They say a short memory is a blessing.
I feel blessed and cursed to have such a long, vivid memory. I always wanted to just keep the good and forget the bad.
But the brain is hot pot of chemicals and ingredients all sloshing together. All the memories, good and bad, bitter and sweet, cooking down and bubbling up to one tasty, rich soup of love.
That doesn’t mean you won’t have a messy kitchen from time to time. Enter at your own risk. The recipes are lessons to keep and learn and develop.
Splattered or not, enjoy your soup. Soup is medicine.
I feel closest to God in those dark hours that bring sleep or illness.
Confined to bed.
Dark hours of emotion, depression, irrational thought.
Confined to spirit.
Void of the physical.
Confined to thoughts and dreams.
I feel closest because I must answer the questions:
What do you believe?
Where is your heart?
What is real?
What is true?
Simplest, inarguable answer:
I trust you, God.
I will listen to your truth.
When I was lonely and missing my family while I was overseas, I read this verse from the NASB.
I lie awake,
I have become like a lonely bird on a housetop.
When you flap your feathers about, you risk being alone in the sky.
So we must call out to God. And wait upon his eagle wings.
Terribly sorry. I’ve not posted in January. I was a broad abroad.
First, I went to the Holy Land. I’m supposed to call it that. To protect and ensure the safety of the team and those who are working with us, referring to this region as the Holy Land is hopefully less offensive. It is a holy land to most living there.
Second, I went home to KC! That didn’t go so well. There was less tension in the Holy Land somehow? Unexpected.
While in the Holy Land, I worked with a humanitarian aid group (cannot name) to distribute wheelchairs and eyeglasses. So many people (cannot name) were helped. As you can imagine, most recipients did not want to publicize their need or charitable receipt. Understandable! Plus, advertising our help could jeopardize the team’s return.
There are so many stories. These stories have buried themselves in my dreams and burn like the Bedouin campfires hidden in the steep hills of the Middle East. Herding my heart toward grace and deep compassion for the people living there. I fell in love with the land, culture and most of all, the people. Their love and embrace–salvation from cold desert winds. There is hope for those that yet live. Strive. Hunger. Wander. Discover.
I will share some of these stories in the coming days as discreetly as I can, while still conveying the deep need and buoyant hope. A delicate endeavor. I am wholly changed after traveling so far. Thanks for reading!! And thanks to the team on which I served.
My prayers are but whispered words
From a yearning, desperate, fallible heart.
Mist between tall hills.
Breath between pangs.
Yet any power they possess
Does not rest on my small human capacity.
They are gathered by an eternal hand
That has raised mountains and stirred oceans.