I’m sitting 33,000 miles in the air thinking as I read Andrew Murray’s The Master’s Indwelling about sitting across a mountainous slice of warm, fresh gingerbread and brandy sauce with my beautiful Carla at The Tavern. And I am grateful. But I am also struck with this thought: if I want to live with a deeper sense of God, a better set of relationships, and a more fulfilling life lived in humility and love, I would do well to die to my agendas, drop my distracting thoughts, make eye contact, and give my undivided attention to whomever is addressing me.
I very much look forward to reestablishing more such face time with Carla, my love, my foil, my friend, above all. Perhaps the same applies to my relationship—whatever that means—with God.
I hope this week to scratch out time to plan a getaway with Catla that includes something similar to the gingerbread. It will be our first such getaway since Sullivan was born. (I had planned one in Cape May last autumn, but Éa had been sick in the days leading up to the trip, and we didn’t want to dump that on Mimi, Grandpa, and James, so we cancelled.)
Lord, help me add in this ingredient to our already mountainous slice of gingerbread life.