A collision of the South and the Northwest
I know I’m supposed to be a cynic. I’m an educated, thinking person. I’ve heard the stories about people who take advantage with their fake signs.
I know I’m not supposed to be moved by the guy standing at the interstate ramp with the sign saying that he and his wife lost everything and just need some help to get back on their feet.
A friend recently shared a quote from Paul Miller that I liked. It’s from a book on prayer. “Every minute spent in prayer is one less minute where you can be doing something productive. The act of praying means you have to rely more on God.”
To make space for prayer, we have to stop what we’re doing. But we don’t just stop what we’re doing. We have to stop thinking about all the things we think we need to do. We have to train our minds to be quiet and still before the Lord. It’s a submission. A humility.
It was a dark and stormy night. And by stormy, I mean the steady drizzle that’s characteristic of Northwest rain. The perfect kind of night for a wild goose chase. The website said the Richmond Night Market was open for business May through October. This particular weekend in October was supposed to be the final weekend. We were hoping the market would remind us of Thailand, where we ate mango and sticky rice and combed the makeshift booths for unique Asian handmade crafts like square lanterns and flowing tunic tops.
The sun rises
despite the best efforts of the clouds.
A new day introduces
itself.