//an aroma of comfort//

It’s chillier now that we’ve finally transitioned into these rainy season days. Early morning solitude only lasts a moment before little feet are heard scampering down the dark hallway. Living off grid, the solar power lingers in waiting for the sunshine to transition it from red to green.

My “fall” is infused with the hot African sunshine, flowers in full blooms and green grass growing vibrant in the daily downpours. My recently changed letter board on our cluttered entryway table reads, “Give me that African breeze and pumpkin spice please”.

There are three colorful kitenge pumpkins that line the handmade stairs with a burlap banner reading “give thanks”. A small stash of Starbucks Pumpkin Spiced instant lattes are saved somewhere in an upstairs bin for precisely this moment.

After seven years on the field, I still dig around in a bin under my bed for my handful of fall scented candles - apple cinnamon and autumn spiced pumpkin, a parting gift from a dear friend who left Uganda. These fragrant joys have been savored and conserved over the last few years and still bring an aroma of comfort whenever they are lit.

Despite not actually having fall on this equator lived life in Northern Uganda, this has become my yearly intermingling of remembrance of cozier times when the other side of the world moves into full blown pumpkin spice season mode.

So, here in the late night quiet of a still house with my spiced mango tea steeping - I praise the One who brings comfort to my sometimes homesick heart and who is always very, very good.

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//joy made full//

“Hello” the morning sun whispers. Eyes squinting, I mutter some encouragement to myself as I urge myself to wake up. Tea in hand, I sit down at the well weathered wooden desk. The chair, ragged with a diy kitenge chair pad made years ago, falling apart at the seams. Waiting to be remade. And yet, it is here where I find myself wanting to be. The light seeping through the side window of the room - casting highlights on my forest green mug of steaming tea and sending sunshine cascading along the wall before me. For a moment I’m captivated by the words etched into its being - Joy. In the waiting. I sit and I reflect. Everyone is waiting for something. A healing. For provision. A change in circumstance. For direction. An unanswered prayer. But having joy in the waiting - that’s harder to come by. So, how? If you keep my commandments, you will abide in my love , just as I have kept my father’s com...

//in-between places//

I long to see beyond the barriers and blockades standing in my way. Past a wilderness of tangled weeds and leaf-lost, barren trees in an ocean of unruly overgrown green. I can get so caught up with the circumstance or situation standing before me. I see the thorns threatening to pierce and feel myself recoil at the thought of pressing on through the jaggers. Soon forgetting. Soon questioning. Soon doubting. That the path set before me is a good one. Even when I don’t see the sunrise from the valley. Even when I can’t find a foothold on a steep climb. Even when I stumble along a rocky path. “Come. Follow me.” A beckoning carried by breeze, lingering there in the remaining leaves rustling. To walk through and press on. To push past what’s threatening my perspective. To catch a glimpse of what’s to come. And to settle into an undeniable understanding that He will carry me on. Even when I’m caught in the mid...

//tending//

The canopy spread out above me, offering much needed comfort and coolness in the peek of the day. Covering like a leafy blanket, sheltering my being from the scorching rays of the afternoon sun. I sit and I swing. The gentle and steady creaking of a well used green hammock chair, rocking me to calm. Swaying away worries, stress and the anxious thoughts that have tried to take over the past few days. I breathe deep, reminding myself that all these lingering and uncomfortable things will one day pass. Just probably not in the timeline I want. The breeze refreshing, as a twittering orchestra of trills and birdsong echo across the gardens before and behind me. I’m hemmed in. This space has been all but forgotten until now. Three hanging pots still cling to their sturdy branches, but two of them have seen better days. They need some tending to. Come to think of it, I feel like those once flourishing vines in the pots, weary and worn fro...

Wilderness Writing

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