From Cairo to Kentucky

Writing to a friend on the other side of the world Me: How are you? I got back this evening from FL and immediately my house overwhelmed me. My house! I’m such a bad mother. So bad my daughter gave me permission to go back. I’d been home less than a half hour! I told her that made me really sad, but you know how Paul says he did what he knew he shouldn’t do? I did too! It wasn’t until past their bedtime, that I finally gave them the gifts my parents sent them and showed them pictures from my trip. That should have been first, I know, but it’s like I become possessed and until things are in order I can’t think. I apologized to the girls before bed. I told them it was wrong of me, that I was happy to see them.   What can I do? How do I change this?  And just as I landed, we got an email from our organization telling us that because all of our summer physicals and things haven’t been sent to them, our file has been closed.   I’m not even sure what that means!!! So that didn’t help

After having a headache for most of the day, I was talking to my husband about it when he said, “I shouldn’t tell you what I just read about Kentucky.” Well, no one can get away with starting a sentence with, “I shouldn’t tell you…” So after some prodding, he said, “Kentucky is supposed to have the highest rate of allergies in the entire country.” Now this may not seem like a big deal to you, but I have suffered from allergies for as long as I remember.   And, every time we move to a new place, it’s been “fun” discovering how best to deal with them there.   In Kenya, my neighbor used to say, “I know when you’re awake, cause I can hear you sneezing!” In Egypt, sweeping my front porch always had me reaching for a bandana.   And now, Kentucky?!?!? Is it all their bluegrass? As I thought about life with allergies, I got to wondering, quite randomly, what life would be like for a shepherd with allergies.   I know. It was an allergy-induced headache random thought, but still…ar

Before leaving Egypt, I met with a dear friend and pastoral counselor to discuss my plans for the future.   I appreciated her honesty, and will never forget her words.   She said, “Once you arrive in your home country and the girls go to school and your husband starts his classes, then you will realize how tired you are.   Rest. Give yourself time.” In the midst of the craziness of moving internationally and trying to finish well, I relished the thought.   I was being given permission to rest!   I longed for it, and wondered, “Maybe this is why the Lord gave me the word Sabbath for this year.”  And yet, on the other hand, I fought against it, letting my insecurities and fears push me to secure a teaching license. Just in case.   Could I really just rest? And then we arrived in the United States.  Almost immediately, it seemed everyone’s number one concern for me was, “What will you do?” What will I do? Here I’d been told to rest, even given permission