The other night I drove from my house in D.C. to my grandparent's house in Lillington, N.C. My grandfather's health is on the decline right now; his legs are weak and his kidneys are failing. Seems like he's losing the use of one of his legs and the rest of his muscles are starting to follow suit, so he has trouble getting around. The plan is for me to be here for a good part of the summer to keep them company, help out around the house, and help move my grandfather from place to place.

As I have been anticipating this trip it has been easy to romanticize it a bit, to imagine myself as some sort of saviour stepping on to the scene - bringing hope and light and laughter and help into my grandparent's home. I had forgotten how hard it is to have conversations with a man who can hardly hear and whose speech has gotten a bit slow and mumbled. I had forgotten how hard it is to see someone you are so connected to - by blood even - losing their life piece by piece. I had forgotten how tiring it can be to be on call all day long without much to do in between. There are a million wars I have to fight just to get to a place where I serve them well.

And I am a bringer of hope and light and laughter and help. It is what Jesus has called me to be; it is what he is molding me into from the inside out. But in all of my planning and imagining for this trip, how could I forget that there would be struggle?

I am learning that I am wildly in love with Jesus' ideas: hope, redemption, reconciliation, all things being made new - but that I am quick to forget the way he sought to bring them about. I will be the first to spout the ideas of Jesus, have riveting conversations about his teachings and the way that he lived his life, point out the places in the world that are not the way he intended them to be - but I never quite believe he intends me to follow him down that road to the cross, carrying my own, to be crucified with him - to die to myself and make room for him to live, so the hope and light can come through.  I used to embrace that part of the journey.  I used to love the struggle.  I'm not sure when I got so comfortable.

So right now I am learning- and I can hear the Father's voice for the first time in a while saying, "Watch me. Learn from me. Forget yourself.  Do as I am doing." It's the same voice that promises enough grace for the struggle, so I have to believe I can trust it.