“It’s a good Friday because Sunday is coming!”

P. Wickham

This Easter season, I want to tell you about my puppies. I have taken to calling them my Ishmaels after Ishmael in Genesis, the first book of the Bible. Abraham had grown impatient with God’s promise of an heir and decided “to help” God out and take the matter into his own hands. Ishmael was born and the consequences of Abraham’s impatience still reverberate in the world today.

For me, I was struggling with financial problems and even though I felt assured by God that He would handle them, I didn’t trust Him. I, too, was impatient and made the unilateral decision to birth the puppies. I reasoned that the pups could be sold and “help me” out of my financial problems. As a result, we had nine adorable pups in October, in time for Christmas! It looked like my plan would be profitable… until it wasn’t. I could only sell five and then one came back…

Now God, as He does, has used the pups in my life in beautiful ways though, incidentally, none of those ways have been financial, but let’s fast forward to this season of Lent. 

I have been so aware of my shortcomings lately. My lack of kindness, my self protection, my hiding. My lack of kindness acted like a glaring light exposing a deeper part of myself that was filled with need and grasping; with a desperation and fear hidden beneath my surface that I was unable to cast off.

I decided to sit in prayer with this sense of my own ugliness in a tenuous attempt to understand where it was coming from…

As I did this, I got a text from someone who took two of my puppies and is now in need of giving them back. This news pummeled me as my fear and guilt flared and this sense of my ugliness overtook me. I cried out, “Is this how You answer me, God?”

I then reacted, to fix it. I reasoned that I should take the pups back because it was the right thing to do and because it was far too painful to consider relinquishing them to a shelter. I knew it wouldn’t be wise to take them but I couldn’t give them up and so I was caught once again by the consequence of my own impatience.

I laid all this rawness before God, as I should have done in the beginning, and I pleaded in prayer for relief and direction.

His answer came in the words of my Pastor who quoted J. Eliot: 

“He is no fool who gives what he cannot keep, to gain what he cannot lose

I became electrically aware of how outrageous it was for me to look for a way to make up for my own impatience and sin. In so doing, I was making Jesus worthless in my sight as I made myself in need of being my own savior. It was no wonder I was feeling desperately afraid and ugly. I was believing an impossible lie! 

The truth is that it is not the work of my ugly grasping but His work on the cross that saves me. He saves me from my errors and redefines my priorities. He even allows me to treat Him as worthless so that I might truly know my worth to Him.

I can trust Him with my pups, among all things. I can give them up into His care because He is trustworthy! He is able to handle and redeem my burdens, of all weights and sizes. Because He first chose to be broken for, and by me, He now chooses to walk beside me in my own brokenness. He offers me His presence as the cure for my ugly!

And what’s more! He perfectly timed all of this right at the point of my need where He is always waiting to meet me.

I am no fool when I give to God what I, literally, cannot keep, to gain what I cannot lose with Him.

Hallelujah! He lives, in deed!

It is a good Friday, 

AMRB/JCIM

Easter, 2025

March 12-13, 2025

I am on my way home though it is a term I use loosely because I leave a part of my heart in Tanzania.

The family of God that surrounds me on a trip is always a reaching in and reaching out of grace. I go to bless and receive blessing in outrageous abundance in return.

God’s multilayered brilliance is a continual circle of life. Like His living Word, its depth is never plumbed completely. I listen and He sends. He speaks through, I speak out and am spoken into. I tire and I am revived and revive others. I am equipped and I equip and am equipped again. I love because He first loved me. Others love because I love and I love because they love me.

I know the sense of desperate need can feel unending. I have felt it in many countries but so much more is the neverending love of God. He invites us, all of us, into His way of being and doing. Listen and follow, doing what He places right in front of you. Surrounded by His love and guidance, you will come to see that His way transforms you. It opens you and so many others through you to the multilayered beauty only a focus on God can reveal.

Taste and see. The Lord is good.

TanzaniAnne
Psalms 34:8

I love trees.

