. And somewhere in the middle of all of that, things got spiritually hard too. I started losing motivation to pray. Not just motivation, it felt impossible. Like the words were gone. Like I didn’t even know how to talk to God anymore. Opening my Bible felt heavy. And I started to wonder, what am I even doing here?

I didn’t feel strong.

I didn’t feel useful.

I didn’t feel free.

If anything, I felt stuck.

There were moments where it didn’t even feel like we were accomplishing anything; just moving things around, doing small tasks that didn’t seem to matter. And slowly, the thought crept in that I could just go home.

Not just a passing thought.

Real thoughts.

Looking at plane tickets.

Trying to figure out if leaving would actually be the better option.

One night, I sat alone in my tent and just cried before the Lord, really cried, for the first time in a long time. No polished prayers. No “right” words. Just honesty.

I told Him I was angry.

I told Him I didn’t understand.

I told Him that if I was truly free in Christ, then why didn’t I feel free?

I told Him I was going home.

That I was too sad.

Too uncomfortable.

Too frustrated.

Too weak.

And honestly… that I smelled too bad and got the shower had been broken for too long to keep doing this.

And in the quiet, through all of that, I felt one question press into my heart over and over again:

“Am I worth it?”

But God, I smell like horse poop.

“Am I worth it?”

But God, I’m depressed.

“Am I worth it?”

But God, I miss my friends.

“Am I worth it?”

I went to bed that night angry.

The next morning, I randomly flipped open my Bible to Isaiah 52. It describes Jesus before the cross, beaten so badly He was unrecognizable. Not even looking human anymore. And it hit me in a way I can’t fully explain. He could have gone home.

He had the authority.

He had the power.

He could have chosen comfort, safety, and relief.

He could have looked toward heaven and gone, but He didn’t. Instead, He looked at me. Not just generally, but personally and intentionally. And He said, “You’re worth it.”

And then He asked me again:

“Am I worth it?”

It’s been about a week since that moment and nothing has magically become easier. The work is still hard. The days are still long. I still get tired. But something in me has shifted. Now I scoop up horse poop with His smile.

I lift heavy things and find myself laughing.

I lay in my tent at night and thank Him. Not because it’s easy, but because I know now, deep in my heart that He is worth it. And in that realization, I’ve started to see the blessings that were in front of me all along.

We went on a house visit recently and met the sweetest elderly woman. She had an infection that was so severe, her skin was literally falling off her face. It was heartbreaking. If I’m honest, a week ago, I didn’t think I had the capacity to love people here well. I felt too empty. As always, God met me there. We got to speak life over her, pray for her, and love on her. And in that moment, I was reminded again of why He’s put me here. Not because I feel strong. Not because I have it all together. But because He is worth it.

These first two weeks have stretched me more than I expected. They’ve exposed weakness, doubt, and places in my heart I didn’t even know were there.

But they’ve also shown me something deeper:

Even when I feel nothing

Even when I feel weak

Even when I want to go home

He is still worthy.

And truly, that has changed everything.