March comes in like a lion.

It always feels like there is so much going on, but right now it seems especially true.

We are in the weirdest place of knowing that God has something big and good and new in store for us. We just don’t know exactly what that is. He keeps telling us how he wants us to live our lives (seek justice, love others, give and give and give) but he doesn’t tell us the what or the where or the when. Just the why, for now. Sometimes it is enough. But usually I just want to ask all sorts of questions.

It is not good for my ego, my pride, to not have a plan in place. I want to boast, to explain, to solve the world’s problems. I hear whispers like maybe I am not broken enough, maybe I am still too busy talking and not listening, maybe God really does want me to focus on love. Without it, I am a clangiest of gongs.

On Friday, I lost one of my jobs. Which is sad for me, but sadder still for all the under-served literacy students. Last Monday, the baby started walking for reals (almost 19 months now, but we will take it!) I had a slumber party with my lovely Somali girls, full of heartbreaking talks and shared confidences, and laughing and cartoons and brownies. In the next week or two, I am going to be teaching a class at Reed (for one hour, I shall say I was a Reed professor), I will turn 28, I will run my first race (a 15k).

 

It is all so, so up in the air that God must be behind it all. I am taking comfort in that fact, because it means He is near. And it means He is wanting to use us. I pray for the ears to listen, the hands and feet to obey.

 

 

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3 thoughts on “March comes in like a lion.

  1. Jessica says:

    I just read your latest in the “Assimilate” series–it was so lovely! It’s making the rounds among our little community that works with refugees. We recognize ourselves in you–the trip to the movies, the picture drawing, the inability to reconcile your past and theirs. I do a poetry workshop with refugee kids and my college English Lit class every year and the poems that come out of it are so precious and poignant and difficult to process. I am so excited to have discovered your writing and so appreciative that you put in words what a very particular group of us experiences in this community.

    • Thanks! That was why I was so excited to find your blog–it seemed like there were some kindred spirits out there, people whose lives were hijacked by the tiniest of friendships. I look forward to learning more about your business–keep writing about it! (And the poetry idea sounds so, so cool).

      • Jessica says:

        I’ll write more about refugees next week (this week I’m on a kick about literature), but I’m so glad you that first comment so I could find out more about your work and follow the column. Definitely kindred spirits!

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