will i ever be the same person again? am i lost? if i am, can i ever be found? my dream scared me to the bone. is it normal to be scared of yourself all the time?
it ended there, her name signed at the bottom, address carefully labeled on the envelope to arrive in my hands, to read in the soft light, to hold to my chest, to stare at the ceiling and ask God these questions for this woman.
and i am struck at the absurdity of this world that i am living in. where a woman can pen those words in a cell, crying for help, looking for a way out of the life she has been thrown into. where the people i went to high school with, some of them even my friends, can frequent the places that my heart bleeds for. that i could walk down a street every day, aching for a change in this city; only to have my friends walk these streets at night, with very different intentions.
i am struck by the position i find myself in, driving a minivan full of ex-prostitutes and felons to treatment centers, to church, to the home that i have been sharing with them. that they would wrap their arms around me and cry, that they would honor me with their stories, that they would allow me to share in their accomplishments, that they would express dismay and love at my departure next week. i am struck by the tension i feel within myself, rooted in my own world at home, and yet growing to deeply love this home of boisterous, loud, hilarious, caring, crazy, and strangely spiritual group of women.
daily i find the gap growing between where Jesus is leading me, who i am becoming, and the culture i am surrounded by. i look at my life and i laugh, sometimes i feel lonely,but at the end of the day; my heart is overflowing with gratitude and love. and each night, this woman's words echo in my head. and i know that my soul cannot rest until she, and all the women who share her questions, finds answers, finds hope, finds rest.
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