It’s closure on adventures beginning eight years ago, when three farm girls moved to the big American city of Chicago. It’s saying goodbye to the woman who went with me to Africa. And it’s opening a new chapter, as she marries the man God made her for.
It’s hot, sticky, then cool and breezy; brewing storms by night and painting warm scenes by day. I can’t capture the view with camera, and can’t sort the impressions with soul.
So it’s a gift to have a friend nearby, to hash our struggles, unburden our souls, and just share the quiet musings of this journey.
We go to a river boat for rehearsal dinner. We sleep under wooden paned window, on real wooden floored rooms, in a house built more than 100 years ago. We steal down servant staircase while everyone else sleeps, to sit close on porch swing and watch the whipping storm. We talk soft of thunder and lightning, while fenced bulls beside us wait out the rain and wind.
We walk down quiet off-roads, musing over life in all its grandeur and intricacy.
It’s an end and a beginning. I don’t know what to make of it all; weddings are so stressed and urgent while marriage is so permanent. The moments are complex while the journey feels simple. Savouring, lingering, then rushing about: all mixed in a symphony conducted by mercy.
The delayed trip home lands me in a detour state, where kind friends give me one of their beds to spend the night. Our souls reconnect in as we share where we’ve been, and my heart rekindles in this unexpected gift.
I’m grateful for this journey, because it reminds me of truth I have known, and promises goodness to come.
“Your mercies are new every morning.”
“You satisfy the desire of every living thing.”
“Your lovingkindness is better than life.”
“You are good, and do good.”