Leap

And so it begins.

My husband just packed the truck full with the little bit of furniture we have. The pink desk. Our lopsided shelves. Now the china bowl from Zanzibar with the crack in it that I love because she said it reminded her of us, is empty on the floor.

I remind myself that change is good. Change means progress. But my heart, she is stubborn.

I do not have much predictability in this life. Things are never stable on this adventure in Africa, but I'd become attached to this space. This constant, in a universe of alterations. I always have to remain flexible here. If the rains don't come....if the rains do come. There are never any certainties.

I think of how often our women must feel that. Don't know where the next meal will come from for their children, or how long they might have to live. Their pain cuts a little deeper than mine.

So when we are sick, we pray. And where there is no hope, we see hope.

And when the heart is broken, we sing.

Because I know only this: that He is working for my good. Our good.

I know it will be better. But how to let go of the good for the better? The sacrifice squeezes my heart.

Risk is a rickety bridge towards trust. Sometimes we get a little too comfortable.

We forget how to leap. And belief the biggest risk of all.

Sometimes He has to teach us again.

But what is a home really? These paint and boards don't define me. They don't make me my own.

If I make my heart His home, then Home is wherever He is. And wherever I go.

Then wherever I go, there must be a miracle about to break forth.

ring of fire

Give thanks for the morning sunrise I'm well enough to see.

Give thanks for the husband still warm in bed, his arm over his head in dreams.

Some days we give thanks because we don't know what else to do. 

Because if we truly look we can see the gems shimmering through the mud and the mess.

I slip out into the cool of the morning before the day's heat drenches my shirt, and give thanks for that breeze and early stillness. 

The doc says I have malaria/and/or food poisoning which is less than reassuring with all the slashes. 

Africa wins again.

I made it to the office. I so want to teach my counseling seminar because the healing,

the lifting of unburdened heads, 

the symphony of song, is what I love. What I live for here. 

Unbroken wings.

By mid-day I can feel the fever coming back, the sweat at my temples. I want to push through this thing. I want to be strong enough. 

Father gently says it's time to go home. 

Some things can feel like failures. Business ventures not turned out quite like expected.
The dream trip to Italy postponed because its not what he needs right now.

Being sick in bed.  Our body betraying us. The unanswered questions.

Like all the seeds planted still waiting for fruit. Or as in my case, a tiny sprig of lettuce.

We don't get the why's all the time. 

Don't understand the losses.

The little girl selling herself for food, when she should be playing with dolls.

The unexpected deaths.

The friends far away. 

The waiting for a miracle. 

The bombs going off in Congo.

I come across the contradictions. And wince.
 

Want to take them all in, but can't. Want to do it all, but can't.

May have to move out of our home of three years, because it's the best decision to be made. 

Choosing something new and unknown.

These things cut quick and scary.

But it's not so scary anymore. My life all wrapped up in His. 

The dark, an opportunity, for light. 

The hurt, a gateway, for healing.

The ruins, a road to redemption.

The leaving, a beginning. 

One door opens another.

Only a choice:

Choose thanks

Choose love

Choose belief

Choose laughter

Choose rest

and His arms

When we're not strong enough a sliver, to see that He is. He is strong enough.
He is good enough. 

So, when I'm not strong enough, my Daddy is. 

He paints the world a new color. 

Little Lucy who once was strangled, gets to come home and be a daughter. 

The broken hearted sing.

A prayer gets answered.

She'll wear my wedding dress in June. 

When the world goes dark, there is still a ring of fire. 

And sometimes a sprig of lettuce.

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