When love runs out? I’ve been there.
And life lessons confirm my weakness. Insufficiency. To love in my own strength.
But He faithfully leads me to the truth.
My love runs out. His never does.
When love runs out? I’ve been there.
And life lessons confirm my weakness. Insufficiency. To love in my own strength.
But He faithfully leads me to the truth.
My love runs out. His never does.
We walk. Blue-skied afternoon. Fallen leaves swirling on the path. Picked up and scattered by the wind.
An after-Thanksgiving-dinner tradition, this walk takes us through shade and cold. To places in the sun. Beside the lake. Where water moves, reflecting rays.
Conversations and laughter accompany this walk. As we breathe cool air in the shifting light.
The evidence of God’s creation and Presence is all around us on that restful stroll through the neighborhood. And I think about the ways God speaks. Breathes. And moves.
Our first home in Bandung, Indonesia, was on a street called Rancaherang. When I told people where we lived, they would nod knowingly and say, “Ah, mata air dari batu”—the source of water that comes from the rock.
It was a known source of pure water that came from somewhere deep within the earth. Thirst-quenching, garden-drenching water. Always flowing, always abundant.
And there was no water shortage in that whole neighborhood. In fact, it started as a stream in our yard, flowed through a pond on the side of our house and into a stream that ran down to the next house. And on to the next house after that, and so on.
Each yard had a pond of fish and ever-flowing water.