Fairly Ordinary

1. While in the shower, promptly decide that your shower head must be one of those types that have different water sprays. And because you are extremely tired from stuffing yourself with turkey yesterday, and because you laughed your head off for two hours last night because family is wonderful and quite hilarious at times, you suddenly lose common sense.

2. Then begin to twist on the shower head with wild abandon, in hopes of finding either a more gentle rinse or a concentrated power spray.

3. Become furious and quite frustrated that it isn’t working, and begin to twist even more furiously.

4. Suddenly feel the drenching water power as you stand there, holding the shower head in one hand and attempting to cover your face from the FLOW OF THE COLORADO RIVER with your other hand.

5. And then, because you have nothing else exciting to do this morning, attempt to put the showerhead back on the nozzle while the water is still pouring out furiously.

Yes, now I’m awake.

In between slicing bananas (to eat with peanut butter), and listening to my dad shoot a large possum on my deck, I talked with an old friend tonight. Well, talked a bit. But I mostly listened.

This person has seen a side of Christianity that would make your skin crawl. He’s been down roads that would make you blush. Been hurt in such a way that the “family of God” has become a laughing matter to him instead of a comfort. Perhaps some of you would be too uncomfortable to hear his rants. To listen to his stories.

But there is something wild and gravely familiar in his voice. Our stories are unbelievably close. We compare notes and I groan at the realization that someone else will be facing such painful times. And tonight, he seemed restless. Moved. Hungry. Aching for the God he knows is real. And yet frustrated with so much.

I wish with all of my heart that I could tell him to fling himself into the arms of God and that all of his pains, fears, and troubles will disappear. But he knows better. And so do I. All I know to do is to whisper that God is real. That God is Love. The real kind. Unlike the type that promises a Great Night and Glory Upon Glory. That finding rest will require dying to self. That it all takes time.

A. W. Tozer once said, “Thirsty hearts are those whose longings have been wakened by the touch of God within them.”

Sometimes finding yourself with a thirsty heart is the best place to be.

Wes said, “you are the most progressive old-fashioned lady I know.”

And I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or a statement of concern.

My raspberry sorbet candle is burning, The Giving is playing softly on my laptop, and I’m drinking milk and eating cookies.

It’s been one of those days (the type that takes your breath away). And for some reason, the above-mentioned things seem comforting to me at the present.

Daniel flew in to take me to dinner tonight. Italian. Ambience. A quaint candle. And he also found time to serenade me a bit on the piano. It was simply beautiful.

An amazing way to end an incredible week.