When one has no homeland, one must create a place to make pilgrimage to. I have no qualms about starting a family tradition of going to Land Between the Lakes. We must have someplace to call our own, and to return to fondly. I have not yet been to the places in Ohio that my husband claims. I have only been to Land Between the Lakes once. But I yearn for it as one yearns for a homeland.
Where I grew up is a dismal place, to me. I know now my eyes see differently and I know ways to love where I am from, now. There are many places I want to show my children and I know they'd love. I want to take them down the country roads I ran as a teen. I would not tell them that I hated it then, that it seemed boring and hidden from the world to me. I have come to an understanding that the world is in fact an ugly place, and hidden places are rare and to be treasured.
God has blessed my family immensely. And myself, more than I could have ever imagined. And in ways I could never have concieved. I've had my wisdom teeth removed lately and it was a horrible experience (the sleepy gas terrified me). Watching your pulse slow on a monitor is like giving in to death. I had a horrible time not jumping up and leaving and finding unspoiled air to breathe. Air that is pure and free of sedative. I stayed only by prayer, and that is frantic prayer. Repeating the creeds and the Hail Mary kept me calm as I could be. I know the nurse was annoyed I was not falling asleep quick enough. My pulse was at 65 the last time I looked at the monitor. I thank God that I had no bad reactions to the medications and came home ready to care for my dear sweet Sue (who is just seven months and crawling and saying Mama).
Being a Christian is not about "living for Christ". It is about dying with Christ, and being resurrected with Christ. If we are called to anything, it is not to life. It is to suffering and death, and at the same instance to peace and joy. This peace is not imperfect, by any means. It is perfect and holy. The more I come to understand this, the more I feel that God might someday say to me, "Well done."
Thinking of going to Land Between the Lakes again as a family (and driving for miles in hidden places), leaves me filled with hope.
Or maybe it's the Vicodin making me sentimental. Who can tell.
Where I grew up is a dismal place, to me. I know now my eyes see differently and I know ways to love where I am from, now. There are many places I want to show my children and I know they'd love. I want to take them down the country roads I ran as a teen. I would not tell them that I hated it then, that it seemed boring and hidden from the world to me. I have come to an understanding that the world is in fact an ugly place, and hidden places are rare and to be treasured.
God has blessed my family immensely. And myself, more than I could have ever imagined. And in ways I could never have concieved. I've had my wisdom teeth removed lately and it was a horrible experience (the sleepy gas terrified me). Watching your pulse slow on a monitor is like giving in to death. I had a horrible time not jumping up and leaving and finding unspoiled air to breathe. Air that is pure and free of sedative. I stayed only by prayer, and that is frantic prayer. Repeating the creeds and the Hail Mary kept me calm as I could be. I know the nurse was annoyed I was not falling asleep quick enough. My pulse was at 65 the last time I looked at the monitor. I thank God that I had no bad reactions to the medications and came home ready to care for my dear sweet Sue (who is just seven months and crawling and saying Mama).
Being a Christian is not about "living for Christ". It is about dying with Christ, and being resurrected with Christ. If we are called to anything, it is not to life. It is to suffering and death, and at the same instance to peace and joy. This peace is not imperfect, by any means. It is perfect and holy. The more I come to understand this, the more I feel that God might someday say to me, "Well done."
Thinking of going to Land Between the Lakes again as a family (and driving for miles in hidden places), leaves me filled with hope.
Or maybe it's the Vicodin making me sentimental. Who can tell.
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