Yesterday was Jon's birthday and I find myself most speechless on the days where I'm supposed to be the most full of praises and affirmations. And we spent the morning driving around the city to different churches with the air conditioning sputtering on and off, and the evening driving to Omaha and back, and we never acknowledged the sober reality that we'd spent most of his first day of 27 in the car. The heat is fading in slowly, in suffocating silence. Some days this farmland glows with glory. Others, it grows stagnate and stale. And we wait on the Lord out in this farmland. We wait on Him in relief that His faithfulness is not correlated with our trust, but with His own character. We cling to blurry hope on the stale days; we relish in the abundant glory on victorious days. We ask Him. He answers. "No's" sting our cheeks in shame and "yeses" feel foreign, abbreviated, delayed. But we have no other choice but to sit at His feet ...
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the unseen and the seem
This Starbucks is murmuring, my iced coffee is dripping, Norah Jones is crooning, and the world outside is swelling in anticipation for a storm they say will pass through. Jon took a day trip today so I've had a much-needed introvert day, complete with hiding from the septic pump people in desperate attempts to avoid all human interaction for the entire day. So the world is swelling and my soul is groaning because this world is so wearing, I'm seeing, for all of us. And often my personal pain hinders from me from seeing this, but we are all groaning, waiting, limping down our respective roads that are often riddled with pain and unmet desires. We all whisper those silent questions when night falls and we are forced to face our swollen hearts pregnant with longing, the when? the why? the how? I feel it too, friends. And I know you're here. I know your pain, though different than mine, is just as valid. It is deep. It is too complex for trite encouragement, too deep to de...