whitney dziurawiec

We are in Omaha now, "permanently". Permanently doesn't mean a whole lot to us anymore, but we are in Omaha... ...after we get back from Sioux City on Thursday. Permanently. Kind of. And our days are spent in prayer lifting up our cars for perseverance, our days for productivity and creativity, and lifting up appointments, phone calls, emails, and church presentations. We also think about knocking on the doors of rich neighborhoods, brochures in hand, ready to share our ministry with them. Because it worked when I sold magazines in elementary school? I actually started typing a tweet at Sean & Catherine Lowe about sharing our ministry with them, but wimped out. It's not desperation; it's innovation. And I may still do it. We live with his parents, and then my parents, and then my aunt & uncle, and then maybe a friend's house, and on and on and on we move. We are moving permanently .  Maybe that's how I should respond when people ask...

As fall pokes its holes through the air in my world, I feel death looming over and around me; I so wish I just meant the plants and the trees. I see the death in a dear one's spiritual walk, left me with theological questions, personal questions, angry questions, and no answers. Of myself, as I watch dear aspects of my comfort, my impatience, my plans die for Him, because of Him, for His cause. Of real people. With actual lives ended. Moms, sisters, classmates. I'm petrified by this, that death is this close, this permeating; it will stop for no one. I am struck by the unnaturalness of it all. How odd that something so certain for everyone feels so wrong, so off, like we weren't meant to die. We were not made to die, nor to deal with death. Death was not His intention for us, which is why it shakes us to our innermost being. And death is devastating, because it negates every fiber of both our souls and our bodies. I hear of deaths of precious people I ba...