Where did you get the name for this blog?

Last year I took my second mission trip to Honduras. As usually happens with these trips, the transition back into American life was much more difficult than the transition to Latin America. A thousand thoughts and emotions were swirling around my heart and head as I desperately tried to put words to what I had seen, thought and felt on the journey. Last February I reflected:

I flew, stumbled, jumped, sang, kicked, ran, swam and stood, sometimes all at the same time. I saw so many things that make me want to shake my fist at the sky. I heard too much that makes me want to cry. I’m trying to get used to life in the States again. But a huge part of me is still watching orphans jump for joy, still singing silly songs and giggling, still staring at the Caribbean with the breeze in my face, still listening to the Honduran rain drown out the noise in my head. I am still in the bed of a Honduran pickup truck, zooming down the highway in a haze of blue and green, my face to the wind and my back to the world. I am ruined for the ordinary.

This is the mess of the Kingdom. This is the reality of love. Not every story ends with a swelling crescendo of orchestra strings, a kiss and a ride into the sunset. We are hurting, we are bleeding and we are desperately searching for some light. But as we seek, we find glimpses of glory and tiny sparks of joy. When the thunder, lightning and rain stop for a moment, we find ourselves standing knee deep in a pool of grace.

I hope you get a taste of grace today.