It could never mean as much...

Four o-clock in the morning seems an odd time for conversation.
Unless you are a nurse and she is your patient.
I gave pills, fluffed her pillow, and checked her IV site.
And we talked.

Her face lit up like a tree of lights on Christmas morning.
Her eyes shone like a teenager in love.
And all I had said was, "Your ring is beautiful."


Her husband of 60 years passed away recently, but she is still so very much in love with that man.
The man who gave her a perfect, tiny diamond ring that she still wears snuggled up close to her wedding band on the fourth finger of her left hand.

She smiled and tears came to her eyes,
"After we had been married several years, my husband made some good money. One day, he came home with a huge two karat diamond ring. He told me it was for no reason other than he wanted me to have it. I hugged him and told him that it was beautiful, but that he should take it back. He asked me why and I told him that it could never mean as much me as the ring I already wore on my finger."

I thought about what she had said all morning.
It was the most beautifully touching thing I have heard in a very long time.
If only more people loved like that.
Imagine what kind of a place this world would be. :)

Happiness Is...

The Simple Things

My favorite days have both  rain and sun enough to create rainbows.

Old friends are not afraid to push you in the pool, but they will be there to hold you steady amidst the crashing waves.

Just the smell of coffee is enough to comfort the soul.

                                     Happiness is a book in my hand and those I love by my side.

Gratitude

It was just one of those beautiful days.
And I am so very grateful.

Last night was spent running in circles trying to keep my head above water.
One crisis situation after another occurred.
It was all I could do to keep from laying down on the floor and giving up.
I punched out late in a very hypoglycemia-induced bad mood.

A wild storm blew in on my way home.
My tired eyes strained to see through the torential rain.
But it was beautiful.
I stepped out of my car and let the rain soak me.
It felt as if I was washing off the night.

I remember sitting down on the couch.
The next thing I knew, my phone was ringing and it was 2pm.
Asleep in my scrubs on the couch.

Going back to sleep was futile.
So I ventured into the "why did I bother to shower" humidity of the South in the summer.
I met my dear friend downtown for an Art Festival and soaked in all of the creative beauty.
It is the little things that inspire me and make me happy, like art and strawberry italian ice.

Church at 6pm was a wonderful, air-conditioned refuge.
There is just something so beautiful about worshipping with people who love Jesus as I do.

A quick trip to Whole Foods after church rounded out my night.
A cart full of fresh produce is a beautiful thing.
Fresh Georgia Peaches.
Delicious.

And now it is time to curl up under my old frayed quilt and fall into a happy summertime, wind-chime, painted sunset, flip-flop wearing, sunshine and rainstorms, praise and worship, Georgia peach sleep.

Although I couldn't be with my earthly Dad today, my Daddy in Heaven and I had a pretty awesome day together. God gives good gifts to His children. He loves me. I just know it. :-)

My Heart Will Sing No Other Name

I miss the simplicity that comes at the end of a long day in the African sun, when the lightest cover of my mosquito net beckoned me to curl up with my journal and Bible.
The light of my little pink Maglite just enough to scrawl some words on a page and take a few to heart.
Even in the middle of a room full of nine other girls, that little bed was a refuge.

Now, I have an entire apartment to call my own and hours of silence.
Yet, even in the stillness of this place, my mind goes back to the moments spent in that little rectangular sanctuary.

My heart will sing
No other name
Jesus

I want this to be true of me today. In the midst of distractions.
May it not be a place, but a lifestyle.
A life that sings no other name...
Jesus.

                                                        A Zambian Church in the Mountains.

Tea and a Soft Pillow.

                                                                  My days have been full.

When exhaustion overtakes me, moments like this make me smile.



The Setting-Sun Journey.

 
This photo has a story. I feel it.
 I don't know if it has anything to do with this quick-snapped sepia picture, the dear friend who gazes far, or even the standing-solid concrete bridge...I think that the story has everything to do with the way my mind is turning and how my heart yearns for something more.

The setting-sun sky,perhaps.

Sitting here before a blank screen leaves me grasping at how to tell this story. Picking up the colored leaves spinning through my conciousness and pasting them back onto the tree. I need a complete picture. The sky is grey today and rain drips steady beyond my window. And I sit here and sip my chai and ponder at how to begin.

