Today i was in my editing class and we talked about how often editors want to skimp on the little things. There are easy ways to twist the truth, or make things look different than they truly are. In bigger stories people are expected to get the facts right; but in smaller ones sometimes its easier to fudge things. Then in chapel i was reminded once again that the Lord expects us to be faithful in the small things. Why is it we always care about the big things, we want to ignore the little things, or we think it doesn't matter if we fudge them. Yet we know that the little things are the most important.
I was grateful to be reminded of this,to focus my attention on those tiny things i think don't matter, but make the difference between a faithful heart and one that is not.
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Monday, January 11, 2010
waves of life
The first time, I felt that gut-wrenching feeling. The first time the tears came streaming down as if a dam wall had broken. The first time I watched them fade into the distance. The first time, I was six. The first time I remember waving. We used to wave and wave and wave, even when we knew they couldn’t see anymore. If I stopped waving, they would be gone, gone forever. A thousand million years was what my young mind thought would be an eternity. I learnt at an early age to say, “See you in a thousand million years.” I never dreamt that this scene would replay over and over in the years to come.
I am seventh generation Anglo-African, my homeland, Zimbabwe, or Zim as we fondly refer to it. I never dreamt I would be saying goodbye to my country. My childhood was fantastic, full of cheerful memories. We didn’t grow up with the finer things of life, but we were blissful. We enjoyed the African weather, which was mostly hot and spent hours, maybe even days, swimming. We had grocery stores and donut shops; ice-cream was sometimes available. We would ride our bikes everywhere with no care in the world. Christmases and holidays were spent with every family member you could possible crowd into one house, grandparents, uncles, aunts, dozens of cousins and often other close family friends. However, with age comes wisdom, or at least awareness of the things going on around you.
As I grew I became more aware of the change in my country, or at least as I grew the change in the country grew. Zim was once known as the bread basket of Africa, a flourishing nation. The president, Robert Gabriel Karigamombe Mugabe, is currently 84 and has been in power for 30 years. He has been labeled one of the 10 worst dictators in the world. His power has been like that of a disease, slowly devouring our bread basket until there was nothing left. The once-thriving nation is now just another statistic of a ruined one.
The old Zim was gone, faded into oblivion, and the new Zim was something I could not identify with. The new Zim was one with lines of cars that would wrap, 5 times around the block to get gas. It was one where the policemen were no longer friendly; but threatening and notorious for violence. The new Zim had what queues in the grocery store where we would wait for hours to get bread, if there was any bread. The new Zim was one where you bought your driver’s license with money, cigarettes or beer. The new Zim had pain on the faces that were once filled with smiles. The new Zim had two distinct cultures, white and black, instead of the old one family of Zimbabweans. It was as if I had moved countries; my little black friends now looked at me with hatred instead of love. Why? The white people suddenly became the enemy. Things that happened years ago visited us again; the ghosts of our ancestors came to visit, and people decided to take it out on our generation. My friends no longer saw themselves as my friends. My country was disintegrating, slowly but surely, and I had no way of changing it.
We had a tradition in my family that when someone would leave, you would stand in the driveway and wave. You would keep waving even when you knew they couldn’t see you anymore. I had to do this over and over. People began to leave Zim in large numbers; it is estimated that over 500,000 left in 15 years, out of a total population of 13,000,000. I felt like I waved goodbye to them all. Standing in driveways, airports, church parking lots, we waved. Our arms surprisingly never grew tired, as if someone waved with us. Somehow we would gain the strength to face the next one, a strength that was not human.
I said goodbye to Bethy, my 13-year-old best friend. We knew intimate details about each other and would spend hours late at night giggling and discussing our deepest passions. I said goodbye to Rosie, the next best friend in line. Her family had to leave because her Dad had no job and had found a new one in New Zealand. I said goodbye to Allison; their farm was re-possessed, taken away; they lost everything they had. I said goodbye to Lauren, Paidamoyo and Mark. I said goodbye to my dearest cousins, who were like siblings to me. Then my grandparents had to leave as their pension become non-existent, had to go and live with my aunt and uncle. Every family member left one by one, and we waved.
