At the airport here, going back to my friend's wedding. It's completely bizarre to be acting normal. I see kids running around here and instinctively I look for the mom to run up to and say, "are you the mom here?" I sat next to a couple on the plane with a three-month-old ADORABLE baby, and I started a conversation on their plans for early education. I'm now watching a mom and her middle schooler talk, and I am guessing if they look like buyers or not. They are, by the way.
I am excited to see my friends, but somehow, I feel out of place.
The feat of writing a post and explanation for what happened this past weekend has kept me from even attempting it for some days now. How do you describe miracles but not as to cheapen the treasure of their testimony? First I must begin to explain who this man Steven is, and who he someday will be. Skeptical, I have been for some years now which is why I categorize his existence as a miracle. He is strong. Meek. Authoritative in speech, and yet the most gentle of men. He hates all the usual things like Wal-Mart and loves all the usual authors like G.K. Chesterton. His brokenness before the Lord was what set him apart from the crowd for me. I honor this man with words of encouragement. "Steven, you are dearly loved and anointed by Jesus. Not because you have done great things for Him, but because your heart longs to make Him the focus. You know He is good even in the desert seasons. You have chosen Jesus. You have a closeness with Him that inspires me to seek Him a
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