Over here in twenty-first-century Africa, as long as my power is on and my internet is not having a grumpy day, I am still able to “phone home.” Mornings are out because of that pesky time zone issue. But when my day is done and I sit on my locally made furniture in my pajamas, frizzy hair embodying a little of my frizzy, exhausted brain, my mom is still feeling perky. And somehow, when the rest of my day feels disconnected and I am wondering if I am tired for good reasons, I still want to go where everybody knows my name. Or at least my family does. And tonight, when for one reason or another extra moisture is building up around the edges of my eyes from the questions in my heart, I wish I could FaceTime God.
I Wish I Could FaceTime God
I Wish I Could FaceTime God
I Wish I Could FaceTime God
Over here in twenty-first-century Africa, as long as my power is on and my internet is not having a grumpy day, I am still able to “phone home.” Mornings are out because of that pesky time zone issue. But when my day is done and I sit on my locally made furniture in my pajamas, frizzy hair embodying a little of my frizzy, exhausted brain, my mom is still feeling perky. And somehow, when the rest of my day feels disconnected and I am wondering if I am tired for good reasons, I still want to go where everybody knows my name. Or at least my family does. And tonight, when for one reason or another extra moisture is building up around the edges of my eyes from the questions in my heart, I wish I could FaceTime God.