Big trees that start in the valley and greet me on the rim. Little ones peaking through the undergrowth. The midliners stretching for the sky.

Their trunks are covered in vines or white bark brilliant in the morning rising. Their branches are moss laden or crumbling and moist and even a smooth greyness against the riotous greenness in all it’s variety.

This green verdance takes on innumerable shades. Watercolor softness; smudged subtlety; sharp, pointed brashness; brilliant, dancing lightness illuminated against the darkening depth of mystery and decay, 

Trees speak to my soul. They open me to wonder. They beckon me to climb up and see.

Instead, we descend as we enter a sequestered magical place today. The Nogorogoro Crater. Overcast above and below, the clouds hover over the basin as we dip into the shrouded majesty. Grant’s gazelle and the crater’s disco chickens, the ginuea hens, quietly enjoy their morning meal beside the road. 

A large herd of Zebras walk in a line of sorts across the road in a steady, slow procession. They keep the babies close beside them until one breaks out on his own. It is laughing, the only one among them making a sound. He runs with his head held high, wind brustling his black and white  mane. Another baby joins him and joins him in  both rthe run and the song. They are beauty and music in motion. Two older ones who have been running since we arrived, have completed their circle around the herd line and join these two babies. The runners are in the minority but the energy of the joy is big enough for all.

Two lions come up from an unseen river and take a languid glance at their mama asleep in the sun. She is motionless lying next to another young male who raises his head. The three boys wander off down the lane disappearing into the tall grass. Mama lifts her head, rolls onto her back and after a mighty stretch, lies motionless again, her large paw hanging in midair.

It is midday and the animals are gathering en masse at the watering hole. Like dogs in my living room at home, there are zebras everywhere! They surround our truck. They wait in line to cross in front. They run skiddishly up and out when we startle them. Mama’s with their fuzzy, brown striped babies are almost close enough to pet.

There are the elephants, fewer in number, but spacious in size; a pod of dark hippo piles in the water; bustards walking regally on their strong legs; crowned cranes with their fabulous golden mohawk crowns. This beauty in abundance  is a feast for these eyes.  The surrounding delight of God is the best place to be.

I am going to see Neema! Four years ago, I left our medical clinic in Ketumbeine with a young girl named Neema. She had severe burns after repeatedly falling in the fire when having seizures. She was ostracized and beaten by the community, malnourished, dehydrated and burned but found her way to us. My task was to accompany her to a faith based burn center in Arusha. Several months later, after her treatment course, she was welcomed at the Maasai Girls Rescue Center. (www.maasairescue.org) A beautiful place that offers a home to Maasai Girls like Neema providing a loving family environment, nutrition, education, and job training to all who live there. 

In the last four years, the MGRC has grown in size and scope and it remains a haven.

Neema is happy, healthy and thriving today because of the work of many hands that were and are guided by God Who provides a way especially in the dark.

TanzaniAnne

March  11, 2025

Tarangire National Park is our destination today. The upper park has the wide open fields of tall golden grass reminiscent of our amber waves of grain back home. Tall grasses for hiding any approach…The Acacia thorn trees spring up but are dwarfed by my favorite of all, the Bao Bao trees. Ancient, enormous trunked wonders.
It reminds me of the Laihaina home tree, the Banyan. The Bao bao trees stand as sentinels along and within the elephant valley.

The six foot high termite Mound hotel welcomes it’s mongoose tenants who are lounging in the sun, ever vigilant. They receive free board to chase the aardvarks away when they come to call for a lunch of… termites.

There are elephants and zebras almost close enough to touch. Their babies stay close to their mamas’ sides and the sweetness and light radiates between us. The smallest of all antelopes, the dik-dik, darts out of the tall grasses, allowing only a glimpse, when two giraffes with their elegant strides glide past together. I imagine if they had hands to hold, they would.

As I bask in the abundant blessings of this trip, the soft, still voice of God whispers on the wind and He calls to me:

“Climb to the top of a Bao Bao tree, legs dangling, soft breezes blowing, and search from there to the horizon, listening.”

