Home is Where

I have been traveling, searching, yearning for this mythical place that most refer to simply as, home. Home for the past three years has never been simple.   It has never been easy.     My life is certainly better than most. I am not foolish enough to, on a comparative scale, measure the pain and confusion of my family dynamics against real problems like hunger, war, or things truly heart breaking. Yet still. My heart breaks again and again, every time I step foot onto the warmed earthen trail that leads me back to Florida.   WHERE my aging grandmother sits idle most days, emptily staring at a television she can no longer see or hear.…

Waiting

I sit here in my quiet, empty house, listening and straining to hear the still small voice that bids me ‘come.’ “Follow me farther,” my Father says, “seek me with your whole life, with your everything.”   “Teach me,” I reply.   “I am.” He says.   I’m only 40 hours away from Africa now, and my heart flutters and skips and opens wider. Oh to touch that deep red earth. Oh to watch the sun sink down over the heated plains. Oh to see the sky erupt with every star that it can contain in the velvet midnight heavens. To hear the music and sounds of people I don’t know yet, but are somehow my brothers and sisters.…

Ok, I Guess I’m Going Now

Oh how I have longed for the deep clay earth, that dusted land which is the crucible of miracles and creation. I have yearned to touch the shoreline of another nation. My heart has demanded payment for so long that I have grown used to the debt. Grown used to the ache.   When I awoke yesterday morning, Kenya was the farthest thing from my mind. With work, and houses, and responsibilities, and steadfastness settled over my life,  I could not have imagined that by dinner time I would have signed up for an adventure with my best friends and Jesus.…

No More

She struggled to speak. She struggled to move. She struggled to struggle with her body which didn’t seem to want to obey her mind.   She was beautiful.   And she pressed forward into the line, waiting and praying for a chance to be healed.   I have not seen faith as such since my days in Africa. The line that formed at the altar, as oil poured out and the Holy Spirit moved with compassion for God’s people last Sunday.   In front of my eyes and the touch of a hand, ankles healed. Swelling stopped. Sinuses healed. Legs healed.…

My Father

  When I get quiet and alone. When I lay on my face upon the floor. When the world comes knocking at the door, and I just can’t handle turning the handle, because I’m small and the world is not; I sit in the stillness. I get low to the ground.  I remember my father.   I speak out to him who holds me together, and who holds the world. And the peace always comes.   He is faithful and just. He is all peace and all knowing. He is hope and joy and grace and perfection itself. He is patient.…