Reality Bites

Decisions are made in the dark... in our minds, in the mysterious realm of the intuition. We wrestle, we tango, we ignore, we procrastinate, and then at the last millisecond we verbalize the truth that's been laying there all along, waiting to be acknowledged, like an overdue bill. If I don't pay it, it still exists. Does God work this way? We pray for clarity, for insight, expecting a message written in the clouds, some brilliant burning bush. Yet, Moses wasn't looking for an answer, was he? He was hiding, not wanting to be found. I suppose expecting burning bushes when we're seeking God's guidance is like hoping to get a parking ticket in a permit free zone. In the case of Elijah, we see that God doesn't speak in natural disasters or freaks of nature; He speaks in a still, small voice. In the midst of this crazy, overstimulated world, we must train our hearts and minds to hone in on the whispering truth of our Saviour. That's where His will for us resides.

Decisions aren't the hard part, though. What are the implications of the decision... reality. I experienced a bit of reality today ... leaving Brussels, our friends and near "family" here will be much harder than I bargained for. Others shed unexpected tears today. Sometimes we don't express fully our love for others until we know we're about to lose them. I was humbled by my own tears and those around me.

This song plays in my mind, I'm not sure why..."Even the best fall down some time, even the wrong words seem to rhyme. Out of the doubt that fills my mind I somehow find you and I collide."

The Gift of Lack...

Well, it's decided...we're moving back to the States. After a four year journey of stepping out of the boat, this chapter of our lives is drawing to a close. How do I feel, people ask me... I'm not sure yet. Of course, it will be hard to say goodbye to people we love, people who've been a daily part of our life. Yet I can't help but be thrilled. Thrilled that my kids will be with their friends, thrilled that we'll have more time with our parents, thrilled to have daily interactions with my precious sister friends, thrilled for all things American that I've grown to appreciate so much more since we left. Thrilled to understand what my kids' teachers are telling me during parent teacher conferences. I sense for some, they look at us in pity, as if this is a failure... yet to me it feels like freedom. Freedom to go back w/o regrets. Freedom to follow God into the next chapter of our lives knowing that we are His beloved. Freedom to be reminded that our salvation is not based on what we do for Him. Freedom to embrace the ordinary, the familiar, if only for a little while. Freedom to be. Thank you Jesus for the gift of the lack.

Grace Exchange begins

When you buy a new shirt do you wash it before you wear it? Not me - I love the crisp, fresh from the store, just ripped the tags off smell. In fact, I've unwittingly worn a few still-tagged shirts out in public. After a few good parties, some flattering comments, that once fabulous blouse fades into the humdrum of a closet full of brilliant purchases turned ordinary. In fact in just a few short seasons of the mercurial fashion world, your glance may never fall on this item of clothing again... What do they say about clothes... if you didn't wear it last season, you won't wear it this season. Yet how often do I leave these faded finds simply collecting dust, occupying precious hanger space in my mini European closet - the only real closet in our entire house.

What is a grace exchange? An invitation to pull out those old clothes, those sort of itchy, stained, used to be nice, but look a bit stretched-out garments you moved to the back of your closet last season. Are you clinging too tightly to sweaters that used to flatter, shoes that used to have intact heels? How often do I do that in my spiritual life - cover myself with the truths God taught me in the previous chapter of my life, hoping they're deep enough to bide me some coasting time in the present. Forgiveness accepted and extended a year ago. The peace you knew last summer in the midst of your heart's latest storm. I've been biding my time a bit lately, and I sense God moving a grace exchange, an amnesty day on the horizon of my soul.

From the time I was a "wee lass", as my Scottish friend Nicky would say, i had a thing for justice. My parents always thought I'd end up in the courtroom, defending the shackled. Yet a penchance for justice can be shackling in itself. How quickly can a love for truth and justice morph into a leaching weed of smug rightness? Daily, hourly, often moment to moment in my skin this mutation imperceptibly occurs.

I recently began reading a Henri Nouwen work (my first ever, I'm ashamed to admit) called, "Return of the Prodigal Son." It's based on his encounter with Rembrandt's painting of the story from the Bible of a son who demands his inheritance from his father, then quickly putzes (he was Jewish after all) it away on loose living (there's a 1950's phrase if I ever wrote one!) On so many levels, I see my reflection in the characters of the story - the ungrateful, turned repentant son, the dutiful, bitter older brother, the clueless onlookers.

Who am I today?