Two months means waking up in Atlanta sixty-one times. It means eight trips to Sav-A-Lot, 208 hours at work, and a dozen journeys through lovely green parks. And don't even get me started counting hot dogs.
But it really means that one night when I should've been in bed but Jesus wouldn't let me sleep just yet because He needed to tell me one more time that He loves me.
It means the one morning I slumped into an exhausted heap on the bus and the man next to me reminded me to delight in peace-bringing, soul-settling grace.
It means the one Sunday in the nursery when we whispered to each other the deep and sacred secret of Christ's love, and then we danced-- oh, we danced!-- because that love is such a delight.
It means the one Thursday afternoon sunset that melted away as I sat at a bus stop with a no-longer-stranger who is on a scandalously passionate journey for more and more of Jesus.
And as the ones add up, I am thankful. Thankful to see and show the Redeeming One in my neighborhood. Thankful to sit on front porches and praise the Gracious One for His faithfulness. Thankful to claim the power of the Healing One in the middle of broken relationships and hearts. Jesus, may I give up the many things I cannot keep to gain the One I cannot lose.
