I started this job that has me reaching for my phone on the way home to thank my parents for what my childhood was and for letting me stay a child as long as I did.  It has me thinking late into the evening, standing in the kitchen with the sink of dishes-- thankful for what a dirty dish means, thankful for the scrubbing, soaping, rinsing and the peace that is birthed inside a task that ends in familiar order.  And in the morning there I am: sending broken words to Him, wondering over past un-thanking and undeserved blessings that keep coming, speaking promises over children who have not yet heard a good Word, feeding their hearts from here in my space outside that world I know I am about to enter.

Months of rest and quiet and now. Now He is teaching me to make myself new, again.  And I find myself rearranging, shifting space, finding what has always been, recreating the inside in order to make room for the new that is coming.

And maybe now I am a little stronger after that rest.  I am older, that is sure.  A little quieter, thinner.  But isn't it true that He does the best things in me when I am not all the way there?  When I am stretched away from my bone, when my flesh is a little bit starving, a little bit hungry, and my spirit is watching, watching and hoping for the way that is good and straight and narrow.

This way that is hard in a new way.  A way that has me educating children, adults, myself about realities I had not crossed.  And here I am, heart already breaking, mind- shaking, prayers firing.  I am here and I am sure He is with me, with me and the children-- His children and even though I have not moved in quite a while and there is dust still on my soul, the Love is back and so I am thankful.  I am ready.  I am wild fury.