chicken soup for the soul

A missionary, a worship leader, and a church planter walk into a bar together. Sounds like the start of a great joke, doesn't it? Actually, it was the end of a great weekend.

I feel like my heart is brimming with things to say, and yet I can't seem to find any suitable words. I wanted to take notes during the past four days, just jot things down as they happened so that I wouldn't forget a thing. But I intentionally made myself not do that.

I didn't want to experience things through the filter of how I'd write about them on my blog.

I know I've missed out on the full wonders of sunsets and elephant sightings and carefree African children playing in the street because I've watched them through my camera's viewfinder. So this weekend I chose to set down my "camera"---my cognitive attempt to hold onto memories, put adequate words to them, and help someone else see what I see. I chose instead to just be there. To soak the weekend in, for me rather than for someone else.

My heart is full, my eyes are heavy, and my mind is stewing a myriad of thoughts. My life won't ever be the same.