Low on the Go!

day 3.

i am writing this, and there is a window beside me. This window overlooks a backyard of green grass and flowers. Some exist on their own. Some are potted. There is a little maple tree in the corner and some other kind of tree in the other corner.

Coming to Edmonton, I have felt like a plant, transplanted out of a place of rich nutrients and comfort. Here, there is no one to turn to. There is no one to see. Aside from support raising (MPD), the weeks are stretching out before me. Barren.

Yesterday, I was lonely. I felt it. Deeply. I thought about how MPD might stretch on into the fall, and how I'll sit each night, missing people. I thought about how there is seriously no one. No one to be physically present with. No one to study the Bible with. No one to eat ice cream with. The one friendship I thought I might have for at least a little while this summer, I totally messed up. I felt utterly alone.

In the midst of these thoughts, a picture of a plant being transplanted came to mind. The plant is stripped of everything it knows. The roots it has deeply entrenched in the soil are pried out, and the environment it once enjoyed is no more. It is plunged into a new pot. Different soil. Its roots have not yet taken to the soil, and everything is new. And yet, this is what the plant needs to flourish. Had it stayed in the smaller pot, it would have eventually atrophied and died. A new beginning is required to bring about growth and new fruit.

There is a reason why I am in Edmonton this summer. My soul feels desperately lonely, and yet I know I need this. I need to love Jesus in a way I never have before, if I am going to flourish in Montreal. This time in Edmonton may just be what is required.