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.
