Three years ago I found myself sitting in my car in a parking lot on a Friday night. I knew I needed to get out of the car and go in but I was afraid. I was also desperate, and that night I let desperation win.
"How's grandma doing?" I ask over the phone. It's been a few months since her fall, and it's been a slow road to recovery. She was grateful to be able to stay with my parents for a few weeks, but she was ready to be back in her familiar space.
I sat with my head leaning on my hand, my eyes glazing over as I stared at the computer screen and scrolled through my bank account. I knew enough to know it wasn't good for it to be going out faster than it was coming in.
“Where are the lame? I must make my home in their shadow. Where are the lowly- the ones despised? Where is pain at this moment? Because I have tired of trying to get God to come to me, instead I will enter into the place where He already is.
I'm kind of a nerd. I love school supplies. I can get lost in the never-ending aisles of sharpies, pretty notebooks, crayons, and pencils. I've always been this way. When I was a kid, a new notebook said so much more than me than just, "it's time to go back to school.
Many of you spent the month of May praying for a Foster Child or a sibling group in the Arkansas foster care system. This month we had a chance to talk with someone else who is investing in the lives of these same children.
"Liesel observed her foster Father's eyes. They were made of kindness, and silver. Like soft silver, melting. Liesel, upon seeing those eyes, understood that her father was worth a lot. " A few months ago I read those words in a story by Markus Zusak, The Book Thief.
I put the phone up to my ear, the laughter of my friends echoing in the background over the familiar sounds of the musical White Christmas. It was my mom. She sounded cheerful, but I could tell something wasn't quite right. The rest of the conversation is a bit of a blur.
I smile at a new picture of my niece and nephews on Facebook. They're with their mom at Chick-fil-A. It seems normal to me. It's hard to admit, but if I'm honest? Most of the time I don't think about the fact that there are probably kids their age down the street.
The day of my first visit to Loving Choices is an uncharacteristically cold day for Northwest Arkansas. Then again, that has been pretty normal this winter. I pull into the small parking lot behind the house, just a few blocks away from the campus of the University of Arkansas.