Richard and Elliott are in the States for the next nine days. The past two months of our lives have been an emotional roller coaster as we adapt to city life here in Recife, Brazil, waiting for the birth of our baby girl before we head back to the Jungle. I am on a spiritual journey that I want to share because I think it's important, as Believers, to be transparent. Over the next week, I'll be posting what God is doing in my heart as I ask Him to pluck the weeds in my life. I hope you'll appreciate my transparency and not think less of me for it. I hope you'll pray for me. But mostly, I hope it encourages you.
It's quiet here.
Aside from the noise of the street below our apartment complex and the swirling fan above my head, it's very quiet. No little feet pattering through the house or pleas for snacks or movies. Just quiet.
I play TV shows in the background just for the sound of human voice because the quiet is too much sometimes.
"I don't want this," I tell Him. "Any of it." I figure I may as well be honest since He knows my heart anyway.
I'm frustrated and I am disappointed and I am discontent. And He listens because He knows me. He knows my selfish heart and my clinched fists and He just listens.
Even He is quiet these days.
And I cry tears of anger because I don't get my way and I tell Him I know--I KNOW--it could be worse and life is, in fact, very good in comparison with 98% of the world around me but I WANT to pout and I WANT to feel sorry for myself because I am in fact self absorbed and so very short-sighted.
"Is it so wrong to want more?" I ask Him. "I want to do something great for You, and here I am with nothing at all to do. I'm alone here."
And His reply?
"Just listen to Me."
I'm taken aback as my pride sets in.
"But I HAVE listened! Don't you see where I am? I gave it all away. I left everything and everyone that I know. I am right, smack-dab in the middle of where You said to go. I did what You said to do. I have listened!" I answer, frustrated, tired.
"Just listen to Me."
He says it over and over every time I complain. He doesn't raise His voice but says it softly, gently, like a parent trying to soothe a crying newborn.
I spiritually cross my arms and furrow my brow. And He waits.
Waits for me to listen.