Restore to Me
Dear Eugene,
Back to school for the kids; back to the grind for the parents.
Not exactly how my family feels. Yesterday as we were walking around Buntzen Lake, together we looked back at a summer full of joy, tinted by sorrow, tragedy that there was, tragedy that almost was, tragedy still in the making. We wondered what God has in mind for our new year together and in our own life, in our friend and family's life, in our church's life.
We sat on a huge boulder looking down at a fisherman, a parable-infused image that calmed and beckoned us.
"Let's sit here until he catches a fish," I murmured. Surprisingly no one objected. They must also have murmuring of their own. There without words our family had a great conversation.
Last night when I laid my head on the pillow I was excited, almost agitated by vision of the many tomorrows. Yet this morning I woke up to trepidation, a fear that I cannot quite identify.
"Do not banish me from your presence, and don’t take your Holy Spirit from me! Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and make me willing to obey you!" I prayed.
I with my wife wake up at 5:30 every morning. Everyday I would look out the window from the upper floor and follow her taillights until they vanished trailing left at the end of our street.
"It's getting darker every morning." I murmured an hour ago. I murmur a lot these days.
My son just woke. I asked, "School isn't starting until later for the first day. Don't you want to rest a bit more?" He said he woke at 6 already, couldn't stay in bed.
He must be excited by vision of what's to come.
Learning to trust, Alex
Back to school for the kids; back to the grind for the parents.
Not exactly how my family feels. Yesterday as we were walking around Buntzen Lake, together we looked back at a summer full of joy, tinted by sorrow, tragedy that there was, tragedy that almost was, tragedy still in the making. We wondered what God has in mind for our new year together and in our own life, in our friend and family's life, in our church's life.
We sat on a huge boulder looking down at a fisherman, a parable-infused image that calmed and beckoned us.
"Let's sit here until he catches a fish," I murmured. Surprisingly no one objected. They must also have murmuring of their own. There without words our family had a great conversation.
Last night when I laid my head on the pillow I was excited, almost agitated by vision of the many tomorrows. Yet this morning I woke up to trepidation, a fear that I cannot quite identify.
"Do not banish me from your presence, and don’t take your Holy Spirit from me! Restore to me the joy of your salvation, and make me willing to obey you!" I prayed.
I with my wife wake up at 5:30 every morning. Everyday I would look out the window from the upper floor and follow her taillights until they vanished trailing left at the end of our street.
"It's getting darker every morning." I murmured an hour ago. I murmur a lot these days.
My son just woke. I asked, "School isn't starting until later for the first day. Don't you want to rest a bit more?" He said he woke at 6 already, couldn't stay in bed.
He must be excited by vision of what's to come.
Learning to trust, Alex
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