An excerpt from How to Use a Runaway Truck Ramp (this section was written by Maile):
So tonight, we begin the final leg of our journey. Two nights ago, Shawn and I sat across from each other (he on the couch, me in the booth) and decided that his grandma’s failing health was the call beckoning us back a week earlier than we had intended.
It seems like such a small alteration to the plans: one week. But as I took a walk at our campground in rural Indiana after our decision, I felt so strange. By the end of the existing week, our trip would be over. My heart was fragmented with feeling:
Excitement (anticipating the tight hugs and grinning faces of so many folks that we love and miss.)
Regret (were there things left undone on this trip, moments I missed or didn’t hold quite long enough?)
Sadness (when anything great ends, sadness is always an appropriate response.)
Celebration (when anything great ends, celebration is always an appropriate response.)
Fear (that our great adventure has come to an end; that a humdrum existence is all we can expect from here on out.)
I shared that last feeling with a friend over email yesterday. But as I wrote it, my fear dissipated; fear has gotten more feeble on this journey. So I wrote this to my friend: “But I also know that God is far more wild than that.”
In the past 4 months, I’ve seen more beauty than in my entire life up to this point. It was holy yet tangled, majestic yet terrifying, serene yet treacherous. And I found myself often asking this question: “What kind of a God makes a creation like this?”
A wild one.
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