“What shall I listen for?” I ask.

And He replies, “ You will know when you hear it. Just be still.”

So up I go to the top of the Bao Bao tree. The trunk is rough as if the vines of the Banyan tree fused together to create a Bao Bao. It makes climbing possible with its grooves but still a challenge. I am reminded that God does not call the equipped, He equips the called so I am not deterred by the difficulty. One foot, one hand repeat.

The breeze is cooling and the cloud cover is welcomed as I ascend.

At the first sturdy branch, I stop, breathing hard. I close my eyes and rest my back against the trunk, legs dangling on each side of the branch.

Recovering, my breathing slows and I  open my eyes. I have been so focused on the climb, I did not see. I gasp at the glory of God stretching out before me in every direction.

The lush greeness is a marked contrast to the thorny dryness of Ketumbeine.  There is a shallow river wandering through in the distance with marshy grasses on this side. The trees close in on the far shore and it is all kind of green as far as the eyes can see with hints of wildlife just out of sight.

The birdsong is constant, intermittent, far away, close at hand; The crescendoing trilling, melodic fluting, intense buzzing like a swarm of frenzied bees. It surrounds and penetrates me. It is a palpable symphony of sound.

The cool fresh air carries whispers of a light floral scent. I close my eyes and breath it all in and the words of Psalms 24 tumble out:

“The earth is the LORD’s and the fullness thereof, the world and those who dwell therein…
Let my head be lifted up.
May my ancient doors be opened so that You,
my King of glory,
may come in.”

“That’s it!” I exclaim, as I let my head be lifted up.

“Well, done my child,” God says, smiling.

“When you allow your love of this creation, here in this beautiful place, to open you to the wonders to which I call you, then you allow Me, your King of glory, to come in. When I come in I am able to  revive and renew your ancient closed places. When you open your wounded places to your King of glory, creation becomes a doorway through which healing and beauty can flow.”

“This is the message of the Bao Bao tree.”

TanzaniAnne
March 10, 2025
Romans 1:20

For the beauty of the earth
For the glory of the skies
For the love which from our birth
Over and around us lies
Lord of All, to Thee we raise
This our hymn of grateful praise.
F.S.Pierpoint

After a night of nightmares, mosquito netting malfunctioning with biting incursions and electricity outage, I awaken immersed in my discomfort on many levels. I ask for a reboot from God and He sends me the silly, spontaneous song we crafted in the night. It makes me suddenly silly and spontaneously I am smiling and giggling. As always, a perfect, beautiful gift at the point of my need.

Today we will have our church celebration on the land that Pastor Peter and Zoe Hope have purchased. The ten year plan is to build a center for faith and community service here with a church, conference center and lodge to start.

Now a church service in Tanzania may have a start time but it is really more of a guideline rather than an actual time. We arrive late but hakuna matata! We will not start for at least two hours so I wander the Maasai fence line already in place.

The mist is again rolling down the hills obscuring the peak. It is breathtaking and I am drawn toward it. I stand and ponder.

I begin with the Bible verse on the side of Peter’s van.
Isaiah 58:10
if you pour yourself out
for the hungry and
satisfy the desire of the afflicted,
then shall your light rise in the darkness
and your gloom be as the noonday. 

I pray this verse.

Still drawn to prayer I read more of Isaiah 58

6 “Is not this the fast that I choose: to loose the bonds of wickedness, to undo the straps of the yoke, to let the oppressed go free, and to break every yoke? 
7 Is it not to share your bread with the hungry and bring the homeless poor into Your house; when you see the naked, to cover him, and not to hide yourself from your own flesh?
8 Then shall your light break forth like the dawn, and your healing shall spring up speedily; your righteousness shall go before you; the glory of the LORD shall be your rear guard.  
9 Then you shall call, and the LORD will answer; you shall cry, and he will say, ‘Here I am.’ If you take away the yoke from your midst, the pointing of the finger, and speaking wickedness,

10if you pour yourself out for the hungry and sati,,sfy the desire of the afflicted, then shall your light rise in the darkness and your gloom be as the noonday.   (Isaiah 58:10, ESV)

11 And the LORD will guide you continually and satisfy your desire in scorched places and make your bones strong; and you shall be like a watered garden, like a spring of water, whose waters do not fail.

