34 year old me is desperately jealous of 44 year old me.
Sometimes, my “better than” comes from wounds. Maybe yours does, too.
I am exhausted from swimming in and out of the current. I long for a boat of bliss, to float above grief, to get out of the river.
Determination only gets so far in the day in day out.
And romantic stubbornness turns cold.
I get why school wasn’t cancelled for the Seattle Seahawks victory parade. People had to work, I appreciate that. But for my family, it was worth dropping everything to go — and they even learned a few things:
A little piece of our story made it to the cover of the New York Times this week . . .
That little piece is a drug called Suboxone.
But over the past ten years, God has been peeling. Peeling and peeling the layers of me. And I am confronted often by who I think I should be and who I am.
Peacemaking is not all sanitized photo-ops and signed documents and kisses on cheeks and shaking hands.
Real peace-making is ugly, painful, costly.
Yesterday, I had a Jesus moment. That moment when everything around you, all the stuff you are trying to do for Him is stripped away