First of the Last

I stare out the morning window, the outline of my head stares back at me, wispy hair out of place, wild. The sun isn’t up yet, only the faintest, faded line of pink lingers over the trees out back. This slow rising happens every morning, I think to myself.

As I wrap my hands around my warm cup, I can’t help but rush ahead into the day. Even though the house is quiet, I’m running on the inside as if things are in full swing. My feet haven’t moved but my soul is rumbling.

Tomorrow would be the first day of my last week in HeuLab. There’s a sea of journals on this shelf; there’s a plethora of colors in each memory that occurred in the workplace. I want to think thankfulness when I see those flashes of colors. And today I began to count the gifts—sweet, intangible ones.

There’s too many of them I can’t count out loud. But surely, I want to be able to carry the gifts around with me.

Next Up

I feel like tightrope walking. What would be the next of me? I push anxieties back from showing up but also thought that we must let them rise up, so that we can release them into His hands; speak the fear out loud, so that He can give words of truth; run into places where faith seems small; look around, be honest about how it feels as you stand there; and know we have a God who can handle it, a God who’s able.

I now put my morning cup on our dining table, breathe in deep the air of a new day, pray without words to a God who knows. I become aware of His acceptance of me and His truth becomes a strand woven into the fabric of our minutes.

A mature faith says I am desperately in need of a source outside of myself. I always have been, and I know it.