12 And your ancient ruins shall be rebuilt; you shall raise up the foundations of many generations; you shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to dwell in.  

As I pray this for Peter and this place, God points His word to my own scorched places. He tells me His word is multilayered and directs my thoughts to applying His words to myself as well as Peter.

He promises to make my bones strong again. He promises He is raising me up to be like a watered garden whose waters will not fail because He is my Living water.

The ruined places of my sorrow shall be rebuilt so that the foundation of many generations shall be raised. He will be the Repairer of my breaches, the restorer of the streets where He sends me to dwell. 

I marvel at the grace of God. I went out toward the mountain to bless this place and I return having been blessed beyond measure.

It is a good day to praise the Lord!

When the church service begins, I share my testimony. I write better than I speak but I know God directs my words.

There is dancing and singing, clapping and jumping. The whole community from little to old join in. I use my own words to the music. It is a lively, jubilant celebration praising our God. God is so good, all the time.

It is baptism Sunday today and a temporary baptismal has been built out of cinder blocks and tarps for the occasion. The cool water from a hose has filled it. One of our teenagers is the first to take the step into the water. Baptism is a picture of the death, burial and resurrection of Jesus Himself. Pastor Peter takes her hand and has her sit in the shallow water. As he lowers her under the water we remember how doing things our own way leads to death. As he lifts her out, we rejoice for the new life we receive from Jesus when we believe. As she stands we celebrate who she will become as we welcome her as a daughter in the family of God.
She is followed by an elderly Maasai woman who, I am told, made her decision to believe Jesus on our first day of clinic. I come alongside her and celebrate with a hug, no words needed.

We end by planting a row of 19 fruit trees in the afternoon. Each team member is given one. Mine is #10 and I name it Philip. It faces the mountain at the close of the afternoon. It is a sweet ending to this day.

TanzaniAnne
March 9, 2025

Today is vacation Bible school day! We will travel to several remote Maasai family villages called  Bomas. From the bus window, I am a spectator to the glory of the Tanzanian countryside that I missed on our arrival day.

I wave to a 10 yo boy who wears a baby securely tied to him. He waves with outstretched hand. There is no fear of dropping the darling, focused entirely, naturally, on waving back at us. It is a joy shared.

I see a small boy alone in the quiet dimness of the light brown backdrop of his house. His clothes pop with color against it and when he sees me wave to him he breaks out in the kaleidoscopic brilliance of being seen.

There is mist rolling down the green hillsides of Mount Ketumbeine. The towering top is hidden from view. I imagine it as a mini glimpse of Mt Sinai on 10 commandment day.

From a distance, the canopy of trees look soft and inviting but closer up is a different reality. The landscape is a mix of muted greens and browns with varying degrees of sharpness. The jagged thorned umbrella trees dot the plain, providing effective shade but messy hair. There is the intermediary cacaphonied tangled mess of bushes with their dagger thorns. And everywhere an explosion of rocks that splatter the ground in uneven barrages of chaotic inequity, as if they were pelted from above in a wild monsoon rock storm. 

In ‘sharp’ contrast is the seemingly illuminated white softness of the goats. They wander about under the keen eye of their goat herding, shuka wearing, staff welding child, no older than a preteen. He leaves his 99 to run toward us waving in unbridled welcome.

Out the window, someone spots a goat giving birth so naturally we stop. The wet small thing lies on the ground where it was dropped from its mama. It struggles to stand and it’s unwieldy, never used legs slip and slide on the dust. It truly is his first day with new feet. Wobbly and unsure yet determined to get to Mom for life.

