Somedays I am overwhelmed. Being a foreigner in my own land seems too much. Not feeling I belong but knowing it is where I am meant to be. I long to cross over that wide open ocean once again. To feel the red African dirt between my toes, with the warmth of the Mozambican sun upon my skin. I miss the lush green landscape. The sounds and smells that seem so familiar. The feeling of home.
How do I make sense of dreams and hopes that seem to be shattered, left behind, ripped from underneath. It is simple yet feels so trying. Life goes on, and I am glad it does because that is the way of God. He is forever making all things new. Even me, in my weakness and untrusting. Even my dreams in their shallowness and unseeing eyes. My hopes, I am learning, to leave in Him alone. Not in plans or places or people. Only in Him. My mind tells me that I need a plan, a way to proceed. But from deep within I can hear my spirit cry out who can know the mysteries of God and the best way is to let it be instead of trying to package it all up.
Let Him be my home. Let Him design the dreams. Let Him be my hope. Let it be, to Him.