For the last four years I and my little family have been on a journey of sorts, one that began with the end of our church plant. It’s been a wilderness sojourn in the truest sense, and just when you thought the intensity couldn’t dial up any higher, well, it did – to 11.
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The thought is this: I want the next season of my life to be marked by yes’s and no’s. (See Matt. 5:37.)
There are times in life when it seems all you’ve got is belovedness.
But this morning it really came without warning, and there I was, a blubbering mess, right in front of Gemma and Pippa, 5 and 3 years old respectively.
Did God stop loving me at some point? Probably not, and I of course know at some cerebral level that God does, as a matter of fact, love me. But sometimes, as far as experience is concerned, it seems like he may not.
We don’t live on a mountain quite as epic as the one in the photo, but we do live at a high point in the midcoast Maine countryside. And sometime in August, lightning struck.