Movement

It’s been a year.

A year since graduating with a strange degree that most people haven’t heard of. A year since student life ended. A year since hopes were raised.

It’s been an tumultuous year. Three months in the Holy Land (which felt like year on its own), becoming a full-fledged pastor, turning thirty-three, first Christmas away from family, having my heart dropped then stomped on, and learning to minister while grieving. It’s been a year of reluctant growth and unnecessary suffering.

It’s been quite the year.

Lent is soon ending. There is a movement in me to seek, once again, what it means to delight in God. If there is joy to be had, then I want it. If there’s a peace that would penetrate the fissures in my soul, then I hunger for it. If there’s a love that allows me to rest with security, then I thirst for it. If, even for a moment, I can feel God’s pleasure and delight in me, then I’m desperate for it.

For if I delight in God, then I can hold His people more tenderly. I see the obvious and subtle posturing for recognition and attention. I see the cracked, jagged edges caused by care-less words and actions. I see the dullness in sleepy and weary eyes. I see the weight of fear and apathy. I can see all of these and still speak words of hope and peace.

There is a wholeness yet to come.

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