Thursday, September 9, 2010


Months ago, we experienced a shifting of the heart. We were moved. We searched, we watched, we negotiated (foolishly) and then, we let go. The letting go was not the hardest part. The hardest part was everything that came before that, and now, everything that follows.

The letting go was exhilarating. It was blind trust. It was flinging - in the present tense.

So tell me, how does a heart unmove itself? Tell me, please, because I've become unmoved.

I would rather believe that I'm not really half-baked, that I wouldn't so easily forget the very soul of this change. I'm just waiting for this house to sell, that's all. Sell the house, God, and then I will get back to the business of sacrifice, of compassion, of action.

I am not entirely sure when I tossed truth up on the roof and plopped down at the bottom of the ladder to wait it out. I am ashamed that I bartered. This flimsy exchange that I offered the One who gilded pastures of hay just for me, the One who gifted me with a life sweeter than I would have dared to day-dream, escaped so quietly from my heart that the screen door didn't even bang the jamb.

We have another month beneath our belt and it's true, these britches are getting tight. It's hard to act comfortable when you're not.

So tonight, having no answers but questions, confessions, hope, I pray for the water to simmer up to a boil, a baptism for my re-melting. I pray for opportunity to stand out like a red trench on a rainy day. I pray for gratitude for this home that has loved us so well and will do the same tomorrow.