It was my turn to leave the next, time to fly, something I had never done before. At the age of 19, travelling in an airplane was a whole new adventure for me. I was in Harare International Airport in terminal A, gate A. There is only one terminal and only two gates. I remember my little family standing in a circle. I had to hug each one, first my youngest sister Emma she was about 14. She was somewhat oblivious to what was going on and hugged in a way that said, “I’ll see you again… soon.” My next little sister was Nicole, who hugged me in utter desperation, clinging to me for dear life and crying hysterically. My mom was next, gaining strength from her body I hugged hard, not urgently but hard enough to be reassured that I was doing the right thing. Finally my Dad; I almost couldn’t do it; I knew the pain and fear he was feeling but there was nothing I could. I hugged him for what felt like hours, but I had to eventually let go, wave one last time and walk away, with fake confidence that I really didn’t possess.
It was a strange occurrence; I had already said goodbye to my homeland. The country I grew up in no longer existed, yet the pain was so raw I could barely breathe. Goodbyes are always hard, but this was different. The wounds had already been trodden over and over and now, all alone, leaving every family member behind, I had to go to a land further away than my mind could obtain. I knew it was for the best, but I always thought I would return to Zim. I assumed I would be one of those students who went back for summer break, or Christmas. Alas, I have never been back.
There is a kind of wave that is easily forgotten: the one that says hello. But we don’t tend to remember every hello wave. It seems the goodbye waves are etched in our memories, dug into our minds with knife-like precision. Wave I must; it will be a lifetime of waving. I will keep waving forever and ever; it is not a goodbye that ever ends. Losing my homeland will never end, it will always be a part of me. I will continue to wave goodbye to all that I’ve known as home. This time I’ll say with anguish, “See you in a thousand million years.”
I am seventh generation Anglo-African, my homeland, Zimbabwe, or Zim as we fondly refer to it. I never dreamt I would be saying goodbye to my country. My childhood was fantastic, full of cheerful memories. We didn’t grow up with the finer things of life, but we were blissful. We enjoyed the African weather, which was mostly hot and spent hours, maybe even days, swimming. We had grocery stores and donut shops; ice-cream was sometimes available. We would ride our bikes everywhere with no care in the world. Christmases and holidays were spent with every family member you could possible crowd into one house, grandparents, uncles, aunts, dozens of cousins and often other close family friends. However, with age comes wisdom, or at least awareness of the things going on around you.
As I grew I became more aware of the change in my country, or at least as I grew the change in the country grew. Zim was once known as the bread basket of Africa, a flourishing nation. The president, Robert Gabriel Karigamombe Mugabe, is currently 84 and has been in power for 30 years. He has been labeled one of the 10 worst dictators in the world. His power has been like that of a disease, slowly devouring our bread basket until there was nothing left. The once-thriving nation is now just another statistic of a ruined one.
The old Zim was gone, faded into oblivion, and the new Zim was something I could not identify with. The new Zim was one with lines of cars that would wrap, 5 times around the block to get gas. It was one where the policemen were no longer friendly; but threatening and notorious for violence. The new Zim had what queues in the grocery store where we would wait for hours to get bread, if there was any bread. The new Zim was one where you bought your driver’s license with money, cigarettes or beer. The new Zim had pain on the faces that were once filled with smiles. The new Zim had two distinct cultures, white and black, instead of the old one family of Zimbabweans. It was as if I had moved countries; my little black friends now looked at me with hatred instead of love. Why? The white people suddenly became the enemy. Things that happened years ago visited us again; the ghosts of our ancestors came to visit, and people decided to take it out on our generation. My friends no longer saw themselves as my friends. My country was disintegrating, slowly but surely, and I had no way of changing it.
We had a tradition in my family that when someone would leave, you would stand in the driveway and wave. You would keep waving even when you knew they couldn’t see you anymore. I had to do this over and over. People began to leave Zim in large numbers; it is estimated that over 500,000 left in 15 years, out of a total population of 13,000,000. I felt like I waved goodbye to them all. Standing in driveways, airports, church parking lots, we waved. Our arms surprisingly never grew tired, as if someone waved with us. Somehow we would gain the strength to face the next one, a strength that was not human.
I said goodbye to Bethy, my 13-year-old best friend. We knew intimate details about each other and would spend hours late at night giggling and discussing our deepest passions. I said goodbye to Rosie, the next best friend in line. Her family had to leave because her Dad had no job and had found a new one in New Zealand. I said goodbye to Allison; their farm was re-possessed, taken away; they lost everything they had. I said goodbye to Lauren, Paidamoyo and Mark. I said goodbye to my dearest cousins, who were like siblings to me. Then my grandparents had to leave as their pension become non-existent, had to go and live with my aunt and uncle. Every family member left one by one, and we waved.
