His voice.

There has just been a lot of hard lately.

It's a lot harder to write in the hard, to write without answers.

There are a lot of voices in the hard...some deeply encouraging, some deepening the hard, most just distracting.  Lots just my own.

These are the times, aren't they, when we just need His.  His voice, even a whisper, even a Word, and it is more than enough.  Does what 100 voices can't.  Speaks where 100 voices go silent.

So I'm waiting on Him and listening.  Waiting for the most competent communicator in existence to whisper Himself to me.

Meanwhile, I am so thankful for so many things in the midst of hard.

A husband who is already 110% all in everyday at Emmaus, and is then coming home 110% to help me while I struggle with my health.

Staff and students around me who are a JOY to work with, a joy to be teaching agin, who are inspiring us with major church projects and youth retreats taking place this weekend and next week through the Mardi Gras season.  Staff and students who want Him more, but not selfishly.

A precious-most-random community around the dinner table each night, each weekend...blessing us with British humor and Kansas stories and Jersey laughter and Arizona understanding.  Only God could set up our dinner table so uniquely and so nourishingly.  They feed me as I feed them.

For two precious ones in pigtails, chasing across the yard in their underwear because I missed my goodbye kiss, waking us up at 5:30 to practice French homework, getting in the locked sparkle drawer and glue sticking them all over our coffee table...still on Matt's face, today.  Probably Erin's, too.

An internet guru with a happy heart, rewiring, resetting, rebooting, retesting, giving us a speed and consistency of internet that I haven't experienced since. moving. to. Haiti.

The hope and dreaming of a baby, for the sickness that means he or she is more than a hope.  For the sickness so many wish to be.

For Paulcine taking that turkey.