The Roundabout Road

The Roundabout Road

    I just got back from an event in Nashville, where I spent a couple of days in the presence of some truly great people, many of them musicians, songwriters, and artists. These folks have built careers on their ability to dig deep and measure life honestly, and as I heard them tell their stories, some themes emerged. Hard journeys. Grief. Poor choices. Wounding and being wounded. But, most of all, grace. The roads they have traveled have been anything but straight, with sudden turns twisting like knotted thread. But never once were they lost. It may have felt like it in certain seasons, when nothing about their lives looked the way they expected. But when something is lost, the one who is searching does not know where it is. And the Searcher knew all along....

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Changed

Changed

 I stood in Chrissy’s kitchen and cried. The house was still warm and sweet with the scent of cinnamon rolls and snickerdoodles from our afternoon of baking. The last afternoon together, at least for a while. The tears came suddenly, like the rainstorm that was beating against the windows and soaking the parched ground. I cried with gratitude for the rain and for my friend. But mostly I cried because I was leaving. This was another in a string of goodbyes over the last few days, each one leaving me breathless and aching. I did not ask for this. It was not part of my plan. When I arrived in Papua New Guinea, I came prepared to pour myself out, to encourage, to listen… but not to get attached. Hellos and goodbyes move like the tide, sweeping us up in the ebb and...

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