It was my turn to leave the next, time to fly, something I had never done before. At the age of 19, travelling in an airplane was a whole new adventure for me. I was in Harare International Airport in terminal A, gate A. There is only one terminal and only two gates. I remember my little family standing in a circle. I had to hug each one, first my youngest sister Emma she was about 14. She was somewhat oblivious to what was going on and hugged in a way that said, “I’ll see you again… soon.” My next little sister was Nicole, who hugged me in utter desperation, clinging to me for dear life and crying hysterically. My mom was next, gaining strength from her body I hugged hard, not urgently but hard enough to be reassured that I was doing the right thing. Finally my Dad; I almost couldn’t do it; I knew the pain and fear he was feeling but there was nothing I could. I hugged him for what felt like hours, but I had to eventually let go, wave one last time and walk away, with fake confidence that I really didn’t possess.
It was a strange occurrence; I had already said goodbye to my homeland. The country I grew up in no longer existed, yet the pain was so raw I could barely breathe. Goodbyes are always hard, but this was different. The wounds had already been trodden over and over and now, all alone, leaving every family member behind, I had to go to a land further away than my mind could obtain. I knew it was for the best, but I always thought I would return to Zim. I assumed I would be one of those students who went back for summer break, or Christmas. Alas, I have never been back.
There is a kind of wave that is easily forgotten: the one that says hello. But we don’t tend to remember every hello wave. It seems the goodbye waves are etched in our memories, dug into our minds with knife-like precision. Wave I must; it will be a lifetime of waving. I will keep waving forever and ever; it is not a goodbye that ever ends. Losing my homeland will never end, it will always be a part of me. I will continue to wave goodbye to all that I’ve known as home. This time I’ll say with anguish, “See you in a thousand million years.”
blown away
I sat on my couch this morning. Staring out into the grey abyss that we now call home... the city. There is a tree outside our window, one that i have watched go through the changes of the seasons.
When we first arrived it was pregnant with green leaves, bursting with life and energy i loved seeing the tree everyday. I felt like i was living in my own personal tree house. As the air started to chill, the leaves started to turn. Stunning shades of oranges and reds, the tree was still a delight to behold. As i would sit on my couch and stare out the orange would sooth me and give some life to the otherwise grey city behind it.
As i sat and stared at the leaves flittering to to the ground i noticed something that i wouldn't have seen had the leaves not been falling. A friend had made its home in my tree, and unnatural friend, one i didn't expect to see in my tree, but it lived there none-the-less.
A little red garment, a t-shirt i supposed. Rugged and worn from its sad little life, having no owner to warm its empty shell, made its home in my tree. My focus now became this little shirt. Chicago, known for its wind, pulled out all the stops in the fall, rain, sleet, wind, hail, and the likes took out their anger on my tree and hence the shirt. The wind robbed the leaves from my tree in literally a day. When i woke up they were there, when i got home... gone.
Surprisingly day after day, as i sat on my couch, the shirt was still there. It had more courage than i did, it faced all the storms the city threw at it and never bugged. I became quite fond of that little shirt, it had no owner, but a steady home that it held onto for dear life. Each day i saw it it gave me a sense of comfort.
Today i sat down with my morning cup of tea, months later, stared out the window, and got slightly lost in my home of concrete, but as i brought my focus in i realized something was missing... my little red garment friend was gone. Somehow the city had won the battle and taken my friend away.
However, today it gave me courage. The shirt had found a new home i supposed on another unsuspecting tree, chimney, or perhaps light post. It had moved on. We have seasons in life and they may blow hard, or be as sweet as spring, but we will move on. There is always a new adventure to be had, and sometimes we must hold fast, other times we can blow in the wind and see where life takes us.
When we first arrived it was pregnant with green leaves, bursting with life and energy i loved seeing the tree everyday. I felt like i was living in my own personal tree house. As the air started to chill, the leaves started to turn. Stunning shades of oranges and reds, the tree was still a delight to behold. As i would sit on my couch and stare out the orange would sooth me and give some life to the otherwise grey city behind it.
As i sat and stared at the leaves flittering to to the ground i noticed something that i wouldn't have seen had the leaves not been falling. A friend had made its home in my tree, and unnatural friend, one i didn't expect to see in my tree, but it lived there none-the-less.
