Rest

Eighth grade. My bike traveled smoothly, softly in the quiet. On the dirt path through bamboo forests. 

Shaded relief from strong tropical sun on a humid day.

Freedom. Breeze lifting my hair. 

Lacework of bamboo shadows flowing over me. With bits and pieces of bright sunlight.

Rest.

Church

My destination? A small church in the kampung. 

Simple whitewashed structure. 

Plain wooden benches.

And a compact portable pump organ. 

For a few months I accompanied the congregation on that organ. Singing along with them as I did. 

Hymns and songs. Worship.

Change

It had been a year of change. 

Moving to this small town where our Baptist hospital is located. Watching my younger sister go through hair loss and swelling with the chemotherapy treating her lymphosarcoma.

Changing schools in the second half of 8^th grade. From homeschool with my mother to a small classroom with three other students my age. Different missionary moms teaching us various subjects.

Our classroom, part of a row of rooms sitting at one end of the dilapidated tennis court where we spent recess. Each room holding different grades or combined classes.

Rest

All the parts and people of those few months mostly blur in the passage of time. 

But I see the quiet village path. Soft with volcanic ash from past eruptions.

And remember the simple joy of sharing music where my help was needed.

A rest for my soul in the face of upheaval. Disruption. Death.

Assurance in hard months. When I found my heavenly Father sees. Knows. 

And He is faithful.

What about you?

Do you remember the first time you recognized the Father’s care and assurance? How did He give rest to your soul in a hard season?

Related

Loss – Third culture – Fitting in – Temporary place – Plans – Sand between my toes – Rushing past –

Lamentations 3:21-24 –