moments before the aisle with the beautiful bride!!

First, Nancy gave me the emotional go-ahead with her urge to be lavish, to enjoy a time for ‘feast’ to celebrate! I credit my husband with 2 major things. 1 he wanted to send me. He took a large part of his paycheck and put it toward this trip. 2 he modeled to me sacrificial love. I don’t know if I’ve seen this kind of love so up close and personal, and certainly I haven’t had so vivid a lessen in generous and sacrificial giving. More and more this has been recently demonstrated to me: donors who give up their gym membership to support our ministry, donors who cut a cell phone to give to us, and now Ivan… I knew that God is enlarging my heart, stretching me to join in sacrificial love that He modeled. And so I did what I’ve never really done… got a second job to go all out to make this trip happen. God really did stretch my heart and help me to see that it is more blessed to give than receive.

Everything about the trip was God ordained; my presence there for Michelle, my time with the Lord, the Lord pressing on Ivan’s heart, the excitement of different cultures and the adventure of travel, as well as the incredible joy of seeing my best friend get married to a God-fearing quality young man.

The kangaroos and koalas were just an added bonus!!

The darkness is dark, and I must admit, sometimes I feel overwhelmed by it. When I do, I think of Genesis 1:2; “Now the earth was formless and empty, darkness was over the surface of the deep, and the Spirit of God was hovering over the waters.” The Spirit of God was hovering… what a powerful image, the very life and breath that raised Jesus from death, the grips of Darkness itself, hovers over us. The formlessness, the emptiness, the chaos, He knows, He is there. He is hovering over our streets; he hovers over each family, each precious person.

He hovers about the young woman who runs the street pursued by a man bellowing obscenities at her. He hovers over every silent victim of domestic abuse. He hovers around the home of our meth-addicted neighbors. He hovers in the Bulldog house filled with boys trapped in gang lifestyles. He hovers by the woman on the corner of McKenzie and Belmont.

He is there.

Hm. I load up the bikes, jamming the twisted one onto the trunk of my car. We’ll be ok, and he will be ok. In fact, I can see all the neighborhood kids clammering around him now.

But these are the hard things.

A few days ago it was 2 little girls across the street trying to cool down in the afternoon heat. Some folks have pools, hoses, they had a red ice-box cooler spilling out with water and their grins were huge as they took turns to huddle into it.

Last night, a peaceful, surprisingly cool June evening Ivan and I ride bikes down the streets, across the freeway pedestrian bridge, through Jefferson neighborhood to the local panderia- my favorite shop for Mexican sweet bread. I note the dim streets and graffiti tagging and am thankful for my strong brown husband riding by me. Unafraid, but grateful.

We sit at the local Holmes park and a friendly game of baseball is in play.  There is one white woman in the crowd, all others Hispanic. We slowly bike past a crew of Asian youth engrossed in a volleyball match. A young African-American man is huddled under a blanket. His world of belongings on a cart. For as many homeless as I’ve seen, with Fresno at the top, it still breaks my heart.

We pedal homeward and ride through the wire mesh tunnel over the freeway, noting all the graffiti and run into some neighbors. We meet, Alicia, lily and others. We invite them over to play any time.

I read the newspaper this morning and find myself captivated by an article on a inner-city high school just a few streets down that started a Rugby team. Their members made of the most unassuming boys pulling 2 jobs working in the fields with their parents to make ends meet, schooling and finding time to play. They tell of one member ‘Nico’ heart and soul of the team who went on to inspire them to success and how he was fatally stabbed in the middle of the season. He wasn’t involved in drugs, gangs, just a tagger who was in the wrong place at the wrong time. His artwork was ‘CLIF’ and he lived on McKenzie. My mind wanders to our  ride across the freeway pedestrian bridge I rode last night… and I saw CLIF painted on it…

My heart goes out to these youth. They are hardened by life’s atrocities and many will have scars for life. I know, I’m just now uncovering so many scars my loved one has hidden away. I smile at the girls across the street, and am grateful for their resilience and creativity. No pool, no worries, an ice box will do.

When he is distant and far. When he is quiet. when I strain to hear his word, any word at all, all I hear is the ringing in my ears, taste the salt of my tears, feel the constriction of my fears.

the world spins, my eyes can’t focus. I reach out, my hand is shaking, Oh God, my hand is outstretched.

but I only hear the ringing in my ears, taste the salt of my tears, feel the constriction of fear

Manna Blog, C.F.S

“When the Lord is silent, you have only one reasonable option—trust Him. Hang in there, and wait on Him. He may be quiet, but He has not quit on you. Even through your greatest adversity, He’s working to develop your character and accomplish His will for your life.”

I want to cuddle my niece Ave Lu and make sure she remembers her Auntie.

I want to chill out with my sis and new bro-in-law Caleb and revel in their awesomely decorated new home.

I want to walk Greenlake with Rachy and dig into some great conversation together.

I want to relax at my parent’s home and see their pictures from their recent vaca – “Training Across the States”

I want to see old friends, reconnect and worship at Faith on Easter Sunday.

I want to meet Seth and make sure he is the perfect match-mate for my best friend.

I want to spend time alone, in the quiet, taking advantage of the space, rejoicing in the rest, savoring the refuge.

5 amazing days in Seattle. Half-way through.