One Day

I found this entry in my journal. I had been living in Lancaster for two weeks.

From Sunday, September 12, 2010

Father,

I don't even know if I'm suppose to feed the parking meters. How far will I really get when three quarters only gives me thirty-six minutes in a cafe?

. . . Can I always run to a little city cafe to make my problems fade away under the smells of coffee beans and cookies?

I want church. Home. . . .
I want a job.
I want to live in the ghetto.
I want friends.
I want to ride a horse.

Do You hear me, God?
Do these desires just bounce off the ceiling, and get shut in my journal?
I know the answers to these questions. I know You're here, God. But my heart asks them anyway.

I believe. Help my unbelief.
I love You. Help me love You more fully.

Exactly thirty-three weeks later:

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Sundays are sad days for me. I miss church. I miss home. I use to look forward to small group and Sunday morning church at NewSong. Now, I don't look forward to anything. And I miss touch. I miss a hug, a shoulder squeeze, or even a familiar hand shake. The tears came as I realized this today. So thankful for tears. So thankful that I've been through this before, and God is faithful.

After I wrote this last night, I sat on my couch. The only light was a candle burning on the end table. I prayed. I remembered. I cried. I remembered the frustration and the loneliness of not having people or church when I first moved to Lancaster. I remembered getting lost on all the one way streets in the city, and searching for a job for months. God brought them all. I found home. I had a church. Friends. I knew my way around. Horses. Jobs. Blessings. Because God was faithful then, I remembered that He promises to be faithful now too. One day, I will again have something to look forward to each week. I will hug and be hugged. I will sit on the couch with a new friend. I will not get lost four times in one morning. I am blessed.

And maybe one day, I will live in the ghetto.