Due to a massive exodus of holiday-goers, the streets of Athens are deserted. (Like this blog in recent weeks. Sorry!) My intent to grab a loaf of bread from our neighborhood bakery this morning turned into a quest. Masked windows and locked doors shunned me at every step. Clothing shops still bearing the bright banners of the summer sales appeared ghostly. I peeked in at their empty racks and imagined the absent garments gracing sunburned backs. (Admittedly, I felt a little envious of the vacationers, until I recalled the unbearably crowded beaches of past Augusts.)
Then I thought, "But, isn't life like this August rush?" Our days of excitement aren't spread out; they come and go in clumps.
My kids visited last month. We had a wonderful time together (see posts below). Now, they’re gone. I won’t pretend I didn’t lament over their leaving. I did. After Peter and I dropped them off at the airport, I came home and scoured the apartment of all evidence of them. I didn't want to be tempted to cry over their wrinkled bedsheets, empty hangers and full waste baskets.
But you know what? The lonely days, the difficult days—they’re all good. Each one is a gift from God. "This is the day which the LORD hath made; we will rejoice and be glad in it."
The Bible says: “Be still, and know that I am God”.
The great thing about walking a barren road is, without the distractions, it’s easier to concentrate on Him.
