You know, when you're sitting in the middle of an LA highway, two miles away from your destination, and your truck decides to stop working, you have time to think about life.

Granted the thoughts are more like flashes, and not totally coherent, but regardless, they show up.

When the 5-month old baby you're taking care of won't stop crying because she knows you're not her mom—you're not her home—the thoughts come.

They come when you're visiting your uncle who's battling colon cancer, they come when you're finally sitting in church again, and they come in the quietness of the morning.

My first two weeks in Pasadena have been accompanied by these thoughts, and it's been a really beautiful thing. I'm seeing fragility and dependence all around me and I'm remembering how blessed life is.

I finished reading Life of the Beloved by Henri Nouwen last week, and aside from its straightforward writing and authentic voice, I am most aware of its timing and its ability to piece together my fragmented thoughts. 

It's harder to listen to the voice that calls us chosen, harder to claim blessings amidst ordinary days, and harder to face brokenness when all we want to do is package it neatly and send it away. But the easy way doesn't affirm our Belovedness, doesn't push us to see life, doesn't encourage us to claim brokenness so it can be redeemed.

I could go on and on about how "the great spiritual battle begins—and never ends—with the reclaiming of our chosenness," but really you should just read the book. It's a super quick read that is simply and perfectly profound. I love how God sobers us into dependence, and how He surrounds us with tangible situations where dependence lends itself to something beautiful.