chewing on this

Yesterday God told me that it's okay if I don't do everything the hard way all the time.

home?

I've been thinking much about the word 'home' and what it means lately, just like my friend Becca.
I sat down with an old sweet mentor from high school while I was in Florida, and he asked me if Kansas City was home. For the first time in a long time, I faltered. I actually stuttered, I think, because I suddenly didn't know if it was or not. It used to be, for sure, but I feel at home in so many places, it sets my head spinning.
I feel at home when I walk into the Gathering. I feel at home behind the counter at work with my little ones. Most of the time, I feel at home in my house in KC. I really feel at home in the arms of my mom and dad. I felt strangely at home in Zeway, Ethiopia. I feel most at home when I spend time with my Savior.
Corrie and I were driving around yesterday when I turned to her and said: "Do you have a home?".
"Oh...heaven. The other day at work, someone asked me: 'where are you from? where's home?', and I just looked at them and felt so dumb because I didn't have an answer, until finally I said that my parents lived in Texas. But I belong with the Lord. He is my home."

When I meet someone new they usually ask me where I'm from. I never give the real long answer at first.
When I was 13 years old, I had moved eleven times. I never thought this was weird, until college when I became keenly aware that I was missing this deep tie to one specific place that most of my friends had. I just don't need it. Instead of making a crazy person out of me, all those moves made me highly adaptable. I feel confident that I can live happily anywhere in the world.
I should really stop thinking about where to tag 'home' and whether or not I have one. If I've decided that the Lord is my shelter and my hope is in Him and all my delight is in Him, and He is a good shepherd who gives good gifts...then I really don't need a home on this earth.

back

After 3 and a half days of surprising my mother, laughing with my sister, watching my brother play football, asking advice from my father, watching Kathryn get married, going to the beach with Colleen, catching up with Michelle, dancing like a fool, sleeping in my old room, sitting with my dog, and receiving so many family hugs...


I'm homesick.

i made it

airport-runner

I just became an airport-runner. The baggage-clutching, 'excuse me please', brush-by-you, airport-runner who barrels by the calm general public walking peacefully to their gate.

I know.

I never understood airport runners until now. I would always see them sprinting through terminals with children and bags in tow, skipping ahead of all of us at the security line, and wonder why they didn't leave the house earlier, check in earlier...was it their first time flying or something?

Here's the breakdown of how to become an airport runner:

• learn that your flight to connecting city is 45 minutes late
• you only had an hour layover to begin with
• you ask the nicely frazzled lady at the ticket counter what she suggests you do
• she says there's a different flight she can get you on, a direct one straight home, and it's leaving now, so RUN!

And that's how you become an airport runner.

And by the way, I didn't get there in time. So I'm sitting in KCI, waiting for the originally planned two flights that may or may not get me home tonight.

Oh well.

the tuesday lifelist

• haven't showered
• my car needs one too
• the afternoon rain smelled perfectly good
• at least something got a shower
• afternoon at the Wootens
• evening at Scooter's
• double shot of espresso
• writing a paper compulsively checking cari's flickr for new Ethiopia pictures
• my stomach might be growling loud enough to be heard above the 80's rock blaring in this coffeehouse.
• I get to see my little ones tomorrow at work, and that will be lovely

just here.

I'm back.

Walking in this old shoe.

It's comfy.

oofta

Friends, all the words I have are nice and sad and lovely and heavy. I don't think I can let them out here and now. Meet with me for tea and I'll let you in. Or come to my house and I'll roast you some of my fresh coffee beans and pop some kettle corn to practice my hospitality skillz. They need some work.

Sometimes when you decide to let Jesus break your heart, he does shatter it to oblivion and distant lands, but he doesn't hurt. He just lets you carry some of his sadness over this world and it makes the two of you better friends.

You, you, you. I mean me.

pronounced: fai-yay

Me (referring to the cramped third row seat he always chose first): "Feye, let me sit in the back next time. My legs are shorter."

Feye: "This is my seat. The leader's seat is always in the back."

Feye Tola: director of the Child Developement Program, Food for the Hungry, Ethiopia

a little broken