Here I sit, in Texas. My layover has been extended a number of times, and the actual time of departure is far from being nailed down. At this rate I will not arrive in Las Vegas until very late tonight.

It was sometime yesterday that I realized I would be leaving today for Las Vegas. As soon as I processed my leaving, I realized my stomach feeling a bit uneasy. I do believe that I’ve grown to love my new home in Philadelphia, and do not feel quite ready to leave it, even if only for a few days. I thought of the daily schedule I’ve grown used to, my hand crafted bed, and my wonderful friends. I thought about missing house dinner tonight and how much fun we usually have; all 11 of us and a handful of guests crowded around our wonderful dinning room table. I thought about cell group on Tuesday, and how much I enjoy gathering together to talk about God, and our lives. I thought about missing Lost, and how I’m growing to love the show, and the comical company/conversation surrounding it. Life… just as it happens. Home… in Philadelphia.

I grew more excited to leave as I reminded myself of who I was going to see. I thought about the Broyles boys and my dear friends Jon and Lealah. I thought about how much fun I will surely have with them. I remembered my six months in California spent in their home, by their side, and them by mine. As I sit here now in Texas, in transit, I miss Philly already, but look forward to time spent with old friends.

Wednesday was Ash Wednesday. Our church had a vigil, as it does every year, and that I’ve attended now twice. As we walked in I searched for an open place to sit on the floor. The heaviness and feeling of contemplative thought was deeply felt. I wove through the endless amounts of bodies, and found myself a spot in the front. Music was playing, and the lights were dim. I sat and tried to process the practice we were intended to be participating in. I realized in that moment, I had arrived completely unprepared for the vigil, and had only gone because “that’s what you do”. As I sat there I tried to breath under the heaviness, and for a moment felt an old, wonderfully familiar feeling, one I used to recognize as the presence of God. Our friend and pastor Joshua, instructed us to take a piece of paper and write down something we wish to “give to God”. I got my paper, and struggled for a minute trying to think of something to write. Then as my pen met the paper it began to write and didn’t stop until both sides were full of words; words of pain, anger, heartache, and struggle. I wrote of doubt, and fear, and what I’ve been experiencing these past 7 months. When the paper was filled I sat there and thought about the things that were written on it. It wasn’t long until my thoughts were interrupted by Joshua asking us to come forward to a candle just above where I was sitting, and put our papers up to the flame. I stood in line, awaiting my turn, and continued to process what I was about to do. What was I committing to in this process? If by burning this paper I was saying that I was finished thinking about these things, then I wasn’t sure I was ready to burn the paper. I stood there, inching my way towards the candle, when all of a sudden there was nothing separating me from the flame but empty space. I held my paper up to its heat and felt it devour my troubles. If only it could be this easy. After I tossed my burning paper into the tin beside the candle, I sat down, and thought. My thoughts were again interrupted by Joshua talking about the tradition of putting ashes on our foreheads. He spoke of the old ways when marking your forehead with the name of your master was a sign of great commitment, and how people would wear ashes as a sign of mourning. He also explained that the ashes we would be using were from last years palm branches. We were encouraged to go forward and put ash upon our foreheads. I sat there for a long time. I wanted so badly to get up, but something inside just wouldn’t do it. I felt so empty as if there weren’t enough strength to get up; as if there were not enough courage, or passion, or belief to mark myself with a symbol I’ve loved so deeply for years, but so heartbreakingly have questioned over the last few months. My stomach turned under the struggle of getting up and doing something I once felt so honored to do. I thought about how deeply I wanted someone else to do it for me. How I needed someone else to do it for me. Just then Danielle came to me and asked if we could go up together. I immediately began to cry. I was quickly aware of my tears, and of the many people surrounding me. But they continued to fall as I said I didn’t know if I could. She said she had envisioned drawing a cross and saying with each stroke, “Abba, I am yours.” My heart began to ache with her words, with this promise… And I rose to my feet, and left that night with an ashen cross across my forehead.

Last night I had dinner with my dear friend Becca Carter’s little sister, Liz. Becca was one of my staff on the Birth Attendant School, and quickly became a treasured friend. Lizzy was just as I imagined her, and just as Becca had described her in all of the stories told through out our travels. As I walked into the house where we were to be eating dinner, I recognized her immediately. She looked, sounded, and laughed just like Becca, and it was almost all I could do not to burst into laughter and tears at the same time. Becca is in Sudan with the Birth Attendant School running presently. I miss her very much, as well all of the other girls on my school. Every once in a while I remember that the school is over, and my heart breaks a little every time I realize I won’t ever be going back.

The skies in Philly this past week have been almost more than I can handle. The backdrop they provide for this city stirs me, and excites me for the things to come. I think of spring, and summer, and Revelation 21.

Peace be with you.