A dry land that changed my life
I lived in Arizona 2 years ago. I went there not knowing at all what to expect, who I was gonna meet or even what I was going to do. I went mostly because I needed a change in my life. Like a leap of faith really, convinced that in life it is rare to ever be 100% sure of the decisions that you take, and in this case I felt like this, and I was not going to let it go.
I remember my very first day there. I could probably recall the most important events of the 1st week, and most of all that happened in those 4 months. I guess that's what living intensily does to you.
I fell in love with the weather, the sun, the cacti and even the names of the streets. I loved the people that received me. The church that made efforts to get me and the family who hosted me. I fell in love with this group of people who are passionate about God and the people they serve.
Stepping on this dry land was like walking into a place I easily called home.
I discovered who I am and mostly who I can be. Some days were good in general and some days I managed to feel gloomy about things, mostly in trying to find a sense to my life and shifting to my next step that would change the course of my life.
This is probably why I want to go back so badly. This is probably why I remember more vividly the 4 months I lived there than most of my life.
I remember how I met everyone for the first time. What my last dinner was and everyone's favorite drink at Starbucks.
Today I was reading a book by Dan Allender and he says how we ought to understand life as what it is, a story. Reading that I suddenly and without notice I remember the morning I was being driven to the airport. I remember the sunrise of that morning and the last hug I gave and how that shook me all over again. I believed it wouldn't be long until I would see all of them again, but I just knew somehow that this was not true.
The last sunset and the last sunrise. It was almost poetic and melancholic when I think about it. Those sunsets are so beautiful, and in winter watch the mist falldown in the mornings when it's dead cold and you'd rather stay home but it's time to go to church because you are going to be with people who probably love God more than you do but they think you love Him more so they learn from you and you learn from them and you wish you were they. And they bathe you every week about how you deeply touch their lives with every strum and every chord you play and how all that you do is counting, is blessing.
I found no bigger blessing when I lived there than knowing that what I was doing, rather small and meaningless, sloppy and limited, meant something. I was senseless and with no aim and I found a hope to grasp on.
Sadly, as I do what I do and live elsewhere, this thing that brings so much joy to my heart whenever I remember, at the same time it makes me feel miserable.
I guess that as long as I don't forget I can keep on dreaming. As long as these scars remain, not because I was hurt but because they pierced my heart, I can never let go, and I will never let go.
I will return.
I remember my very first day there. I could probably recall the most important events of the 1st week, and most of all that happened in those 4 months. I guess that's what living intensily does to you.
I fell in love with the weather, the sun, the cacti and even the names of the streets. I loved the people that received me. The church that made efforts to get me and the family who hosted me. I fell in love with this group of people who are passionate about God and the people they serve.
Stepping on this dry land was like walking into a place I easily called home.
I discovered who I am and mostly who I can be. Some days were good in general and some days I managed to feel gloomy about things, mostly in trying to find a sense to my life and shifting to my next step that would change the course of my life.
This is probably why I want to go back so badly. This is probably why I remember more vividly the 4 months I lived there than most of my life.
I remember how I met everyone for the first time. What my last dinner was and everyone's favorite drink at Starbucks.
Today I was reading a book by Dan Allender and he says how we ought to understand life as what it is, a story. Reading that I suddenly and without notice I remember the morning I was being driven to the airport. I remember the sunrise of that morning and the last hug I gave and how that shook me all over again. I believed it wouldn't be long until I would see all of them again, but I just knew somehow that this was not true.
The last sunset and the last sunrise. It was almost poetic and melancholic when I think about it. Those sunsets are so beautiful, and in winter watch the mist falldown in the mornings when it's dead cold and you'd rather stay home but it's time to go to church because you are going to be with people who probably love God more than you do but they think you love Him more so they learn from you and you learn from them and you wish you were they. And they bathe you every week about how you deeply touch their lives with every strum and every chord you play and how all that you do is counting, is blessing.
I found no bigger blessing when I lived there than knowing that what I was doing, rather small and meaningless, sloppy and limited, meant something. I was senseless and with no aim and I found a hope to grasp on.
Sadly, as I do what I do and live elsewhere, this thing that brings so much joy to my heart whenever I remember, at the same time it makes me feel miserable.
I guess that as long as I don't forget I can keep on dreaming. As long as these scars remain, not because I was hurt but because they pierced my heart, I can never let go, and I will never let go.
I will return.
posted by Havoc at 9:31 PM
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