A little red garment, a t-shirt i supposed. Rugged and worn from its sad little life, having no owner to warm its empty shell, made its home in my tree. My focus now became this little shirt. Chicago, known for its wind, pulled out all the stops in the fall, rain, sleet, wind, hail, and the likes took out their anger on my tree and hence the shirt. The wind robbed the leaves from my tree in literally a day. When i woke up they were there, when i got home... gone.
Surprisingly day after day, as i sat on my couch, the shirt was still there. It had more courage than i did, it faced all the storms the city threw at it and never bugged. I became quite fond of that little shirt, it had no owner, but a steady home that it held onto for dear life. Each day i saw it it gave me a sense of comfort.
Today i sat down with my morning cup of tea, months later, stared out the window, and got slightly lost in my home of concrete, but as i brought my focus in i realized something was missing... my little red garment friend was gone. Somehow the city had won the battle and taken my friend away.
However, today it gave me courage. The shirt had found a new home i supposed on another unsuspecting tree, chimney, or perhaps light post. It had moved on. We have seasons in life and they may blow hard, or be as sweet as spring, but we will move on. There is always a new adventure to be had, and sometimes we must hold fast, other times we can blow in the wind and see where life takes us.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Discouraged
So this week has been a hard one. Everything i thought the Lord had been directing me towards has been crushed in one way or another.
Now don't get me wrong i know life is not peachy, but i have been stepping out on limbs trying desperately to see where the lord wants me. I have cried many tears, prayed many prayers and waited upon my Lord, finally after years some direction came...
He has thrown so many opportunity's in my lap lately and i have been terrified to take them, i mean truly shaking in my boots, i haven't wanted to put myself out there again. All my life i have never been good enough, I've just been ok at everything. High school was a nightmare because of this and now at 23 the Lord is asking me to to do it all again.
Why? To be crushed over and over, to never been quite good enough, granted I'm not pathetic at things i do, but it still is never quite good enough...
I have been battling with this all week, and the only conclusion i can come to is to do what the Lord tells me. Yes, he never said it would be easy! But i always assumed that what i would do with the rest of my life, would be somewhat decent.
He's breaking down walls, walls that i have built up to protect myself, my heart couldn't take anymore of that "you're just not quite there..."
But I've realised thats the point of it all, i will never be quite there, and even if i am always behind struggling to keep up, if thats what he's telling me to do i must do it.
After years of change and dealing with culture shock and such i thought things would get a little bit better..... they don't.
I don't mean to be so discouraging but that is what it has been for me....
Until i really sat down an thought about it, for some reason in the back of my mind i truly thought the Lord's will would be easy, well i guess not easy but encouraging. I knew it would be hard and i would have to go through great lengths for me to follow, but i never dreamed it would break my spirit.
But thats the point, for us to be removed from his will, for it to be Him through us, for our words to not come through but His and if this is the only way he can do it, so be it!
Now don't get me wrong i know life is not peachy, but i have been stepping out on limbs trying desperately to see where the lord wants me. I have cried many tears, prayed many prayers and waited upon my Lord, finally after years some direction came...
He has thrown so many opportunity's in my lap lately and i have been terrified to take them, i mean truly shaking in my boots, i haven't wanted to put myself out there again. All my life i have never been good enough, I've just been ok at everything. High school was a nightmare because of this and now at 23 the Lord is asking me to to do it all again.
Why? To be crushed over and over, to never been quite good enough, granted I'm not pathetic at things i do, but it still is never quite good enough...
I have been battling with this all week, and the only conclusion i can come to is to do what the Lord tells me. Yes, he never said it would be easy! But i always assumed that what i would do with the rest of my life, would be somewhat decent.
He's breaking down walls, walls that i have built up to protect myself, my heart couldn't take anymore of that "you're just not quite there..."
But I've realised thats the point of it all, i will never be quite there, and even if i am always behind struggling to keep up, if thats what he's telling me to do i must do it.
After years of change and dealing with culture shock and such i thought things would get a little bit better..... they don't.
I don't mean to be so discouraging but that is what it has been for me....
Until i really sat down an thought about it, for some reason in the back of my mind i truly thought the Lord's will would be easy, well i guess not easy but encouraging. I knew it would be hard and i would have to go through great lengths for me to follow, but i never dreamed it would break my spirit.
But thats the point, for us to be removed from his will, for it to be Him through us, for our words to not come through but His and if this is the only way he can do it, so be it!
