I just listened to a talk of an old friend of mine, a woman whose house was the first home of our beloved church in St. Louis, Grace and Peace. There is so much about my time there that feels like a foundation to my story- our story, that it felt so peaceful to sit under this wise woman's words, even over the internets. I felt like I was back in her home, eating for lovely food, and enjoying her kind presence. We loved her and her husband's home. The Walker Percy print that hung on the wall as you entered the house. We knew we were in kindred territory early on. She catered my wedding. Prayed for us. Sent us off with a picnic lunch when we moved away. Chicken salad sandwiches cut into hearts. I cried my eyes out when I opened up that box in the middle of Mcdonalds somewhere in Kentucky.
It is good the hear the words of a woman who has lived 77 plus years of life. She spoke of periods where her and her husband hobbled through life. And yet, to hear her recount the life story, it is filled with such joy. such gratitude. such contentment.
To think that one day, these sleepless nights. These disgruntled church years. This wilderness season, will be but a blip on the radar.
you can listen here
