a singing cell phone startled me out of a dream where I was in my bedroom in KC packing boxes to move to Fredericksburg. I awoke, here. Surrounded by my things, with my clothes hanging in the closet, my glow in the dark stars on the walls of a room that hadn’t been dark long enough for their light to die out(aka I’d had little sleep) yet still unsure if I was actually here… or in another dream. The morning was surreal to say the least.
Walking outside to my car I found it…. wrapped in Christmas paper. And on the windshield was written in red ink “Welcome home sucka”. I knew I shouldn’t have taken my sister-in-law pranking with me in Kansas City.
The commute into the district was long; traffic backed up & cars being searched around the capital most likely due to the shooting in Arizona this weekend. Walking into the JHOP condo I tried to believe that I was one of them, not just visiting, then gave up. It will take awhile for this little bird to settle. It was good to see familiar faces though & I was happy to be welcomed by the IHOP-KC Strike team who are here on a 21-day prayer assignment. We split into two groups, each taking a 2-hour shift standing on the wall in front of the Supreme Court & I loved looking down the line & seeing my friends… knowing in two weeks they will be gone.
An hour & a half commute, worship & an exhortation, lunch, 2 hours in the Fre-eeezing cold by the court, 3 hours in the prayer room, dinner, prayer meeting, teaching & the 40 minute commute back to F-burg. The cold I’ve been fighting for 3 weeks has come back with a vengeance, but Kim let me defile her tomato soup with 3x more cayenne pepper than is healthy & I finally can breathe.
It’s 12.30 in the morning, it’s been a long, emotional day & I sit here sipping tea, for a moment enjoying the fact that I am alone in this basement apartment….. not crying about it. There is grace for grieving through transition, this is a constant reminder I whisper to myself, & I’m allowed to cry every time I think of my sister, or get a txt from one of my parents that I know cried while sending, or a picture from Randy or Kelsey of one of the girls, or the number of simple “I wish you were here’s”…. & I can do that for as long as I need to.
It’s impossible to count the times my eyes have filled in the last 3 days as the messages from friends have rolled in, all of whom I love, all of whom I wish were… well… with me where I am. But every time that happens I fight to turn my heart & offer those tears as worship.
Do You see? That costs me Lord, but take the pain of that cost and let it be as worship to You, let it be as intercession before You. Let even my pain in the simple missing of so many little things, so many people be COUNTED as unto You! I gladly give it, I gladly give it, knowing You willingly receive it & it matters.
In blogging I never want to cross the line into public journaling, believe me, there is MUCH left unsaid. But neither do I fear vulnerability for the chance that some might be encouraged or strengthened to turn to the Lord, to feel, to give, to run harder to love deeper, to give what costs. If by my transparency even one here or there find the spark that flickers into even a small flame in their heart than it is worth the cost of publicly declaring my weakness.
Jesus You’re worthy of all of my worship, all of my love.