It’s 10:08 am on a Thursday. I’m sitting in a booth at Panera in Springfield, MO. I’ve got a chocolate chip bagel (bread-sliced and toasted) to my left and my computer to my right plugged in, poised and ready for a litany of clever words to flow. So far only my bagel intake has been productive.
We’ve been in the US this go ’round now almost 6 months. I am still pleasantly shocked when I encounter cooler temps and free refills. I also savor time with our girls, SIL (son-in-law), family and friends.
But gnawing in the back of my mind, I have dissonance. It’s never far from my conscious that while I am here enjoying the Land of the Free, Home of the Brave…another land waits. To say that Sudan waits for us is grandiose and preposterous. Rather, I mean they wait for hope. Hope that things will change. Hope that life can improve. Hope that…anything different can happen.
You may be shocked to know that many times while living in Sudan, I daydreamed of ruby red slippers that would transport me from the very difficult “Oz” and return me to the home that I understood. When Dorothy exclaimed, “Home! And this is my room–and you’re all here! And I’m not going to leave here ever, ever again, because I love you all! And–Oh, Auntie Em–there’s no place like home!”
I was tracking with her. I feel that way. Often.
Still the tension persists. I told a friend yesterday that Christians don’t tell lies, but rather we sing them.
“I surrender all!”
“I’ll go where you want me to go, Dear Lord, o’er mountains, o’er plains, o’er seas!” (Notice, there are clearly no deserts mentioned…)
“Blessed Be Your name
When I’m found in the desert place…” (Oh, snap!)
Really there’s no out. I need to put up or shut up. I can’t ask God to “Make my life count!” one second and then add, “But don’t make it uncomfortable or painful or unsafe or difficult or…” the next.
You see, God is good. So good that He might just send a girl from Missouri…one who burns easily, has been known to have a loud mouth and a clear prejudice against camping into the fray of those who need hope. Their desire for good news trumps my “need” for comfort, familiarity and safety. God loves them (and me) that much.
A line has literally been drawn in the sand. I choose to step over it into my destiny (maybe with a bag of bagels tucked neatly under my arm).
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