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The story of deliverance from global devastation is a story of counting days. It’s a story that reminds me I am not the first child of God to feel the way I am feeling.
Time does weird things. It drags and flies, expands and contracts. And through it all, God is patient with us.
If we cry out, and God doesn’t answer, it doesn’t mean we are not worthy of attention. It just means we need to keep crying. Perhaps a little louder.
In this Mother’s Day season, I appreciate the tribe of women. The ones that help their daughters survive. The ones that bond around mission. Belonging can be a joy.
Every congregation, every social justice organization, has earth-shattering crises when we fall on our faces in despair, in exhaustion, in shame, in humility, in prayer.
The troubles of our context cannot negate the blessed assurance of our consciousness.
The suffering of grief, both present and anticipatory, is painful and real, and it will remain as long as we remain divided, as long as power is used to harm rather than heal.
If you, like me, are having days where it feels like the story is coming to an end, remember. All you have been through to get to this point. All the obstacles overcome.
When I was new to kayaking, I would never have discovered Mud Lake unless someone had told me what it felt like, smelled like, looked like, and had brought me there in person.
While humanity observes a relative degree silence – whether from virus or fatigue, with grief or frustration – all the earth continues to sing God’s praise.