Waking up in Vermont, knowing it is crisp and cool outside, with trees of red and yellow outside my window... this makes me want to write. But of course it does, right?
Aislinn is singing with her pure, strong voice in the living room, Jeff is making homemade
chicken noodle soup in the kitchen, and just 25 minutes ago we were taking a walk around this
small New England town known (by a certain few) for being the former home to Robert Frost
as he wrote of the apple groves Shaftsbury holds so dear.
We've been sitting around the table, laying around on the couches, walking the roads, dreaming
of storefront worship, a cafe who boasts farmers' market specials, and all sorts of rebirths
(reupholstered furniture, broken mirrors turned art, and souls reached without the help of flashing lights and stained glass windows). These dreams are lofty, but they have been stirring
in our hearts, even if they never come to be.
The leaves are changing, and maybe, finally, so are our hearts. It's been a tough 2 months. The crazy-busyness of the summer left us drained and wondering... what are we doing? why are we here? where have we been for the past year? Auto-pilot perhaps left us less than satisfied, knowing that Jesus isn't auto-pilot. He's breath and life and outstretched hands. But he is also rest to our weary souls. And that rest we are finding here in southern Vermont.
Aislinn is singing...
I will arise and go to Jesus
He will embrace me in His arms
in the arms of my dear Savior
oh, there are ten thousand charms