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Trains
Taking the Blue Line train in Chicago is a journey. In rush hour it’s a true adventure. Stepping off the bus at Chicago and Milwaukee, I was immediately affronted with tons of people going in every direction. Every direction, but the direction I was going. I had to have my wits about me and know exactly where I was going; otherwise I would’ve been trampled by the herd behind me. In this place there is no such thing as a lackadaisical Sunday afternoon stroll, everyone is at a sprint.
People around act like insects, scurrying in multitudes of directions with seemingly no purpose. Of course, we all had a purpose; we were all going in the same direction. People were trying to get around the slow ones in any way they could, if it came to climbing over someone we probably would have done it. 1.7 million people take the CTA each day, it felt like all 1.7 million were taking my train! For a short moment there was chaos but eventually everything turned into water sliding through a funnel. The funnel fills to the top and nothing moves, then all of a sudden everything falls down that little hole in one swift, smooth, silky, motion, and that little hole, was the stairs.
Running down the stairs is an entertaining experience and almost impossible one. The stairs are always wet with some liquid substance, which I hoped was just water. Water turning to ice is also inevitable in the colder months. Having, 1.7 million people dashing down the stairs, like the place is on fire, is quite a sight to see. I had to keep moving at all times or I would have been run over by the herd of buffalo loping behind me. All these people going in unusual directions dealing with slick or icy steps still managed to get to the place they are going. I think it is a magnificent feat that no one trips, or even slightly skids as you are making this decent. Making my mad-dash down I heard a whooshing sound that indicated the train had arrived, the already fast pace accelerated. It’s almost as if everyone spouted wings and began to fly.
The beeping sound of everyone’s card going through the slots signaled my next quest. In the tiny space of about a minute and 30 seconds, I had jumped out the bus, run into at least three people, glided my way but not fallen down the stairs, fumbled in my purse for my Upass (university train pass), had it ready so that no one was stuck waiting behind me and made sure I didn’t drop it in the liquid on the floor. There was this fear inside me that if I placed my Upass in the wrong way it would have been swallowed up like a python swallows its victim whole; I would never see it again. If, however, I did everything right then I was safe to face the next part of my expedition.
The card was placed in the correct-facing direction and the light turned green.
The moving metallic bar allowed me to move to the next realm of the station. One more set of steps, not slippery this time. The tunnels were finally reached and as my feet hit the smooth ground, a train whizzed by. The train was going the opposite direction, to Forest Park. There was a quick realization that the rushing was for nothing. CTA trains make about 2,391 trips each day and serve 144 stations, it appeared that this, 1,984th train was not our train and the tedious wait must now begin. Like vultures that swoop in, in hoards, to savor something only to realize it’s still alive, we had to find something else to prey on.
There was a moment for me to catch my breath; I usually walked down a little ways so I could catch a cart that not everyone else was waiting for. As I took leisurely, deliberate steps to my target, I inhaled; the smell of aged air assailed my senses, like a boxer would strike his opponent. I wheezed slightly, but only slightly so that no one would see my reaction to the odor. It seemed that down in the tunnels I was at my most vulnerable and I felt like everyone was scrutinizing me, observing me like a child examines bugs through a magnifying glass.
Everything was dim and dingy. Paint was flaking off from every wall, but gazing closer I realized it wasn’t paint just filth. There were some blocks painted blue indicating that I was in the right spot, I was in the blue line station. To which I was thankful for as the very rare signs around were indecipherable.
A decrepit old lady sat in the corner rocking herself to sleep. There was a young couple sitting and whispering, giggling like they had a special secret. There was the wandering musician, playing for himself but hoping everyone else appreciated and donated to his cause. In amongst this there were your ‘everyday’ travels. The young business man going to the apartment he rents alone, the weary old man who looked like he is going to his second job after he’s already worked 12 hours, the druggy asking for spare change everywhere she turns to feed her indulgence, the children with backpacks with their nanny making the trek home and the college football fans singing some bizarre jingle as they headed to their game.
Somehow, with all these people there was a strange kind of stillness; it’s as if we all gradually realized that we weren’t in our own worlds and were all of a sudden surrounded by others. We were all seeking the same watering hole, but pretending we weren’t. This quiet made everyone uncomfortable and nervous. Everyone’s eyes were downcast, heaven forbid we looked at anyone.