There was a book I read as a little girl. Over and over I read it. Again and again about a man who could fix almost everything. But he did not think he could fix a broken heart. As the last page turned, we found him capable of just this feat. He repaired the heart of a little girl who brought him her dog-chewed dolly. And he made this dolly new again with his love and careful attention. Fixing broken hearts.

A few days ago, I pulled that book from its dusty spot, warm on a low shelf and I discovered something.
 I have always been a fixer. Wanting to fix all that is broken in this tattered world.

 When I was in the middle of my fourth year, I met the One who is able to mend the frayed edges and straighten all that has bent crooked. I asked him to take up residence in my not-yet known to be broken heart. He did. And while He has not keep it from breaking at the fragile spots, He knows just how to hold me close when it shatters. Making me stronger at the broken places.

When what I long for is not what I see.

When I witness those sucumbing to illness and disease and I hear of people killing, for what?
Of women devalued and babies crying alone. And the American poverty of lonliness. And despair, it overtakes me. And I want to go now, I want to run harder and faster and I want to fix....fix...fix it all.

When I am tired of trying and striving, He reminds me that my life is that little bit of morning fog, the stuff that burns away when the sun touches it. I am not here for long. And so I let it go. All of it.

I want my time here to be fully about His perfect broken-heart fixing power. And not mine (cause I do not have anything without Him).  Because I only have what He has given me. A longing to see it all made right. A yearning for His Kingdom.

He is the only one qualified to mend my heart. Because He lived this life on earth as a man who felt the heat of the sun and the pain of losing a dear friend. He walked through the crowds of the sick and the dying and He showed us how to stop for the one in our path. And He cried out in the garden and asked if it were possible to let our anguish and suffering pass by Him. But he accepted it and He lived it. And,He died. He experienced temptation far beyond what I can even imagine and He did not cave beneath the weight. He let the little children come to Him. And He loved. Oh, He loved.

 And I have learned that living broken is not a bad thing. It is necessary to know His heart of love for us, his children. I can live in broken-hearted joy out of  the fullness of His power, because I see the light on shattered edges dancing throughout the room. I know that it will all be made whole one day.

Beautifully, perfectly,

Whole.

And so, I am not convinced  that the story is about the bridge, or the friend, or the sunset. Maybe in some small way, it is. Maybe that story inspired mine.
A story of our journeying in this dim-lit world.
His strength and power. And our willingness to follow where He leads during our brief walk on earth.

The end.

One Child...

During the time I lived in Africa, I spent a lot of time at an orphanage in the city of Choma.

Every free day I could find, I would walk or hitch a ride and go to spend the day with my kids. I loved each of those beautiful little faces. Running up to me with bare feet, dusty legs,oftentimes wet pants, and ill-fitting clothing screaming, "Auntie Alissa! Auntie Alissa!" It was where I fell in love.

                                                                   With this little boy.
                                              The light of my life during my time in Zambia.

His name is Anton. And he was almost one. He rarely smiled. How I loved his smiles. He never competed for my attention, but he was always near me. There were many other children. I loved them all as well, but this little boy captured my heart.

                He was beginning to walk. Only when holding onto furniture, the wall, or my hands.

As the days and weeks went on, I could not stand the thought of leaving him.

The older children would hand him to me saying, "Auntie Alissa, put this baby in your bag and take him to America. You will be his mommy. "

They had no idea how much my heart ached to do just that.

I loved when he sat on my lap at church. When he let me change his diaper, wash his face, feed him nshima, rock him in my arms before laying him down to his nap.

That is what I did the last day I was with him.

I rocked him in my arms, the two of us alone in the crib room. I prayed over him and laid him down.

He didn't cry. He learned long ago that his cries would not be answered in the orphanage.

And he was only one year.

Later, I snuck back in and snapped this last picture.

I ached so deeply as I turned and left the room.

And something in me changed forever.

I am still trying to figure out what that is.

Sometimes late at night, my arms ache to hold him.

I don't know if that will ever go away.

Anton baby, I hope you have celebrated your second year. I hope you are healthy. I hope you are hugged and loved by someone who is there as I was. Jesus loves you, baby boy. And I do too. I wish I could come to you. I wish your government would allow me to come and bring you home with me.

But, I love you.

All the way over here in the States. I could never forget you!

You changed me.

Your little one year old life.

Twalumba, Anton.

Mutalili.