Revealing Grace

To my dearest readers and followers, I owe you an update. Though you may have better things to do than worry about my luggage and my old lady mouth, I think you deserve to know where everything stands (I love to sound dramatic). 1. My luggage is officially gone. "Gone like a freight train!" as my mother would say. It is unfortunate and sad, but really, life could be worse. So other than my new debilitating fear of losing things, its all good (except for the Delta employee that is going to get an earful from me when we discuss compensation). 2. My mouth is getting better. I still can't express all the emotions in the happy spectrum, but my new gums are fitting in fine and I have dreams of one day being able to crunch down on a cookie or an apple without abandon. So hurray for that! In conclusion, life, my friends, is good. Sure, I could sit here and complain and wail about this unjust world and the ridiculous airline industry (believe me, I have a rant that coul...

Disclaimer: I'm writing this while on pain meds, so please excuse any weirdness that may occur (or my worst fear, grammatical mistakes!). In addition, I'm writing this on an iPad, and we all know that technology without buttons confuses me. So...yea. On December 19-20 I gained something and I lost something.  What I gained was cadaver skin in my mouth... (I like the shock factor of that one.) But for real. I had to get four grafts literally sewn into my barely existing gums so my teeth don't fall out of my head. Go ahead, say it. I'm an old lady. It's true. I like Bing Crosby and Miracle on 34th Street and I'm blessed with a ridiculously difficult mouth. So my Christmas vacation has begun with lots of mashed potatoes, pain meds, and disgustingly frightening morning surgery. Woohoo! I spilled water all down my front trying to take a pill at the office due to my numb lips. So attractive. I looked at the doctor and said, "I blame you." So there...

If I could, I would build a fire and sit you down.  I would let you know that we would be there a while, so you should probably settle in. And then I would simply begin. I would tell you every. single. detail of this past week and month. I would tell you of the trials, the death, the sadness, and the hope. I would tell you about the kids who I am excited about, who desire to know God and to be better. And I would tell you the stories that are breaking my heart, the ones of lost opportunity, of bad situations, and of lives that will never be the same because of the terrible atrocities that become so unfortunately commonplace.  If we sat down for coffee, I wouldn't sugarcoat a thing. I wouldn't just tell you the good parts. I would tell you the truth. I would tell you about the helpless feeling when students cry because their parents are so messed up that they can't even be called caregivers. I would tell you of the devastation that is caused by bad decisions, and the sink...

Today I'm having trouble getting anything done. At 3pm I've done....well nothing. I did eat, which was a big accomplishment, because it was my first meal since Wednesday (being sick trumps my love of food), but let's be honest, normal people do that everyday. So even though there are plenty of things to get done, I'm not doing any of them. Here is what I think has me stuck in....stuck mode (the sophisticated term for my condition): I think there must come a time in everyone's ministry where you stop to wonder if what you are doing is actually making any productive progress at all. You go go go and then you take a tiny vacation and you come back and find that the hope of making a difference has fallen into a well that even Lassie can't save it from (ok, that's too dramatic, but I liked the imagery so we are going with it). Sure, in your heart of hearts you know that you are doing a good thing, that it is important work, and that the fruits of your labor ...

A few weeks ago I climbed a mountain. Seriously, no exaggeration, it was an actual mountain, so high and grueling that I even had to pee in the woods by the trail. It was both a frightening and freeing bathroom experience. At any rate, equipped with rations, cute hiking shoe, and a pack of strong manly friends, I declared myself fit and ready for the 8-mile hike. I should have known that I was in for more than I bargained for when I barely made it through the drive to the hike. When the winding roads finally stopped and I stumbled out of the car, queasy and unsure of my footing, I was already considered telling my comrades to go on with out me. But I was the reason we were on the hike, so I had to move forward. The first mile I was fine. Though I huffed and puffed a bit as my lungs adjusted to the elevation, I was cheery and determined. At about mile 2.5 I changed my tune. We were steadily gaining in altitude and my body began rejecting every step. I was physically pushing my legs...