I didn’t post yesterday because it was a busy day of church with some of our refugee children followed by hiking and an excellent dinner of lamb, potatoes, asparagus and other goodies.

Church was a delightful experience of fellowship, song and communion.

Hiking was a glorious way to celebrate the new life in Jesus.

Dinner was a perfect ending to the exhausting weekend of emotional upheaval.

It was a perfect day for Jesus to come back. It was sunny, warm and the skies were brightest blue. We broke fast, we reveled in the hope of the coming glory, we laughed and sang, we shared our fears and dreams.

And then K had to come back from the mountains to finish mounds of homework. I put off the work that today will catch up and eat me alive. J went back to searching for a job, praying for things to come through, waiting on the Providence. E had hives when he got ready for bed with no explanation as to the cause. My parents fell asleep, praying against garlic and migraines that had stuffed our roasted lamb. It was… interesting.

He’s come back! He’s come back! I wanted to jump up and down and shout it. He’s here! He’s here!

But he isn’t really. Still waiting, still hoping. Like springtime and summer. Half the grass outside has turned a shade of brilliant green and many of the trees are sporting new buds of hopeful life. But the ground is still brown in some places, and the trees are still bare in others.

He’s back! He’s here! He’s alive!

But we’re still waiting for that day, when He really comes back and rescues us from all this toil and muck and sin.

He’s  back! And yet, he’s still to come.


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