Thoughts from Home

Woke up this morning to Rory licking my face. 

But how can you stay mad at a golden retriever? 

Being home has been a nice change of pace.  I realized how tired I really am and how much I need sleep.  It is amazing how once life slows down suddenly, even if for just a short time, all the exhaustion rushes into the rest.  Your body seems to be going overkill on getting the message across, "PLEASE slow down."  My body is finding a permanent spot by the fireplace, not wanting to move.

I am remembering the tension I felt when making the decision to move to Boston.  Wanting to stay, needing to leave.  Wanting to cling to what is safe, knowing I need to fly.  And so I turned off my over-thinking button and drove north.

And God smiles, I am convinced of it, when we step into the unknown.  When we say yes to the invitation of living out tall history on the earth. When we say yes to the now, which means a loud no is echoed into the past, where choices and legs of the journey try to disqualify.  I've found myself laughing more and more at those disqualifiers.  I just don't believe in them anymore.  What is life if not a defying of what shouldn't be possible.  Grace kisses brokenness and heals it if we let it, and that healing produces deep deep joy and wonder.  I know that as I watch my parents falling in love again.  I don't understand it.  A year ago they were headed to divorce.  Today they are laughing like little children together.  A mystery.  Grace.   

I learned something in one of my first physics lectures that changed how I see quest.  Sometimes to find motion, to determine direction, you have to take the individual parts apart and focus on one vector at a time.  There is an x direction, a y direction, and together they make up the trajectory.  There are times when I struggle with wondering how my love for journalism will ever come back into play in my life, but then I remember this truth.  It isn't and/or but both.  And that truth brings such freedom in the present--to be fully engaged and trusting in the now.  The things we hope for, we're willing to wait for, we hold onto.  What we hold onto shapes who we are in a profound way.  Even if certain hopes are never fulfilled, there must be something incredible that occurs in a waiting person's heart-- and not passive waiting , but the kind that is full of trust, expectation, vision, single-eyed.  

Steady hope. Lives becoming a beautiful offering.  I don't want to live a moment outside of the dance of knowing He fully delights in me.  All of me.