we can’t stay

shipsAmy Sullivan’s risk rejection is still going strong. Read this week’s here including the risk that makes Amy itchy.

My brother drew a picture for my Mom when he was young. This quote and a pencil drawing of a ship covered the paper, and she still has it today.

 

It’s this inner strength building. The call of God drawing you out of what is safe.

I work with a student in a 2nd grade classroom. Last Monday, the teacher read a book about Martin Luther King Jr. As they drew closer to point where he was shoot, their eyes grew wider. My student turned to me when the last page was shut, tears in his eyes. “Why? Why would someone do that?” he asked.

matterI like the safe harbor. I like it very, very much.

I don’t know the why.

I do know we have to do hard things. God longs for our voices.

 

I could tell you all the things I hope for this year, but honestly, I don’t know. I’m weary. Those dreams rise and fall like the waves in those deep waters past the harbor.

This is what I know, even if it hurts, I can’t stay. I have to risk the leaving, because it matters. I have to risk rejection, because their are places and people that need our proximity, and we need theirs.

We will risk rejection every time.

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12 thoughts on “we can’t stay

  1. One thing I’ve learned about risk is that there is a season for everything and God points us in the direction are hearts need to be. Sometimes the harbor is for mending masts and scrubbing decks so we can set out to sea again. Ships can’t stay in the open sea forever they need the safety of the harbor once in a while. Anyhow, I trust you’ll know when it’s time and the Spirit of God will fill your sails and invigorate you!

  2. It’s hard to sail forth. You break anchor and ties – old friends – tell you good riddance. Not everyone, of course, but close ones nonetheless. They’ll talk sideways about you when you’re looking away to where you’re called. It’s chancey to even show up at the annual MLK parade in Montgomery where he was hounded everyday. But I go there, and see no one I see on every other day. I’m in a safe harbor looking out, scared to break anchor. It’s always been that way here.

  3. Pingback: even the imperfect ones | About Proximity

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