Most people stood close to the tracks, as if standing closer would make the train come sooner. Everyone would peer out to see if anything was coming even though we all knew when the train had arrived. The head- lights of the train are always so violently bright you can see them from miles away. So, everyone waited, gazing down at the tracks. An odd rat would run by, obviously about to face its death, liquid also runs down there, nobody knew where it came from but it was there none-the-less.
The stillness was abruptly broken; I heard the sounds of the train edging closer towards me. Looking down the railway those bright lights were coming towards us, at an alarming speed. My hair was propelled every which way it could possible go, even my arm hairs stood on end. No one moved at this time, the train zoomed by and came to a rapid halt. Everyone paused for just a couple of seconds, as if in a quandary about which cart to board, then swiftly that mad-dash appeared again. The doors opened and I had less than 30 seconds to make it through. Everyone rushed forward, like thousands of ants all trying to get in the same tiny hole at the same time. There was pushing and shoving to made sure that we would board that very train. No one wanted to be left behind, all alone, for the next train. As much as we ignored one other, we still felt reassurance in numbers.
Astoundingly we all made it. We were like a bunch of cotton balls stuffed in a jar, but we all made it.
There was that moment again where I could breathe. Even thought my body was smashed up against at least 5 other people in the train, I could breathe. That stillness was there again, the one where everyone looked down was in their own worlds. No need to rush anymore, besides the constant movement when people would get on and off the train, we did not need to budge. There was a sense of relief, an almost audible sigh of everyone in the cart was apparent. We would make it to our final destination. What should have been a simple daily traveling event was indeed an expedition.
Saturday, August 15, 2009
A day to remember
A month ago i got married.
Boy has it been a turmoil of events, laughing, crying... sometimes yelling i'll admit. I definitely became a person i did not know... It was strange it seems the days before your wedding you really are floating on a cloud, you don't know whether you are happy, sad, crazy or just sleep deprived.
Its amazing how much planning goes into one event, absolutely insane i would say! You plan, plan, and plan and in the end does it really matter. Well it does in some ways because you want your day to scream you, and yet thats not what it is about.
I guess Weddings, Christmas and Easter have all become this way. These times that the Lord created for us to celebrate, to celebrate our union as two people becoming one, to celebrate His birth, to celebrate his death and resurrection. Yet somewhere along the line we hallmarked it, it became just about us and not about the Lord. We have lost the essence of it all. I have always known this when it came to Christmas but my wedding, i never really thought about it.
The white dress, my purity not just sexually but pure in the Lord, my pure relationship with Him! walking towards my husband with my father and significant of so much more than just walking down the aisle.
All this to say, i am thankful i had my head screwed on enough to just enjoy my day, but to look back and be reminded of the significance of it all.
I have been wishing that i could have my day again, just so i can re-live it! Not because anything was wrong with it, it was absolutely perfect, but just because i was so exhausted i feel like i missed alot of it.
However what does that matter, the Lord brought us together and under Him we are one, who cares what the flowers looked like or if it rained or not... or anything like that. It is that we were married under God! Everyone told me, just enjoy your day it goes by so fast... but thats just it it never was "my" day it was the Lords day. God brought us together and it will be forever that way... it was all about Him not us... and that is something to remember
Movin again
Tomorrow i pack up my life with my new husband Adam-Leigh and we move to Chicago. It seems odd as i have already been there for a year already, but i finally feel like i am where i'm supposed to be...
Here let me explain a little more.
Adam and i were engaged a year ago and promptly after that i was shipped to Chicago to go to Bible college. I absolutely loved my experience there and learnt so much. However although both Adam and i knew we were where we needed to be i still often felt alone.
In my head i knew my Savior was enough for me, that he would be my all, my comfort and my strength and He was. Yet every night when i went to bed i couldn't help feeling alone... every time i packed to go somewhere i did it alone...
Moving was never fun, until now...
Tomorrow i get to move into a home that will be my home, our home, a place of joy and laughter and place of comfort a tears.. a place that we get to center around and come back to after trips.
I always knew that my Lord was enough, and i knew that i never was truly alone, but i am excited that i get to share my life with the man i love.
Although God is enough, i am thankful that He gave me Adam, that we will live life together.
I feel now like i can truly accomplish what i am supposed to accomplish with my love by my side.
I used to think this was wrong, that another person doesn't complete you, that i am an independent woman of God who needs no-one. And that is true in a sense, but i have realised that now more than ever i can be that woman i am supposed to be, that this was the Lord's plan all along.
Now i get to move again and not do it alone... the best moving time ever!
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