It began with dreams of sharing the Gospel in the streets. As the trees were shedding their leaves, my nights were filled with the ghosts of the alleyways. I saw myself standing on the corner chatting with a group of people about Jesus, laying hands on darkened buildings, and treading through the rain drenched European cobblestone.

Before the snow fell, I already knew.The front page of a new Moleskin, in ink... I penned: "Ibiza." As that last dot hit the page, visions of many years past invaded my mind. My secret European dreams.

Oh, I am living the dream. It may only be for two weeks, but this is Heaven on Earth. The mountains, the sea, the hand of God at work, moving with the rhythm of prayer and Spirit, praising Him through song and dance... this is it.

And, the more I am here, the more my heart knows I will return. To the cobblestone, to the pub, to the other side of the world. I cannot explain the allure or the burden, but I feel like I belong here. At the vortex of Spain and the UK, a crazy American is feeling at home.

For the first time in a long time, I feel complete.