To the God who gives life.

Let February begin!

January was so good to me. So relational.

Somehow I managed to meet with God, every day. To remember Him. I spent my Mondays at coffee with Chalayn; I spent my Thursday mornings at coffee with friends from work; I spent my Fridays with Eric and Harvard, at the river, by the fire; I spent my mornings in the car, worshipping Jesus and preparing for the day; my afternoons in the classroom; and my evenings, driving, unwinding, and preparing for the arrival home; I spent hours in the office, investing in a job I love and new friendships I am incredibly grateful for; I spent Tuesdays and Thursdays in Jan’s class, admiring and learning, and in Michael’s class, dreaming and designing; I spent evenings and weekends reading student’s stories and ideas, stranger’s blogs, and borrowed books; and now I am spending the weekend with my dad, my cousins, and my grandparents in Walla Walla.

Grandma and Grandpa will be moving into an apartment next week, and out of the only house that I have ever known them in. The walls are bare. Everyone is getting ready for bed.

I’m tired from the day, but alive—full of nostalgia. Today, I sat side by side with my cousins, perusing pictures, laughing, packing, reading, watching YouTube videos.

My dad and my aunt: the only pictures from their childhood. 

Grandma was so excited to show me around their new apartment. I was excited to lean over her shoulder, look upon a black and white collector’s plate, hear stories about her childhood in Denmark, her hometown, the school she attended, the church she attended, her mother and father. I held her Bible in my hands, earlier—a book I didn’t even know they owned, and a book I could not read. But I flipped through the pages, touching foreign words, catching a glimpse of "Jesus," wondering where my grandma comes from. Where I come from. Wondering what she believes.

There is evidence of the beauty and majesty of God all around this house. Especially in the love that my grandparents share. And each night I am here, as I pull the covers over my shoulders, I’m comforted by something that only He can provide. Some sense of peace and truth that does not need to spoken in order to be understood.

I have so many things to complete: a list of to-dos that hovers over me. But as I look back at this month, I can’t say that I would trade any single moment, any single person, for the ability to cross things off of that list. I hate the hovering feeling, but I think Jesus has it under control. I think he’s okay with where I am at, and that I am actually where He wants me to be.

Here’s to a relational February, and to the God who is the master of time—who can draw me in and send me out, and carve out time for me to read, write, work, and play if I trust in Him.

To the God who gives life, and life abundantly, thank You.