Our first boma is a 30 minute ride toward the mountain. A Boma is a grouping of thatched roofed one room dwellings that house multiple families of an extended family. These houses are surrounded by a  Maasai fence made by laying multiple thorn thick branches upon one another to deter lions, leopards and hyenas, oh my! The livestock are sheltered in the center. This boma is remote and waterless.  They must haul their water from town twice a week on the backs of their donkeys and it is an all day affair.

As VBS is set up, I wander over to the main shade tree just outside the city ‘gate’. There is a gathering of women and small children and babies. I greet the women and befriend the babies. I look up and one small friend darts from me taking refuge at the boma entrance. He stands like a sentry, his small staff firmly planted.  His message is clear, ‘I shall Not pass’.

Others are shy but we speak the same language, unlocked by a ball. These are the under 3 crowd. Some can catch with their forearms and hands in solidarity, some prefer to chase the fallen, rolling ball. Some are robust overhanded throwers, some timid underhanders. How ever it is accomplished, they who were hesitant are now engaged, though not quite smiling yet… by the time of the parachute ball toss, we are all in! Laughing, chasing, our caution flying away with the balls, replaced with faces not big enough for our delight.

Our next boma sports a flat rocky area that we use as a soccer arena. The afternoon is spent in a vigorous soccer game: American team vs. Interpreters. It begins including the children but the olders are all-in and the children are lured away by the parachute. I sit beneath an acacia tree and marvel at the sweetness of connection that overrides spoken language barriers.

In the evening, we are taken to Pastor Peter’s sheep. They are being kept on a friend’s land south of town. There is a delicious breeze as the sun dips toward the horizon. When we arrive the olders have not yet arrived from their daily sojourn in the fields so we hang with the under 3 day old crowd. Baby goats, like baby dogs, are so beautifully quirky in their movements. They unexpectedly romp and jump, bounce and run. They are wildly endearing in their every move and sound.

I find that I can get them to all abruptly look my way by mimicking their high pitched bleating and my spontaneous giggling surprises us all. My heart is light and dancing, just like the babies.

At Pastor Peter and Nashipai ‘s home later, we are treated to fresh goat milk and nutmeg chai while we sit out under the stars. Others are just out of sight, ‘preparing’ a goat for tomorrow’s church feast. All of a sudden, before I even had a conscious opinion about it, I broke out in song.

It is truly the very first time since Philip had his come to Jesus moment, that my goof spirit burst from me with power, unbidden, and unsupervised. It was like a lightning jolt of spontaneous imagination. It was who I used to be.  When my teammates picked up the next verses, my joy was made utterly complete. How wondrous to consider that I may be on my way back. How marvelous to share the journey prompted and joined by my friends!

🎵🎵
Oh they cut the head off of the goat
and it falls in a bowl.
And the blood spurts out of the neck
and fills up the bowl.
Oh please don’t do it twice
cuz it wasn’t very nice
When  they cut the head off the goat
and it fell into the bowl!
🎵🎵

TanzaniAnne

It was an outstanding day of clinic today full of satisfying opportunities that played to my strengths, nursing and otherwise.  Samuel was back with me as interpreter unless discretion was necessary and then my Rachel came to my rescue. 

My tiny Maasai warriors were my heartbeat today. 3ft tall rocking their shukas, some with a tiny staff as tall as they. My one was the son of our security guard and clung close his papa as a mini mimic. I smile as I imagine how precious he must be in his ‘unguarded’ moments.

I was blessed with being of service to a 7 month pregnant Mama of 5 who is dehydrated. I gave her a place to lie down and started her IV, checking on her between patients. I miss starting IVs. It was once my superpower and the thrill of riding that bicycle lives on.

Our sick baby from yesterday returned for another round of antibiotics. She clung to her mama, of course, but was less volatile. I gave her shots in her legs and sent her home with ice bags to ease her discomfort. I suspect she will make a fine recovery.

As clinic ends, an after-party pops up in the lobby vibrates with the laughing joy of the young Maasai interpreters teaching our young Arizonians how to jump like true Maasai warriors. S and  are impressive as they tower above their Maasai counterparts. B adds his skill with his round-off, spinning handstands and double jointed shoulder feats amid well earned accolades of wonder.  

