Saturday, September 16, 2006


How many Rebekah's does it take to live a "normal" life? How many times can I divide myself on this life calculator before I mush into a thoughly mushy and incomprehensible decimal that rambles on with no meaning or purpose--something like 2.333333333333333333...

"There is always someone to miss-no matter where you are."
--Sarah, Plain and Tall

I wish I could send a piece of me everywhere I want to be--although if I were to be so unwise, I suspect that neither I nor any of my loved ones would receive full benefit or satisfaction from any ensuing actions I may undertake to accomplish. One does not want half a girl. Or a quarter of one for that matter. I don't know if God will ever grant me a place on this mission island we call earth that I can sink my toes into and call "home."

Home is overrated. It is distracting, has a terrible tendency to stand in the way of whole-hearted service to God (or progress of any kind), selfish--it has a shocking habit of taking priority when making decisions. It is also a very beautiful, warm and security-filled place where we are nurtured faithfuly by loving parents for the first two decades-or-so of our lives. Nevertheless, home is given its value by the people who dwell therein. Without this human element, home would be a hollow shell of emptiness, easily cast aside and exchanged for the excitement on a perpetually new horizon.

I would like to separate myself, not from the love of home, but from the need of home--from the desire of home. If I could free myself of this one finite need, perhaps I would be happier, and more effective as a child of God than I ever could have been clutching to the feeble, sinful cave I call home. This is a study in letting go. This is a study in trusting God with the very ground beneath my feet, the roof above my head. I want to say to God:

"Blow me on your wonderful, hurtful winds of change wherever I should go--just come with me all the way. I know you will come with me all the way."

Friday, September 08, 2006

In retrospect--

For the sake of all those third graders who tell their Summer tails long-sufferingly on their first day back to school.

My Summer:

accidents of a serious nature...0%
accidents of a trivial nature...80%

A virtual picture diary of my Summer is to follow. Emphasis on "virtual."