Living, or, My Re-Introduction to Writing

     You know that I used to live in a different country. Every two years I left that country and travelled around America to different churches. With each church came a new city, new scenery, and new people. Many times I left with new friends. Sometimes I didn't. Yet always I left with a little bit of anticipation for the road, and a little bit of regret for the people I left behind. Now I can look through my Facebook chat list and see people from all over America and the world. Different time zones, different continents, different cultures. Most I see every Sunday, many are a few plane flight away, and some I may not see again in this world. Some of them read old books, some of them read graphic design tutorials. Some of them play mandolin, some play piano, some of them play Diablo III. Some of them only drink their own home-made coffee without any sugar and some of them only eat strawberry poptarts. With all of them I connected with and then broke or will have to one day break connection. Breaking things hurts. I am not here to say that I wish all of the people who have ever been my friends could live together forever, because I recognize well the bitter-sweetness of parting and reuniting. I am here to say that I am thankful for the experiences, both good and bad, that left me with the ability to connect and interact with individuals. Not based on their religion, their race, or their skills, but based on the fact that in our heart of hearts, whether or not we accept or reject it, we feel God stirring.