First my ramblings. Life is full of emotion for me. I don't recall when I began to feel so deep, to reflect so much and to get lost in one or the other if not careful. A large part of growing in maturity for me is learning how to feel and reflect in a way in which I am not the center of it all, but rather to center my emotions and reflections around the Lord. I believe feeling all emotions is part of how God made us. We were made to feel fully so that we can live fully. But I find whenever I become the center of my emotions I'm about as unstable as they come. And when I find myself there I can't really get myself out of my mess alone. I'm learning to ask for prayer even though sometimes it's hard. Not so much because of pride (though I struggle with that too) but because I literally can't say much without becoming a crying mess. When hard situations come and I travel too long with too heavy a load I wasn't meant to carry alone, I wear down. I can sometimes feel like a toddler who upon finding themselves flat on their face for the first time can do nothing but cry and wait for strong arms to pick them up. So sometimes crying a bit, and waiting a bit is part of being an emotional person that is discouraged (depressed is probably a more accurate word). Anyway . . . it still never ceases to amaze me at how strong the arms of the Lord are. It's a wonder to think of how He made us, knows us uniquely through and through, and that His love for us is imeasurable high and wide and able to see us through these hard seasons in life.
I found a quote in my Grandma's journal this summer that went like this: "There are little things of joy which can always be found in any painful experience if only we will gather them as we go along."
Now for the snapshot. Today as I was out and about I gathered up two little things of joy from my surroundings. Two little memories to tuck into my mind. One was a little gift that came my way by means of stopping to say hello. I was on my way back from the pazaar with a heavy load on my back. I passed a lady from our neighborhood whose boy we know quite well. We made eye contact, exchanged greetings and a few short sentences about where I was coming from and where she was going. She appeared to be empty handed but she produced a small walnut from her hand and tucked it into mine in the same way my Grandma used to tuck money into my hand (I'm afraid only my family will know what they means). And with a thank you and good day we parted ways and I continued my walk home, back heavy laden, hands full of bags and a walnut tucked into my palm. Gifts big and small pass so freely from these giving people.
The second scene now tucked neatly into my mind took place in the evening while on a walk with Sonora. On a side note, she "loves running" she says. "More than monkey" she says, a little stuffed monkey purchased in KS this summer that has worked a very special place into her heart. So, she has taken it upon herself to accompany me on my occasional evening walks and is hoping to come along on my occasional evening runs as well. Anyway, down at the bottom of the hill on the edge of the forest we turned back up into the neighborhoods again and came across a gang of kids up ahead--kids and a dog that on seeing us began to growl a bit only to be herded by the kids on bikes. They called up ahead to us, "Abla (big sister), don't worry, he won't hurt you." And by the time we got close he was calmed down and a boy called down from his balcony with the same reassuring words. I asked whose dog it was and he puffed out his chest and smiled and said that it was his dog. The kids on the street began to protest that is wasn't and while they began to discuss it a boy in the next building called down to me from his balcony claiming that it was
his dog. And as we walked on, the street dog wagged his tail as the claims of ownership filled the evening air. It might not be too bad to be a street dog when you have a gang of children rallying around you like that.
