Day 118

I remember 9/11 clearly, even though I wasn't even in my teens yet.  I remember, like so many others do, what I was doing when I heard the news.  I remember watching the news for hours on end, watching the planes hit the buildings again and again, waiting to hear the slightest bit of new information.  I remember the uncertainty, the fear, and watching people pull together.  9/11 was personal on a national level.

I remember a little over a month ago waiting for the call that my grandpa had passed away.  I remember carrying my phone around with me, afraid that I might miss the call when it came.  I remember the suffering I felt for my family who were at his bedside, counting breath by breath, hour by hour, day by day, thinking that every day would be his last, and only feeling the tension mount as he hung on for one more day.  I remember feeling incapable of doing anything because the weight of the situation consumed me and followed me around.  My grandpa's death was personal on a family level.

This past week I have watched as an out-of-control wildfire has burned not only my state, but MY town.  At least two families I know have lost their houses completely, numerous more had to be evacuated, including my in-laws, and the fire reached my church's parking lot but did not make it to the building we are pretty sure.  This past week has been a mixture of the previous two events I mentioned above.  I found myself checking the news sights every couple of hours looking for more updates.  I found myself staying close to my phone in case any news came that way.  At work there is a different feeling in the air: sadness for those who come in and have lost everything and a deeper sense of gratitude from both customers and employees.   Again I felt the uncertainty, the fear, as neighborhoods went up in flames and the fire just kept creeping nearer and nearer.  I've seen people pull together, a tremendous out-pouring of love from the community, and a personal sense of frustration from wanting to help and not knowing where to begin.

The fire is personal on a community level.

When something like this happens lots of emotions and thoughts wash over you.  It's hard to know where to the draw the line between complete absorption and complete denial.  Compassion is needed in great abundance for everyone, because even those of us who have not lost our homes have been impacted.  However, crying for hours on end doesn't really help anything.  One thing that keeps coming back to me is that as Christians, this is just our temporary home.  We are just passing through, and any comfort and beauty that God gives us for our time here is His blessing to us, not a right that we have.  Our earthly home may be in ashes, but our heavenly home can never be touched by any disaster and is waiting for us in radiant glory.

May you find joy in the midst of tragedy.

Day 117

My in-laws are the leaders of a group called Emerge within YWAM, and this weekend Emerge is putting on a business conference for business men and women who are interesting in business as missions.  I helped at this conference the first year they had it, but the last two years I was busy or gone and haven't been around when it has taken place.  I have helped at several events at the YWAM campus in the past, but it has been awhile, and I realized how much I missed it.  I was able to stop by the conference and assist with various projects for about five hours today, and it felt so right, almost like I was coming home. 

May you find joy in doing what you love.

Day 116

Well, I'm back. I know it's been awhile, and I'm sorry.  You don't know how many times I thought to myself, "I need to get back to my blog," and yet I didn't.  Things get easier with time.  When you write a blog everyday, it gets easier to write.  When you don't write a blog everyday, it gets easier not to write; it gets easier to come up with excuses.  My main excuse for not writing for a month is simple: I couldn't.  For part of it I was physically too busy, and for the other part of it I was not mentally and emotionally ready.  Even now, right this minute, it's hard.  I cried when I read my last post about my grandpa, and I'm crying now.  I'm a mental processor, which means it's hard for me to work through things with words.  I think and think and think, and once I've worked through something, then it can come out in words.  To be honest I don't think I quite know why this past month has been hard or even to the extent it's been hard, I just know that it has.  I've seen the signs that something's not quite right, from struggling to do something creative like making cards, to not being able to figure out what to have for dinner-every night.  It's like I've lost part of myself and I don't know where I went.  The good news is that I feel like I'm getting better.  Whatever I lost is coming back, slowly.  Like I said on Day 115, you have to learn how to live again.

This isn't a warm and fuzzy feel-good post, but at least it's honest.  I'm going to try to start writing every day again,  but I'm not making any promises quite yet.  Thank you for sticking with me.

May you find joy when life is hard.