So, I’m back.
Sometimes one needs to step out of their own world for a moment, in order to really see the universe…
But now after 10 weeks away pursuing silence, I return with this one question:
These pages, these words, are these enough?
I don’t know the answer to my own question. But I do know I am not satisfied with just words.
In fact, I am more than dissatisfied.
I suffer this chaffing bred of a dreadful frustration.
Frustration because while we pass around polished platitudes, (from the comfort of our bedrooms on our MacBook Airs) and sing all the glories of the giving,
our missionary heroes are growing old in their fields, and they can’t find dedicated replacements.
What in the world?!
Her voice was only barely louder than a whisper, this friend of mine, and the granddaughter of one such missionary, but her words could have drowned out a thunderstorm.
Down three sets of escalators those words grind deep into my consciousness. Across the street in a blast of chilly Seattle this flush rises, falls, rises again. Up thirty-three floors to the top of the city, the slipping in of the key, and an open door to the skyline; I stop and stare.
This makes me so upset.
And the most upsetting part is that I’m one of them.
One of the privileged generation. With a heart that’s been prepared for ruthless giving, by all that I’ve been given.
And yet, I’m still here.
I can no longer be satisfied with “maybe someday…”
Scratch the “maybe,” dear Jesus. And may the “someday” be soon…