This week has absolutely flown. There's been so much to absorb and so many people to get to know, and I've just loved everything about it so far. This week I'll be heading over to the east side for orientation until Thursday night. After that, I'll be able to throw myself into my work in Owsley County, and I CAN'T WAIT!
Being nestled in these heavily wooded hills got me thinking about an old teacher at my high school. Mrs. Buser is long gone, but she said something during the seemingly never-ending Long Island winter that I've never forgotten. We would complain about the trees, saying that we missed the leaves and couldn't wait for the buds to show up in the spring. She countered, though, that one of the beautiful things about winter is that it's really the only time we can appreciate the branches for all of their intricacies.
And here I am, surrounded by the starkly bare trees every waking minute. Millions of them, with billions of branches, reaching for the heavens. It makes me think that maybe, sometimes, we need to be stripped of the things by which we identify ourselves. That's the only time we can see and appreciate our own bare-boned and beautiful God-given potential.
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