Week One.

         Well, let’s see, it’s been about a week, there were some nifty dinners and game nights with the team, an overload of adorable kiddos, a trip to the beach, a pirate birthday party, the arrival of a friend from Tana to stay for a few weeks, a Scot’s short visit to see Hannah, some blessed time with the youth group at the Independence Day fireworks that involved some language barrier breaking communication, and a Malagasy concert featuring Madagascar’s top Christian artist.  A wee bit busy to say the least!

         Now blog, I have to admit to you that we simply aren’t close enough for me to want to share with you the most inner workings of my mind, and I don’t think we ever will be, unless I find a way to share them in some cryptic, poetic form.  This is a complication because that is where most of my thoughts and adjustments have been over this last week.  The culture shock of being in Madagascar and living a different sort of life that I went through last summer only slightly reared up its nasty head, taking the form of blisters on my toes.  My shock this year was more from all the people who now make up the Toliara missionary team.  Last year it was just me and Tessa, now: me, Tessa, her roommate, two families, and two journey guys.  And in the next few weeks several more folks will be arriving.  It has been great to get the chance to live in community with all of these folks!  But it was a bit of an adjustment at first to be so busy spending time with everyone.          

         Thus, all the adjustment has hung out inside my head, and I will willingly admit that it has been slightly more involved than I have let on here.  The result has been conviction about the way that I have my hands wrapped so tightly around my life.  Who am I to hold onto what I had already claimed to have surrendered to my Savior? To lean over His shoulder while He writes the script and keep suggesting lines and entrances and full scenes, getting all in a huff when it doesn’t go my way on opening night.  I am so busy trying to be the director that I neglect playing my part as the Ransomed One, the Child of God.  How foolish I am when I give up that blessed role to fill one for which I am not suited.  

So there you have it blog: a week of Independence Day fireworks, group dinners, jetlag, guests, a birthday party, and a trip to the beach have begun to teach me to live with open hands and a heart of surrender.

Oh and there are a plethora of dandy photos on Facebook for your viewing pleasure.