from the shadows

As someone tapered off our cheerful rendition of "Happy Birthday to you!" with "and mannnyyyy mooooreeee!" Lady Jane quietly and sweetly added, "Hopefully not too many more!"

The squeeze in my heart wanted to cut her off with a, "Shhh, don't say that!" like some superstitious villager making the inevitable impossible by refusing to vocalize it. 

Besides, dear joyful woman didn't mean anything dreary by it.  She has lived her life well and entrusted to Jesus. He has carried her faithfully through much joy and sorrow, and she longs to be with Him and many others...she longs to be free from a body constantly failing her and a mind at times coming up short. She has a precious and loving, tight-knit family legacy and all she meant was this: 

The bright years are behind now, and I'd quite rather be at rest with Jesus.

Still somehow muddling through this hardest year, her unexpected finale caught my own heart off-guard as I cut the cake I used to loving make for every special event at home, but hadn't attempted since Haiti. 

As I sliced through buttercream roses, one phrase cut through all I've been struggling to put into words and down to the bones :  

You are a shadow of who you once were.

The tears that come so quickly anymore stung and overflowed with the light-bulb realization.

A shadow. 

I was adventurous and brave...living by faith, not by sight...I was continually stretched and blessed by teaching, I was continually challenged and overjoyed by hosting men and women from around the globe. I was blessed by the orphan and the widow being my daily companions, utterly dependent upon the Lord and prayer.  I was growing in continual cross-cultural worship and chapel and church and Bible study, I was sharing all I had with one another, and one another with me. 

I had relationships from around the world, coming back again and again, growing and deepening and meaningful, always housed by Haiti or on behalf of her. For years, I was deeply content and joyful in ministry, an adventure every other day, conversations around scrubbing buckets with village women, raising my children alongside my brothers and sisters, our lives lived well and continually in sweet and painful, bare-foot, soul-bearing community. I had a 15 year support team behind me, He met me, always, and I always, always had a story to share.

The bright years are behind now, and I am a shadow.

I know you think that's ridiculous. 

That's fine. It's my blog. 

I've been fighting and striving and trying to find that girl again, to find that community again, to find that purpose again, to find that faith again, and after all these months of fighting, I've mostly only accomplished being a completely new strain of tired.

My man Oswald says that God's gonna break in any minute....and that the way to make room for Him is to expect Him to come.

So I'm looking for Him from the shadows.

I may not be much, not now, not ever...But I've got room.

Do not look for God to come in a particular way, 

but do look for Him.

The way to make room for Him 

is to expect Him to come, but not in a certain way.

No matter how well we may know God,

the real lesson to learn is that He may break in at any minute.

Live in a constant state of expectancy, 

and leave room for God to come in as He decides.