Tuesday, May 25, 2010

Mezekir Meets the Beach

Sea Island is beautiful beyond belief. The homes are lovely, the landscaping gorgeous, the people are enjoyable, the beachcombing cannot be matched, and were I to order up weather, this is what I would request for a beach trip. We are enduring the rather milky, murky water and brown sand. Mezekir is not enduring anything. He loves all of it: the waves breaking on the sand where he is sitting, the sand, which he aptly puts in his mouth, the birds' noises as they fly overhead, the warm sun combined as it fights the breeze from the sea, and the pool, where we go to escape from the salt water. He is quickly acquiring a taste for American lifestyle and luxury. The Club environment lends itself to the feel of the 1950's or a movie set. Gentlemen walk around in sport coats and slacks; the ladies sport classic styles. Josh is not here, but he jokes it reminds him of Dirty Dancing. It reminds me that regardless of how luxurious and full of beauty and convenience the trips God allows us, my hole for Ethiopia, the simplicity, the kindness of my friends over the Atlantic, the fullness of a culture steeped in tradition cannot be filled except by His presence.

Monday, May 3, 2010

At Loss for Words

There's a song by Mercy Me, which expresses my sentiments better than I am able. The opening line says, "Finding myself at a loss for words, and the funny thing is it's okay." I haven't blogged since our return because I can't even put to words my feelings, my station, my struggles, my pains, my joys, my distractions, or my heart. I am, in so many ways, at a loss for words. So I force myself to recount it all. My joys. Those are easy to recount. My family is together. My son is home. God had allowed our desires to come to fruition. His hand went before us in epic proportion, in way that paralleled the Israelites journey to the Promise Land from Egypt. But the rest is harder. It baffles me. My words don't suffice. I wonder; maybe I don't need to be heard now. Instead, I need to listen more closely to the Lord. I need the truths of His words to be alive in me.

In Ethiopia, it was simple. It was simple to be still and know Him and hear Him. The distractions were small. Looking around, it was easy to see Him and to know where He would lead and direct me at each step. It was simple to know He was present. Continually, He made himself known in ways I had never experienced before. Here; here is different. Here is busy. Here is full of things. Here the noise of life overtakes. Here I can't find my way to the quite, still before His throne. Here is absent of the simplicity I crave in such an extravagant way. Maybe it isn't different or difficult, but I can't find the same place of hearing Him, walking with Him, touching Him, and seeking Him. Here, I can't find the place where His majesty is revealed to me in such a tangible way. And still, I know, He is the same. He is here. He doesn't change. He is consistent. I know He is ever present. I know He desires for me to find myself in His midst. But for me, I'm changed. This place doesn't seem to fit any longer. And here, I feel lost. The loud of life, the busy of life keeps trying to creep in. And I don't want it. For once, I feel like I moved from living in a shadow of reality and met life like He intended for me, for my family, my friends head on with such fullness that leaving it sucks the breath out of life. SO if I'm quite, know it's not you. If I'm quite, it's me. I'm trying. I'm trying to be still and hear Him and rest in Him. I'm trying to find contentment and fullness in the place He has me, here. I'm trying to find the place where He and I commune without distraction.

Today, as I type, my baby, Meze, is lying in my lap. He is curled up like he's been here forever. He doesn't realize life changed. For him, I think it just started. He may not know America. He may not know our home. He may not understand all the new faces. But for him, one thing remained consistent. The love of family. Parents. Trusting the ones who provide for his needs and love him beyond measure. When I look at him, I am reminded, this is exactly what the Lord says to me...I am here. Abide in me... Trust me,.. the one who loves you and provides. I did not leave you. I am constant. I am what you need. Not Ethiopia. Not America. Not friendship. Just me. I am enough. I am your portion.

There is a melancholy, a bittersweet. But the funny thing is, it's okay.

In the meantime, enjoy some eye candy.