The smell of rain fills the air as the storm rapidly approaching sends it’s thunder ahead. The sun behind me, the storm ahead sparks a rainbow, a clear line in the sky between.

A motorcycle bearing two riders, revs it’s motor in the direction of the sun to try to beat the pelting. The Maasai passenger realizing the futility, covers his head with his red plaid shuka and ducks behind the driver. I flashback to my own self on the back of our Harley riding home in a monsoon. I can feel the sharp stinging even now.

The wind whips itself and the deluge into a frenzy as we are overtaken with its bluster. The sunny sky becomes a memory but is replaced with dancing and singing in the rain back at the hotel. It’s cool freshness washes our sweat and cares away.

TanzaniAnne 

After a restless night of revisiting past dreams and being visited by Montezuma, I awaken feeling stronger but hesitant to commit to all in at clinic. Somehow I know that when I am busy seeing patients my hesitations will fall away so I decide to fake it til I make it and it works.

We hold clinic today in the open air courtyard of one of the hospital buildings. It is a short ride from our guesthouse. I think I understand  that Dr. Frank runs the place. He was on hand for the birth yesterday and he is to be my go to for issues above my pay grade. He is a young, handsome man with a soft spirit and a warm, welcoming smile. Upon my arrival he introduces himself to me having noticed I am new today. I feel instantly seen and valued. It is a lovely beginning.

I begin with Sam as my interpreter. He is attentive and gentle but soon replaces himself out of sensitivity for the parade of female patients who would rather not share through him. Rachel becomes my gift. She is 21 yo darling who is kind, positive and very effective. We spend the day busy to the end.

Many of our girls have urinary tract infections which incidentally is one of my superpowers of late. My patients come in their colorfully patterned traditional shukas. Their faces are unreadable until their names are spoken. Smiles transform their quiet beauty to brilliance.

I am called on to start a baby IV. As her providers, Dr. Frank among them, discuss how to proceed, I spend my time trying to win her allegiance and her tranquility. Her mama appears to trust me immediately as she joins me in my quest. I sing to our baby and rub her back. I make a balloon out of a glove. She is secure in her mother’s arms but still refuses to be comforted. When the time arrives to look for an IV site, she continues to cry but gives me no resistance. In the nick of time, Dr. Frank decides to give the medicine another way and I am released back into the wild.

Among my favorite patients, who are not the babies ;), are the somewhat ancient Maasai warriors proving age can be a state of mind. Isaya is 96. He is a towering man in his red plaid warrior threads and has a large knife tied to his right hip. He has left his chief’s staff at the door, I notice later. His ears show the traditional large, stretched holes in the earlobe and his cheeks bear the mark of the Maasai. These marks are made on their cheeks when they are about 7 years old and this is how they recognize each other. He is missing the center bottom incisor as well.

He comes to me later in the day but any hint of my fatigue is completely forgotten when he smiles at me and takes my hands in his as I greet him with Jambo! Jambo is Swahili and not Maasai but he allows me my ignorance. He has the low pulse and blood pressure of an athlete and is pleased when I tell him this. He has walked 3 km to come here and his only complaint is an aching back and eye fatigue from the sun. He is a role model for us all.

There is an 80 year old grandmother who has brought her son’s two little ones. She is a tiny woman though obviously large in the eyes of the kids.  They cling to her in trusting expectation and the trio is my sweetness and light.

There are so many simple, invigorating aspects to this day. Though I started with hesitation, I end with renewed confidence. I have been called, equipped and covered with the generosity, kindness and gratitude of all those who have been sent to me as I have been sent to them. It is the lovely twirling dance designed by God, Himself. For God so loved the world that He gave…and in giving and receiving, I honor Him.

