Denver, Colorado. Or Nashville, Tennessee. Is it the place you call home? Or the place you live in now? Is it the place you remember or the place you’re discovering?
“Three months ago you couldn’t have even imagined yourself here now…”
And that’s exactly the point. I couldn’t have possibly imagined. But that’s also exactly how God promised to work:
Now to Him who is able to do far more abundantly beyond all that we ask or imagine, according to the power that works within us, to Him be the glory in the church and in Christ Jesus to all generations forever and ever. Amen. – Ephesians 3:20-21
God wants to do more than we imagine. And in these past four months, He has.
It’s more than sneaky tweets or cryptic Instagram posts.
I don’t think I’ve fully registered what just happened in the last 48 hours.
But as I placed the coffee cup sleeve from Muddy’s Bakery in Memphis in the back of the airplane seat, the one I had been using as a bookmark for the last month, I realised I could throw it away for good because I’d be going back.
I’m still catching up on Easter sermons from some of my favourite churches/pastors. This morning I watched Red Rocks and they made it really simple this year: love changes everything.
And it does. God’s love has the potential to change everything for us. It’s so simple.
“Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders
Let me walk upon the waters
Wherever You would call me
Take me deeper than my feet could ever wander
And my faith will be made stronger
In the presence of my Saviour”
Oceans, Hillsong United
It’s been a long time since I have visited a new state in the United States. Often times my travel is limited to places I have already been – namely, Denver or Las Vegas or Arizona – and I am grateful for it regardless. But this week was special and I was so excited to see a new part of the country. Tennessee (and most of what I saw of the south on the flight from Houston to Memphis) is flat, very green, and the water is brown. I actually did a double take to make sure I was indeed staring at the Mississippi River and not plots of land.
We took off from the Moriarty Municipal Airport late in the afternoon. The plane sat four people and you needed to wear noise cancelling headphones to avoid going deaf from the sound of the propellors in the front.
And as we flew over eastern New Mexico I watched the sky change from blue to purple, with the blinding sunset falling into the Sandias behind us. And I thought, how cool, that we get to fly away from the setting sun and into the evening that has already begun in Clovis.
I love the word grace. I love the idea of grace. I have it tattooed across my ribs in a spiral, cursive font. I write it over and over again my my devotions each morning. I am forever grateful for it.
I am not very good and putting it into practice.
Because along with grace I also love justice. I love being right. I am more stubborn about winning than showing grace. (Wow that was hard to write).
In an attempt to clean up my computer I came across this, something I had written in an airport last summer. I don’t remember what sparked me to write it or why I never shared it, but maybe it was just waiting until this moment right now:
People like to say clichés like “when one door closes, another windows opens,” to make themselves feel better about the ups and downs in their lives. It’s a nice thought, but it doesn’t work in real life. I don’t fully buy into the idea that parts of your life can fully close forever, and I hope you don’t either.
Anyone who knows me knows that for as long as I have lived in New Mexico, I have always talked about the day I would leave the desert for the city. I moved to Albuquerque three and a half years ago when I came to UNM as a freshman. I always assumed I would leave immediately upon graduation.