We're here in Ohio, where the living's easy.
2 days of the usual: food, rest, and salsa.
Tomorrow I'll be speaking to a group of local ladies about some of what happened when God flipped our world like a hotcake. This will be my third "gig" since March, with another one still on the docket. It's a real head-scratcher, the way this has fallen together. It's a high and sacred honor to share our road with others. I never saw this coming.
There's a certain tension that exists in me when I share. It's hard to stand up front and pretend to know anything about anything, so hard to leave space enough for the simple truth that none of this was our idea. I've gone kicking and screaming, in places. I've clawed to stay put when I was supposed to be moving.
Isn't that the sparkly wonder of it all? That God writes a story for us, nudges and pulls us across miles where we stand like stubborn children, all crossed arms and pursed lips. And not so differently than the way we coax anxious Littles to do what we know is best for them, we are loved enough to not be left pouting on the curb. He moves us, moves us, and we keep learning to trust.
It's becoming a bit easier to walk through the doors as they open. We've come to a strange place of belief that it's well within God's power to barricade as he chooses. We've had seasons where long corridors intersect with one another, almost comically door- and window-less. And when we least expect it, the hinges swing wide and the world suddenly looks new.
Far more often than not, we point our feet toward the patch of daylight and walk its way.
As of last week, I'm officially a member of the (in)courage crew, along with 35 other women, many of whom have heavily influenced my faith. In my wildest dreams, I couldn't have imagined this. It's the best kind of shock, the dreamiest kind of surprise.
Every 5 weeks or so, I'll pour some of my heart out on the (in)courage page. I hope you'll meet us over there.
I can't thank you enough for walking beside me, linking arms through quiet seasons and rowdy patches. You're my people; my sisters. You hold your love out to me like a banner and I pray you see mine unfurled for you.