This week. This week. This week.
This week was a monotonous blast, if such a thing ever existed.
This week I intended to have minimal interaction with campers. I was tired and felt at the end of myself after a week full of 5th grade girls. Any intentionality I would've mustered this week in my own strength would be insincere and I knew that. So, naturally, in a momentary lapse of judgement, I welcomed the break like a convict welcomes a hiding place.
There's certainly nothing wrong with the hiding place. Work crew week was fun. I worked with FUN FUN people. I got a lot of downtime. I didn't have to make awkward conversation. I worked behind the scenes. I was quiet. I acted ridiculous. I watched tangled while folding napkins. I fell into a position that made it easy to hide from everything I find uncomfortable. Most of those being awkward encounters and being ridiculous when all I want to do is sleep. Let's be real. The hiding place isn't the problem. It's the hider.
With that realization in my pocket, I feel like I haven't grown at all this week because I have avoided hard things. It's the lie I'm being sold at the moment. Praise Him that moments are only momentary.
In my weakness grace still abounds. Every week I get the privilege of sitting in with a family every day while they do devotionals together as a family. I used to dread this time with a passion. It was weird and I felt like that weird cousin that no body really knows but feels like they should invite to intimate family functions because after all, we are cousins. As of late, it's a time I've come to like...enjoy even. I'm like the kid who suddenly realizes they love ketchup and wants it on everything. Everyone knows what I'm talking about. I remember the day I realized I loved ketchup. I was in Branson (all important life realizations happen in Branson). I was 8. I was with B White (Hey girl. Missing you.) More on this another day.
On Thursday we were talking about anchors. How everyone needs them in their life to remember how great God is and how He has worked in the past. How they need to exist for times when we barely remember our own names. It could be a song. It could be journaling. It could be a blog. This family keeps a book on their coffee table that they write in when they see God do things in their lives. Big and small. Life altering situations and everyday, overlooked blessing.
When my devo family's son was 6 his dad was in Iraq. His dad had been gone for a long time and the little boy was having a hard time remembering his dad, but he remembered that they loved shooting fireworks off together. He begged his mom for fireworks. To remember his dad. To ease the gaping hole in his life ( I could write romance novels with dramaticisms like the previous statement. It's a gift Nicholas Sparks and I share. Except he gets paid for it. Back to the story. Grab a tissue. Better yet, grab a box of tissues.). It was October and surprisingly fireworks are hard to find in October in Texas. Texas Texas Texas. The middle child of the United States, that one. The begging was going on while they were walking in the post office and on the way out a guy drove up and asked this little boys mom for some gas money. She gave him $20 and he gave them a box of fireworks in return, minutes after the little boy asked his mom.
In a life full of hilarity and confusion and shortcomings and being a schoolgirl and pouring out and fireworks and sweetness and pain and chicken suits and ups and downs and highs and lows- I've come to one small conclusion. I need an anchor. A sure foundation. An everlasting, faithful, faultless, gracious, never giving up, never changing, consistent, constant, Savior. Lord, take full, sweet residence. Lord, be my full, sweet Residence.
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