Only Jesus and poverty make me cry. But I came close that night, stuffing clothes into my suitcase. Again.
The rule is – the RULE is – that after being gone five days I should have been home five days before leaving again. But we broke the rule.
There was a church in Canada that needed to hear from me about Compassion.
That’s the great peril of living generously isn’t it? There’s always someone who needs a little more from us.
“I don’t like it when someone is left out,” said my seven year-old in his peculiar way at dinner. And by that he meant when someone leaves. Again.
There’s only so much we can give before we’re empty and all that comes out of us is longing…and maybe tears. It’s been that kind of week around here.
So Thanksgiving comes just in time this year. The suitcase is in the closet. The house is full of my father-in-law’s big voice telling stories, everyone laughing, spoiled sugared-up children playing outside, the smell of coffee and soon a dozen yummy somethings my mother-in-law will cook up.
And I’m so thankful I’m not left out. I’m home. I’m almost full again.
I’m praying for you this week. Will you pray for me? That giving thanks gets us filled up again.
Savor the sounds and smells, faces around the table, an empty suitcase. Being more loved than needed.
It’s all grace, you know. To the empty rule breakers like us.
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