I wrote this journal entry five years ago, but I needed the reminder today.

Psalm 139: 7-12

Lord, this morning as I did the Lectio Divina from this psalm, the words ‘flee’ and ‘darkness’ jumped out at me.  I was discouraged with this, because I love the beauty of this psalm and the truth in it that I cannot flee from You and that darkness is light to You.

But as I continued to read, I had all the images of You caring for me, in spite of me feeling darkness or wanting to flee.  I don’t usually want to flee from You, but sometimes I have such an image of fleeing from all the demands of this life and being alone, alone, alone with You on a beach with all the time in the world to write about all that You have let me live.

Yesterday we spent about 10 hours on the train from Bucharest, Romania to Stara Zagora, Bulgaria, with one change.  Paul had spoken of  the great 1^st class train he’d been on in Ukraine so he’d asked for our colleague to get us first class tickets. But forty-five minutes after pulling our luggage all over town (even though we’d been told that the train station was only five minutes away from where we’d parked), we arrived just in time to find the train and hop on.  Second class.  Very, very second class.  A compartment with 8 seats.

My heart sank and I said (more like demanded!), “Paul, I want you to change us to first class!”  Oh, my wicked little heart.

Of course, there was no changing and no buffet on the train, but we did have a little food with us for the long ride.  And water.  Thankfully my smart hubby had gotten water.

And there were gross bathrooms.  Of course.  But it could have been worse, lots worse.

And gradually, it became okay, Lord.  I settled in, and we had the compartment to ourselves except for one man who left early on.  And You were there with us, in that compartment with the weathered and cracked orangish brown leather seats and the faint smell of cigarette smoke and the chill of November.

I know You are always with me.  I love that You surround me, You know my thoughts before I say a word, that You won’t let me get away from You. As the praise song says, “Oh, no, You never let go, through the calm and through the storm.  Oh, no, You never let go, in every high and every low. Oh, no, you never let, Lord, you never let go of me.”

As we took the train into Bulgaria, there was the most gorgeous sunset just boasting outside the window for many miles, smiling at me. How marvelous is Your creation, so much more beautiful than anything we can come up with, Lord!  And You were allowing me to enjoy it from my seat on an old Bulgarian train, jostling through these post-Communist countries where there used to be such fear.

As I watched, I thought again, “Lord, if You have given me the gift of writing and also the gift of seeing other worlds, then somehow again You will give me the time to write about these things, will allow me to hand out this beauty and depth and care to others.

I am eternally thankful that I cannot get away from You—not on a Bulgarian train with dirty bathrooms and faded upholstery and the sun setting so brilliantly outside the window, just in case I forget.

How has the Lord reminded you recently that He will never let go of you?