the rain-holding place

by Alanna

On Tuesday night, God gifted me with a canoe trip, 2 miles up and 2 miles back down the Highline canal. With two guys to do the hard work, as well as the steering and directing and shouting out "branch!" at the right moments, it was a smooth and dry trip. The dark of night, water flowing under, small white roses, praises sung through tunnels. So many gifts all jumbled into one night, it was hard to even keep track and I couldn't thank God enough- just for those 2 1/2 hours. Praise God, the Giver.

The canal was really full that night. Water, held after the rain in that rut. Held for so long. It had rained on Monday, and by Wednesday it hadn't left a trace on the ground around. The earth might have looked greener, but still you had to remember the last time it rained. Remember back to Monday? The beautiful drenching goodness, all day long. God poured it out from the sky for us. And it is so easy to forget. Because the day after the rain, I look around and things can look the same to me. Situations unchanged; an earth with no lasting rain imprint. For that, I have to look in the canal. Even today, water still flowed there. A reminder of God's goodness and His gifts poured out for us. It is so easy to forget the rain, and yet it is held there for us all along. I want to live there, by the canal. To have a long and lasting memory of the rain. This is the rut I want to be stuck in- the one where my eyes are opened to His good things and I let Him take me where the current goes.

hoping

by Alanna

I have wanted to write this for a while now, but can never quite find the right words. Maybe that doesn't matter so much though. I have been doing a lot of hoping lately. A whole lot of that is centered around Johannesburg, South Africa, and the children I left behind. Some of them have been reunited with their family, some adopted into new families, and many still where I left them. I hope for all of them. I hope that the Lord saves them, that He adopts them into His family. I hope that they grow up to know His redemption and that they understand even now His heart for them and His desire for them. I hope he gives them families on earth to show them that love. These are all things I pray for them, but praying always leads me into hope. And hope is scary to me because it admits for the possibility of hopes delayed, hopes disappointed.

I hope for a lot of things here too. I hope for prayers to be answered, for direction for my life and the lives of my friends. I hope for God to be clear about what He wants us all to do. I hope that He will be glorified by our lives.

I also cling to hope that someday I'll adopt precious little one. That God would, in that way, bring to fruition these past 21 months of loving and seeking and asking for this. Hope is such a scary thing to have, because it involves heart involvement and in a deeper way than just asking or wondering about the future. Once I thought I had no more hope left, and then I noticed that I was still waiting, expecting something to change. When God puts something on your heart, it just doesn't go away and so hope seems to become engrained in you. I can tell when after the tears on the car ride home from work, my feet still hurry to the computer and I hold my breath while I check. I can tell when I take out the baby blanket again and work the blue yarn through.

And I pray and will myself to keep on hoping. In some ways, hoping for God to do this "impossible thing", reminds me what I am actually hoping in. Yes I want God to answer, to restore, to save. But I hope for this, not in this. What I hope in is the character of God. A God who listens, who is compassionate and gracious and gives good gifts. An all-powerful Father. One who knows what it is like to sacrifice His only Son, and who did it anyway to purchase our redemption. Because of Him, we are right to keep on hoping.

In Christ alone

My hope is found

He is my light my strength my song

This cornestone

This solid ground

Firm through the fiercest draughts and storms

What heights of love

What depths of peace

When fears are stilled

When striving cease

My comforter, my all in all

here in the love of Christ

I stand

moving

By Mary

The past couple of weeks have been busy getting everything in order for my third move in the past year. I'm thankful that everything finally seems to be falling into place--and extremely thankful that when the government sends you somewhere, you can also arrange to have them move you. So this move involves minimum packing on my part (thank the Lord)

By the end of the month we'll be in Maryland (which I've always said I should visit since my name is in the title)

We'll be trying out hotel living for the first couple weeks before our apartment is ready and we can move all our stuff in. I'm not looking forward to that part very much...and the whole process has been frustrating to me, not being my favorite thing to arrange in the first place, and having to deal with five different changes in schedule and plans.

I was outside with Allie the other day, thinking about not being able to visit home this month after all, about giving up our large, though still rather grassless backyard, about church hunting and renting out our house. And I thought too, of lessons I could learn if I would cultivate a heart for learning them. Like contentment in every situation. Being still while life swirls around and knowing that He is God. Knowing Him as my Strong Tower and my Rock, always with me. No matter who else I can or cannot be around at the time.

He gives grace for every moment...and of course I'm also thankful for certain things like real airports, wholesale grocery stores and fabric shops that don't require hours of driving to get to them. Oh the little things.