I woke up in Poland.
My apartment building in Warsaw.
I mean, I'd flown there the day before (or the two days before, depending on how you like to view leaving the States on Halloween and arriving in Europe on All Saints' Day), but this day...this day was my first whole day of living in another country.
What was I thinking?
I'm from a town in Alaska that boasts a whopping population of 7,000ish. Warsaw's population is, oh, a half-million times that: 1.8 million people.
This day was a reality check. I lived in Poland. I'd be there for two years.
I knew virtually nothing of the culture, of the people, and of the language. I was afraid of what this new stage of my life would look like, of who I would meet, of how I would handle being so far from my family and all that was familiar.
In Old Town, Warsaw.
But God was faithful to me. Poland became home. I learned how to navigate public transportation. I adjusted to the culture. I learned the language. And I grew to love it.
In Royal Castle Square, Old Town, Warsaw.
As I look at aspects of my life here: the eight different forms of public transportation in this city, a language which boasts "vowel harmony" yet has no "to be" verb, and the call to prayer going off five times a day, I can't help but think: maybe God will do the same for me and Istanbul.