I am the luckiest girl in the world.
I haven’t showered in three days. My arms are sore from picking up preschoolers for six hours a day. My lip was bitten by an ant a few hours ago. My legs are sore from walking to church and back today. I have a lot of empty Coke bottles next to my bed. There’s a rooster outside my window that has a freaking lot to say. It’s quite cold in the house right now. I’m very, very tired… And I am the luckiest girl in the world.
I’m in Africa. I have children to love, girls to pour into, and serious worship to be focusing on. I hung out with lions and elephants on Saturday, dude. I’m in Africa, being romanced so sweetly by my Father, the wildest of lovers. He’s painting me sunsets, He’s writing me music, He’s giving me rain in the middle of Swaziland’s dry season, He’s showing me how much He loves me on the daily.
He’s so poetic. He’s so gentle. He’s a storm, He’s lightning, and thunder, and the dew on the grass in the morning. He’s a child running up to me when I get out of the bus at the care point, He’s choir music in Siswati, He’s the out-of-tune worship of African church. He’s the sweet smile of a tired three-year-old. He’s the wise words of the shepherds. He’s my constantly looping music. He’s a song. He’s the waves and the wind. He’s essays and sonnets and novels and I could write a song every day for a million years and still not make music that was as beautiful as He.
This isn’t a long blog. I just love Him. He just loves me. I’m the luckiest girl in the world.
