Glorie and I are sitting on the big leather couch together. I'm blogging and she's watching King George and the Ducky. The house smells like the banana bread we just made. While we thought Ariel and Judah would be coming over later, there are spots on Glorie's back that seem to be spreading, and since we'd rather not start a pox epidemic, it'll be Glorie and me flying solo.On the practical front, Suz and OJ came back into town yesterday. I went four days without those kids and, boy, I missed them. I would see Samuel's little clothes and just miss his chubbiness and the cuddles I need to give him. Saturday night a few friends came over and we played a nice eventful game of Settlers. Nothing like accusations of manipulation to make you better friends.
I'm still moving, and I can't help but feel like I'm staring August 19 in the face. I hope this isn't a weird analogy, but it feels kind of like what I would guess it feels like to be pregnant. No matter what you do, the day of huge transition is coming and while you are SO excited for what it's going to bring, you can't help but remember sometimes that you're kind of also staring in the face one of the hardest, most painful things you might ever do. So maybe that's kind of a dramatic way to describe leaving Kansas City -- I know I'm going to make it, but it feels really hard at certain moments. Now the job is this: to walk forward without fear.
Suz has a song she sings with the kids before they go to sleep: "There is no fear [then they shout: "No fear! no fear!] in love..." Of course that's from the verse that says: "There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear." So I want to walk without fear. I know that my God is faithful, and I know that I'm walking in obedience by moving to Tacoma, and I know that God blesses obedience. In conclusion, I think there's one big response that's justified: expectancy. Pray for me, friends, to walk in expectancy.
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