Here is something I never thought I would do. Somewhere I never imagined I would live. And now I find myself face-to-face with a person I never thought I could become. Ironic, much?
Jumping into this chapter of my life has been an adjustment—honestly, more like a collision. These first weeks of full-time missions have stripped me bare. They’ve exposed a truth I didn’t expect to find: I need to trust God a lot more than I “needed to” back home.
I know how hypocritical, even blasphemous, that sounds. But it’s the truth. For years, I told myself I trusted Him because I said yes to the call, because I was willing to leave it all behind—my family, my friends, my church, my steady income, my country, my little pocket of influence. I laid down twenty-six years of what was safe and familiar. And yet, even after all that sacrifice, I’m realizing trust is more than letting go once. It’s learning to lean on him and surrender again and again, everyday.
The Tension of New
Everything is new.
A new country.
A new culture.
New food, new rhythms, new ways of living.
A new language.
And in the middle of this newness, I feel like a walking contradiction. I am a writer, a lover of words, and yet here I am, limited by language. It’s actually disorienting. Everything that once defined me no longer does. My heart is free—lighter than ever—and yet my mind is scrambling to catch up. My logic says, What are you doing? While my spirit whispers, This is exactly where you belong.
That tension—the collision of logic and faith, of fear and freedom—has shown me how deeply I need Jesus, not just as Savior, but as daily sustainer.
Surrender Isn’t Once
From the outside, maybe it looks like I’m surrendered. If you scroll through my photos, it might even appear that way. Two months ago, I would have believed it myself. But what I’m discovering is that surrender isn’t just an exit posture—it’s an entry one, too.
I knew how to surrender when God told me to let go. But now He’s teaching me how to surrender as I step into something new. This isn’t a one-time act. It’s a rhythm. A relearning. A choice every sunrise.
Miracles in the Midst
And in this messy, beautiful process—Jesus keeps showing up.
I’ve seen Him cover IMPOSSIBLE debts that weighed heavy on me, sending provision literally to my doorstep just hours before my visa fees were due. I’ve seen Him meet me in a new language, where Portuguese phrases that once felt impossible are now slowly becoming words of deep connection and friendship. Every day, it gets a little easier to speak, to listen, to laugh alongside my new friends.
Yes, I’ve been homesick. I’ve cried more tears than I’d like to admit. I’ve even had a malaria scare that had me bed ridden. But in all of that, I’ve also felt the nearness of Jesus in a way that overwhelms me. Plus, It makes for a good blog post and chapter in the book of my life.
There’s something about having your life emptied of all the good things that once filled it—comforts, relationships, routines—that creates space for Him to come close in ways you never knew possible.
Empty, but Full
Back in the States, I didn’t realize how crowded my life was. Not crowded in a bad way—just full. Full of people, plans, purpose. But moving here, everything familiar has been stripped away. My days feel… empty.
But it’s the best kind of empty.
Empty enough for Jesus to take up more space. Empty enough for me to notice Him in the small things: the breeze that cuts through the afternoon heat, the smile of a child running to give me a hug, the quiet voice in prayer reminding me, I am with you.
I’m beginning to understand that this emptiness isn’t loss—it’s invitation. It’s just an invitation I am not used to accepting.
An invitation to dependency.
An invitation to trust.
An invitation to know Jesus not as an idea, but as a Friend who walks with me every step, even down the dusty roads of Gumbane.
And that’s the miracle I never expected: I’m continually being emptied, but I’ve never felt more full.
It’s my confirmation I am exactly where I am meant to be.
Jayliene Marie
https://my.farflungtincan.com/jaylienebonilla
Jayliene Marie 
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