The Best Week... Month... Life of my Life
It's the middle of summer. For me, this means a plethora of camps on which I always spend my yearly adrenaline stores. Last night, I returned home (half asleep, might I add; apparently the three mugs of coffee this anti-caffeine crusader consumed had little effect) from a month long- ahem, a week long - spiritual high. The camp had good worship, there were tears, and sleep was a distant memory. Sounds great, right? Except... how can I put this? Ah, yes: NO. What actually occurred pushed the bounds of my reality. Calling the past week a spiritual high would be like calling the unfathomable processes of the human mind a confusing mess of misguided electrons. Gross. This week, God worked in each person intimately and lovingly, including in me. I cannot begin to describe the beauty of forty-something souls raising their voices to praise their Savior, or the way bittersweet tears can create bonds between believers or take place of audible words in a desperate pra...