One week has passed since I boarded an airplane in London to fly back to the United States. I keep reminding myself what day it is to keep my days in context. Hard to believe it has been a week. Not sure if that is because I want to say it has beenonlya week or a weekalready.I am not sure if time is going fast or slow or if I want it to speed up or slow down.
When we were sitting in a debriefing session, the wise man who sat across from me leading the session told our team we might still be too close to the experience to process some things. I think that is more true than I realize. And yet in the shower I ask God why I experienced the things I experienced and, “Where do I go from here?”
I ordered books to start classes in a couple of weeks; classes I am not too excited about, though they are a lot of bible classes. I am the stereotypical ministry major with one required text being an NLT Study Bible and Jesus Calling as another required text.
I am back in North Dakota, my home and favorite state, where my best friend butchers chickens and does not hesitant to pull a dead pheasant out of the grill of a car. Tomorrow I will ride along to pick up the teens from camp. My mom and I are house-sitting six cats for my aunt and uncle, each cat has her own personality and I love it. I am falling back into an inbetween routine of spending time at home.
Life doesn’t stop or slow down. So I am catching up with what I have missed, and I am already sick of hearing about politics and that “Call Me Maybe” song playing on the radio way off often. And so, a week has passed.