It’s been raining now for nearly a week. Days on end without rain still fill my stomach with little, anxious butterflies. The flood is still too recent in my memory, even though I know the concept of flooding where we are, or even being flooded in, is pretty far-fetched.
Shopping in D-town has taken on a very distinct pattern. Adventure is not a word I would normally use to label my outings. Today was no exception. I returned my book to the library, unread. I just can’t seem to sit down and read a book these days—unless it’s my Bible. Restlessness is certainly not conducive to reading. I also made a daring excursion into the bead store—and spent far too long picking out supplies for the Christmas gifts I made for the girls who are headed home this weekend. They turned out pretty decently—necklace and earring sets for three of them, and a curly-headed key-chain for Emily.
I wish I could say I’d made a point of sharing my faith. I offered the bank clerk a million dollar bill, which she said she’d seen before, so I desisted. I asked the bead store lady about the Christmas Carols she was playing, and then fell silent. That was the extent of my eternal shopping. Why is it that D-town seems to be such a formidable harvest to me? The excuse “I don’t want to keep them from their job” isn’t coinciding with an eternal perspective. Why am I so slow to do this one thing I can’t do in heaven?
Lord, I get so caught up in
Myself, which is a grievous sin
And use excuses for my sin:
“I just can’t inconvenience them.”
To inconvenience them or me
Could purchase their eternity.
With my secure eternity,
The truth? I think too much of me.
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