Yesterday was the first "miss" on daily writing since I committed to the discipline.
I didn't even make it one week. But I'm okay with that.
Some words are meant to be written on the heart instead of on a page.
And I wonder, might these words stand the test of time best?
I left my house yesterday at 8:00 AM and did not return until close to midnight. Well, except for the 6:00 PM stop to change out of my running clothes before an evening spouses event. Running clothes I had worn all day but not had a chance to use. And even then, as I spoke quickly to my husband on the phone about details of the evening apart, my landlord appeared with his phone, dancing from foot to foot, and asked me to speak to Americans who wanted to come and view the house.
"Right now? Yes, of course, come now."
Yes, of course.
I'll just race through a two minute bath, wipe down the bathrooms, and why don't my boys pick up their towels, and who left their dishes in the sink, and "Sam, please bring me the broom," and ...
Yes, of course.
I'm going to miss my first day of writing today.
Earlier in the afternoon I had taken my boys to my hair salon for a final haircut. It was one week early for this by my standards, but Carla and Tonya were going on holiday until the day I leave Germany, so this was my last opportunity to see them. They served me coffee and smiled and we laughed and talked in our broken English/German way as they cut the boys hair. And as I finished paying them, Carla spoke to Tonya in German and then they stood beside me. So close beside me.
They presented me with a gift and a card. And Carla said, "This is something," and over her shoulder to a customer who spoke better English, she searched for the perfect word. "This is something to remember us by."
And my eyes, they began to leak holy tears.
For God alone orchestrated that moment. Only He knew just how blessed I have been to spend an afternoon in their salon every few weeks.
How much I have viewed those hours as Sabbath, rest from my new role as teacher.
How many prayers I have lifted over them.
How much grace I have known, that they would wash my hair.
I hugged Carla long.
I hugged Tonya long.
And the tears, they did rise and fall.
Who gives gifts of remembrance to the one they have served?
Yesterday I had only the time to open the card.
I am glad, because yesterday's gift that I treasured was that they cared enough to give me one.
I have a card with their faces on it.
Images "to remember them by."
This morning I unwrapped the box.
How could they know?
I would rather collect relationships instead of things, but I have Willow Tree angels all over my house.
Every single one of them came from someone I love. As a remembrance of time shared.
And this angel?
The first time she had been given to me by my children on Mother's Day. And it was here in Germany, during the hard times of learning how to love in this new way, homeschooling, that she had been shattered during a fight.
That our hearts have been mended and grown stronger is evident. The circled closed with this gift's unwrapping, and now this angel stands unbroken, a forever reminder to me that words are written best on the heart.
Ah, they knew.
Just with Grace,
in remembrance of the One who gives gifts to those He serves.
We love because he first loved us. 1 John 4:19
You are being written on my heart, Favored One.