Today, in my bottomless pit of my used, half-used, and almost-mostly-used notebooks (used for everything from songwriting, poetry, doodles, homework, and two-sentence notes), I found my Bucket List which I had forgotten all about. Mind you, I wrote this with a group of close friends, so much of it was silly things such as (and not limited to the following):
Build a treehouse.
Live in said treehouse.
Meet a lumberjack, a monk, and a detective.
Spear-fish with my friend, Maria Barker.
Join a tribe.
Ride Flipper, the dolphin.
Have the best, most profound thought ever.
Die with my eyes closed.
And finally, go back in time and tell God I need to have blue eyes.
But some of them were true aspirations of mine:
Live in the treehouse (yes, I was actually serious).
Go to Nova Scotia, Ireland, and India.
Hike through the woods and up a mountain (check).
See the Northern Lights.
Go to the British Museum.
Visit a monastery.
Become fluent in Poetry (practically check).
And, of course, play Manhunt.
However, as I read through it, one stood out to me, one I had written before I even knew all that was happening behind the scenes of my life.
12. Work in an orphanage.
I seemed to write it light-heartedly, yet as I scribbled those four words onto my notebook with my squeaky mechanical pencil, something tugged lightly in the darkest shadows behind my heart. I remember it. In the split seconds before the words of my recently chicken-scratched aspiration exited my mouth, I pictured it and I still picture it today as I share with you. I picture skipping hand-in-hand with a child who finally knows Love. I picture all of us snuggled up as the sun sets. I picture holding in my temper as one of the kids throws a tantrum and the other pees in the corner or other such nightmarish happenings. I picture my unshaven legs (that may have been the scariest thought of all), my frizzy hair and my temporarily low self-esteem. But. I also picture the ultimate satisfaction and fulfilment found in setting aside all things "self" and being immersed in the greater calling of Jesus. I have this strong image of the love of God pouring out onto this next generation and Him raising up the broken and the orphaned to lead the strong. I picture hope swelling in the hearts of those abandoned, driving them to continue the flow of love they received from us onto all those around them.
And I picture each of us being a part of it and telling our children and our grandchildren and the generations to come about all that God did to awaken His church and bring revival to the lost and wandering. I picture the children seeing Jesus in our eyes as we serve the Jesus in them. And I picture none of us being the same....
(I know I use this image all the time, but it's my favorite)
I say all this to say: Number 12 on my Bucket List, I'm coming for you in 15 days.....
