telling my story and sharing pages of my moleskine journals
i remember laying in my bed at 18 staring at balloons in my room simply dreading my 19th birthday. when i was 19, i was scared to turn 20. i wanted to escape. as birthdays continued the theme continued. but i celebrated. with family, with balloons, with gifts, with dinners, with smiles. on the outside …
i am thankful for the reality of freedom that awaits us on the other side of that simple but wildly courageous act of obedience - choosing to forgive. it's a choice. it might take every ounce of strength in us and finding someone to be by our side in it with us. but the freedom that is on the other side is beautiful. stunning. heavenly. weighty. full of glory. only by the blood can this be our reality. releasing people who have done us wrong and giving them over to the Lord. continuing to find freedom myself as i trace my hands along the golden thread of the Lord's constant goodness in my own story. He has always been good. so i can trust Him in this. i can trust Him with my story, with these people, with my life. i can choose to forgive.
i remember sitting on the ground that day with Soldier as the vet told us that there wasn’t good news and that we could take him home for one night. he had cancer and it spread to his lungs. he could barely breathe. we didn’t know. we knew something was wrong but he was hiding it from us so well. if we wanted to take him home for one night we could. i remember sitting with him on the ground. she met us there. the only words out of my mouth as tears streamed down my face in front of a stranger, “there’s nothing we can do?”…”i’m not going to treatment tomorrow”, “i don’t want to take him home. he’s in too much pain” …“call gracie”...who just so happened to be in town for the weekend too. not a coincidence. thank you Jesus. all of it worked out. but man that dog is a butt. and i miss him so.
the day before i came back to the States, i was walking on Main Street in the middle of the Pearl of Africa. we stopped at one of the shops and began talking to the shop owner. after a few minutes of conversation, there was a break and pure silence. all but the hustle of life and boda boda’s buzzing around us. it was as if this stranger and i were no strangers at all in that moment. we made direct eye contact. my heart leaning away with hesitancy but filling up with an abundance of expectancy, i asked if she could give me a Ugandan name.
annie snyder 