And there it was...

The past two weeks or so have been so amazing and packed full of rich story telling goodness. Even so, it has been hard to know how to share it with you in this space. I have been doubting my own ability to communicate with you the beauty, exhaustion, exhilaration and stretchiness of these days.

But let me tell you about today.

I slept in. And then enjoyed a simple little breakfast with my housemates—(my favourite) European yogurt, banana, and some fresh little Belgian strawberries. Over breakfast, we exchanged ha-ha’s about a line from Boston Legal, which has now become the official theme of the summer in the flat: ‘You are a hoot. With a capital h. That’s what you are.’

Then I wandered to the tram, which was unusually crowded for a Sunday afternoon. I was smashed next to a homeless guy, who…I’m not going to lie….was smelly. I know, I know…it’s not my usual reaction to such situations…but I had a range of emotions going through my head at that point (perhaps my brain catching up to the reality of this adventure that I’m on), and the smelliness of this gentleman seemed more than I could take. (Just being honest.) There was no place I could go, so at each stop, when the tram doors opened, I took a deep breath of the fresh, damp air…and then tried to find compassion and grace in my heart for this man and his situation.

Until he whipped out a sandwich. Are you kidding me? There is barely room to breathe on the tram, and he thinks there is room to have a picnic? Really. Again, I searched my clearly sullied heart. And held my breath for the moment of fresh air that would come at the next stop.

That’s where a mother and her young son enter the story. There we were, all crammed into a tiny space. And all of a sudden a small conversation (in French) was underway. The homeless guy offered to share his sandwich with the young boy. The mother, politely, refused. But the man continued to insist. So the mother finally asked her son if he would like some of the man’s sandwich. The young boy’s face lit up as he nodded ‘oui!’…so smelly, homeless man tore the sandwich in half, handed it to the boy and we all smiled. It smelled all right…of Jesus.

Then I went to my favourite flower stand in Flagey, and was tickled that the guy who I used to always buy flowers from since my very first weekend in Brussels, was still there as though not a single week had passed since I left.

Then I met one of my dearest friends for a coffee in one of my favourite cafés in Brussels. We chat chat chatted, as girls are prone to do…and then we shared some pretty significant stuff going on in our individuals lives……and then, right there, in the middle of a bustling café, we prayed from our hearts to our big God of the whole universe. Not in a cheesy way, but in a ‘you, Lord, are always near’ real way.

Then it was off to Dwell, the expression of the Well that I’m a part of…and today was special because we hosted a Jazz Vernissage, with performances from several extremely talented friends and musicians in the Well. Not too mention, I met some new lovely people and also reconnected with others…and totally saw God’s fingerprints all over our time together.

Then a quick dinner with friends. And now I’m back at the flat. One friend watching TV. The other studying for her big finance exam…I’m sitting at the kitchen table with her, lending my support by writing you.

My heart is warm and full. While I’m still not exactly sure where things are headed, I know for absolute certain there is no turning back.

Love love.