On this day three years ago, we landed on the shores of the island of encouragement, Cyprus. We had finished the Gateway tour in Israel and had just begun our sabbatical to be spent there, Jordan, and back to Israel. In one week, the pandemic closed all flights eastward and was moving west. We waited in Cyprus for 7 days, and it then closed as well. We flew home on the day that America closed her doors to all but US citizens. There were only Americans on our flight, and everyone masked and armed with hand sanitizer. This was our first jolt—foretelling of the future—and little did we comprehend what a season stretched before us. I wrote this poem then not even realizing what we were to endure—such heartache, loneliness, fear with death hovering over each household, and such sweetness as well with the presence of God always so present. In retrospect, these words remain even more profound and poignant for where we are today.

New Season

At some point, you stop gathering things and begin to collect moments. You draw a

deep furrowed line in the world to hedge off the chaos, and measure life by the wealth

of blessing without sorrow and suffering that has spurned evil for good.

At some point, you cease competition and cleave to the unseen, pouring out of

desperate need to inspire and comfort and stop underscoring and highlighting personal

achievements to embrace the obscurity of silence and waiting.

At some point, you hold nothing back and return to the beginning without thought of

losing ground. Tears fall and the heart swells with gratitude because you know

that it’s always been about the blinding light of Calvary, the neatly folded grave clothes, and

your trembling ascent to obedience and significant calling. It’s always been about

that twinkle in your Father’s eye and one nod of approval that you could never earn.