TanzaniAnne

March 3, 2025

We land at Kilimanjaro Airport in the dark, stars shining and walk the breezy path from the plane to the ‘terminal’. It is a wonder to be back. The umbrella trees lit by ground lights, create a soft, lovely beginning. Upon emerging from customs, all fatigue washes away when I see the radiant, familiar smiles of my friends Pastor Peter and his wife, Nashipai.  They greet me with the warmth of long separated friends and when Nashipai asks about Joe, I am undone. Gratitude overwhelms me. Being remembered is one of my favorite things. I love this family of God. I am so blessed already.

March 4, 2025

The morning comes with the clouds and the freshness of the early morning breeze. We spent the night in Arusha and embark for Ketumbeine early. Several of us become sick on the way, requiring wardrobe changes. I am among them. I spend the next 12 hours in unwilling collaboration with Montezuma and his revengeful migraine. It is obviously not my preferred beginning but does lend itself to open dialogue with my Savior which is always a preferred beginning.

March 5 

I wake up keeping water down and in and my spirit rallies! 

The team is up and out to the clinic early having been invited to witness the birth of a baby. Mama is valiant and she and her boy are delivered beautifully and healthy by all reports. 

Indeed:

“A baby is God’s opinion 

” A baby is God’s opinion that the world should go on!”.         

Carl Sandburg

And now I agree as well. I am diminished but oh, so much better!

I spend the day back at the guest house recovering. There is a steady parade of sounds outside my window. The even footsteps of our circling security guard, the bleeting of the goats as they rummage about in the brush, the snorts of the donkeys who clean up, I suppose, after the goats. There are the hens who strut about with their short, quick steps and always intermixed, like a symphony conductor, is the constancy of the rooster crowing at the least provocation. I grew up thinking roosters greeted the dawn but, as it turns out, they are deplorably ignorant of time and spend the whole of their days greeting the dawn even after it is dusk. And then, in the late afternoon, there is the best sound of all as a little one’s voice rises above it all. She may be speaking  Swajili but I suspect she is too young for formal words. Though she is unseen by these eyes her chattering sweetness is the crowning glory of the parade.

I end the day feeling stronger. May He strengthen you in your inner being as well.

TanzaniAnne

March 3, 2025

My season of first reluctance slips in before every trip. It’s a kind of obstinate resistance hiding just beneath my breath:  Why am I here? Why have I come, again? What am I, was I, thinking? 

Today it takes the form of lament.

Every airline pilot I see sears me to my core with a depth of sadness I haven’t felt since… well, if I am honest, yesterday.  The loss of one of the last vestiges of Philip draws me to my edge. I come close to buckling under the weight of its heaviness but I push it away as I have become so skilled at doing.

I distract myself as I rummage endlessly for dropped and lost items trying to achieve some kind of comfort for the 8 hours ahead. My seat mates, much to my exclusion, chatter loudly at each other as if trying to form a familiarity not yet earned.

I don’t mind. Alone and unmoving in the darkness of my seat,  I stop resisting.

I bury my face in my sleeve as my floodgates open and the tears I have relegated to my hidden places flow in a hot torrent of messy fluid. My chest heaves, unseen by others, as wave after wave of unquenched lament takes possession. I plead for clarity. I beg for relief. I struggle to reconcile my emotions with my faith and scramble to understand how I could be here again. When I tire of the futility of my words, I give into my groaning, until I sleep.

I am shaken awake by the turbulence of the plane and I gasp as my stomach drops away.  There is a fierce roar outside my window and I wonder if I am imagining it until I involuntarily gasp at the plane’s continued lurching.

A line from a recent Bible study pops into my mind. Something about the difference between grumbling and groaning. I search for the idea while the winds howl outside.  Grumbling is  turning away from God. Groaning is running to God, trusting. 

The turbulence of the wind seems to mimic the turbulence of my soul and I actually smile at God’s clever gift. It’s not so much about the turbulence, it’s about Who I run to in the midst of it.

TanzaniAnne

March 3, 2025 

Jesus laments for you and with you by His Spirit. He is wading through the ocean of tears you cry to get to you…and give you a million reasons to trust Him and rejoice.   

J. Rothschild