There was a time when everything was spiritual. When everyone I knew spoke of God. When every conversation involved service and love and the Lord. For one month before my mission, I lived in Eden.
Out of some random need for affirmation or reminiscence, I decided to open up a shoebox full of old letters and dive in tonight. And what I found was a city of God. All of my very best friends decided to tell me they loved me. Kathy was a miracle. Emily was an angel. Andy and Jake and Ross and Carson were sincere for a sliver in time. A bunch of rag tag 18-year-olds got together and spoke of love and testified of Jesus. Missions are a miracle before they even happen.
It's time for a spiritual renaissance again. Everyone within earshot of this blog: start over. Go back to those golden months when you or your friends were preparing for missions. Not to those holier-than-thou months after you got home, but to those innocent and bumbling and humbling months when friends could say "I love you" and "I believe" and "I'm scared." When the idea of missing someone somehow brought out a newly mature joy and yearning. When high school was the past, and God was the future. Get out your old letters and pictures and tapes. Listen to your farewells. We had no idea what we were doing, but we were full of hope. And 10 years later we still have no idea what we're doing. We might as well bring the hope back.
