The sun always comes up

October is a rainy month. One afternoon I got caught in a downpour twice, and even though I had an umbrella I had to change both times because my pants were soaked! It was definitely a "frog strangler" as I grew up hearing, or "raining buckets" or, as we say here "Estaba cayendo un palo de agua" -- which I like to translate, it's raining so hard it'll beat you with a stick!
We had a whole week of rain, but since then it's been nice with a few days of sun and then a rainy one. Today was clear. I woke up early and came upstairs as the eastern sky was starting to lighten. The morning star twinkled over the stark black line of the mountains on the other side of the valley. A few sparse clouds turned pink as roosters welcomed the gift of another day. It's such a blessing that I get to live here on the farm. J. and I are in Viña house now. Another change, but not as drastic as moving from the city to here.
I'm looking toward the horizon of my time here and wondering when the light will break over the peaks and be shed on the next step. Just like I felt this morning, I want to see what will come to light but the moments of semidarkness are so beautiful that I don't want to let them go. I know that as soon as I decide when and where I'm going to do my YWAM trainig school things will begin to change. The planet keeps turning, the star distances itself and fades, the pink clouds turn peach, then grey. Yes, there will be other sunrises, but never the same.

Nostalgia

Sitting around the big, wooden table at Kiwi House, finishing up a simple lunch and chatting, I noticed Steve’s hands, holding the soup spoon as he talked to us. They’re my grandfather’s hands. I loved those hands, once so steady and careful, strong yet gentle. A tear stung in my eye, surprising me into turning my head to stop watching Granddad’s hands on Steve’s body.

I just ate a piece of pumpkin pie that Steve’s wife, Evi, made. Thanksgiving is in a month and a half. We’re planning to do a whole dinner, but I know we’ll be missing some things: cranberry sauce, the plates in a stack on the counter, collard greens and turnips, preparing the feast all morning long with the women of the family…

I want to go to the house in Sneads Ferry; I want to go to the beach. I want to eat roast beef in Chesapeake and sit around in the living room with the family. I want to go to the cabin in Robbinsville, and feel free to wander around in the woods a bit. I want to visit at least a dozen places in Greensboro.

I listened to a sermon from my church online last night. I’m thrilled that they now have a podcast, and Greg’s words sunk into my heart, adding to the things God is mixing together over the last week. A few sermons, a letter from a YWAM leader to all the bases, a chapter in the Experiencing God book that we’re studying in small group, conversations with housemates and coworkers… a pinch of this, a handful of that, stirred by hand because these things aren’t quick or easy.