I'm back, I'm back, I'm back. 3 weeks later too! Phew, glad to be in Austin where people are weird, the food is good, and paddle-boarding is on the rise. Florida, Nashville, Memphis, Jackson, College Station.
I've been experiencing mild to moderate symptoms of writer's block, so bear with me while I warm up my muscles again.
To be perfectly frank, I'm in limbo, straddling contentment at all times. When I'm in Africa, I'm longing to be home with my family, my small group, within reach of friends. When I'm in the U.S., calling my daughters in Uganda makes me weep, and I miss the brilliant sunsets over the cassava fields.
My calling is sure. To be a storyteller. To sit down over a bagel and coffee with everyone who will listen and tell them not about Joseph Kony, but about the people he has trampled. The real, tangible, people with stories, homes, families, and heartbeats. And the hope that is here, that in Jesus Christ, there is no fear in death.
I keep being reminded that the Acholi people are His people. Always have been, always will be. He watches them as they sleep. He knows their thoughts from afar.
So I'm clinging to the truth that life is so much fuller with God's nearness and greatness in mind.
Nearness, in that He never condemns, always understands, sits closely.
Greatness in that the worst thing the earth could do to Him was crucify Him, but He won that too. And this is the thing,
Surely God is my salvation; I will trust and not be afraid. The LORD, the LORD, is my strength and my song; he has become my salvation.
So God's strength is my strength, and the worst thing the earth could to me is take my life. But in HIM, I've already won.
Isn't that so great?
Thank you Jesus for Asher, Camp, James, dolphin cruises, rain storms, milkshakes, soul sisters who live in Nashville and eat cookie dough fried in wonton, and your promises that make it all worth while.
p.s. See those two little brown baby bellies? That's Asher and Camp. They're finally where they belong, in Wynne and Stephen's arms. Read more here.