dear cora

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I’ve been writing to you in my head for over a week now.  You know how it goes.  When I get the chance I haven’t got the energy and when I’ve got the energy I haven’t got the chance.  Even now I’m finding it hard to concentrate and find the words.  This is a good afternoon though–my tea is warm, the windows are open, and the cats are napping peacefully.

Last time you asked about how we were settling in.  It’s been good here, really good.  I feel more peace in my home, my life, and my soul than I’ve felt in a really long time. The agonizing loneliness that seemed to be either killing me slowly or tearing me open is being healed with the balm of a quiet solitude.  I just feel content, satisfied, and most of all, thankful.

If we were eating kiwi on the beach, or talking or drifting in the Gulf of Mexico right now, I’d tell you I still struggle with the discouragement and despair.  I get angry inside about all the work and daily sorrows.  In the best of times we believe it’s all worth it, but in the worst of times, those are the times I think about what life might have been like as a nun or a rock star.

Sometimes we just need to put our big girl panties on.   I don’t mean to sound cold or insensitive.  I just get tired of being the sage all the time, trying to inspire myself with all these eternal truths and perspectives.  Live your life.  Cook the dinner.  Hear the children.  Love your husband.  It’s that hard, but it’s not that hard.  It’s the joy of living thanks and praise.

I read Colossians the other day.  I needed to venture outside of my old stomping grounds. The Psalms deepen my desire for God.  The Epistles deepen my desire for other people.  I love how one of the ways God chose to speak to us is through letters.  Sometimes with Paul I get lost and confused in all the commas, but other times something lights up. Here’s what glowed:

“May you be strengthened with all power, according to his glorious might, for all endurance and patience with joy, giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in light.”
~Colossians 1:11-12~

Our love is like the light of the moon.  We merely reflect a light that is not our own, a light that cannot come from an inner wasteland of rock and dust.  This little light is ours now, but only because we first received, because a greater light has shined on us.  This is the part where we run like the wind, out of the rip-tide, where we burst into song and dance for joy.

Fall is so beautiful here.   You would love it.  I’m sure I’d love the weather there as well. If we lived closer you know I’d be meeting you every other evening at the beach and calling it a school day.  I gotta get your number again so we can chat sometime.  When we got our new phones, I had lost my old one, so the phone lady wasn’t able to transfer any of my old numbers.

Ever heard the song “Hello” by Adele?  She’s got a line in there that says, “Hello, how are you?  It’s so typical of me to talk about myself, I’m sorry.”  How are your fruit trees?   Have you made any friends at church?  The last I knew you were 24 weeks along and that was back in June.  You’ve gotta be getting awfully close by now, if you haven’t already had your little one.

I hope you were surprised.

Love, Rebekah

 

 

 

 

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