I'm not feeling too hot today. I haven't felt too hot since Saturday, in fact.

It's a combination of things. For one, my last four major meals have consisted of seafood, Greek, and Italian food. Oh, and some wine and ale. That means a lot of sodium and the consequent need for a lot of water. I haven't had enough water to balance it out yet, it seems, because I'm feeling tired and sluggish and dizzy and scratchy-throated and dehydrated, and I want to go home and sleep.

Besides that, there's all the interior side of things. Saturday was a rough day for us emotionally. We were smacked upside the head with some stuff that emerged from our pasts, and neither of us were expecting it. It took the length of the day, and even well into the night, to get through all of it, and we finally got through it because our God is good and our love is strong. But my heart's still reeling from the pain of all those memories and realizations, and I feel real tender and quiet inside right now.

After that dark night, we spent a day of sweet attentiveness and care with each other on Sunday. We worshiped together at Northland, then shared lunch over a good mediterranean meal, and then shared very interesting conversation about new books, literature and film, and the relationship between art and commerce in the Barnes & Noble cafe. This part of Sunday was the best thing that could have possibly happened for my heart, and I felt intensely close and connected to Kirk as we made our way through this new day after such a hard and painful night.

Sunday night we went to Tom and Cindy's house. They are our closest friends here, and we always share a wonderful time with them and their two kids, but they are walking through some tough decisions in their life, too. Because of the Saturday we'd had, I found myself unable to muster the strength I would have liked to offer them in that moment. I needed to depend on Kirk's strength and wisdom and the power of the Holy Spirit through prayer for most of the evening.

And what emerged from that experience was the realization of a new thing: We need the body of Christ. I was just talking to my good friend Kate about this last week, because she's walking through a difficult season of life and is surrounded by other friends who are, too. She voiced her realization of her own limitations in moments shared with these friends and the absolute gift God gave of the body of Christ when she needed it -- of people who came alongside to help minister to the one in need when she just didn't have the strength to carry it alone. I need the body of Christ, Kate said.

And so do I, dear Katy.

I miss those people in my life who know me in moments like these. People who can sit with me on the couch and not have to say anything. People who can wrap their arms around me and hold me in a hug for twenty minutes without wondering when it was going to finally end. People who make me laugh at myself and pull me out of myself, but then go right back into the deep with me when I need it. People that I can do this with, too. So far, here in Florida, Kirk's the only one with whom I can do this. And one is just too few.

So I'm praying for at least one more kindred spirit to come along in this new life. I trust God will provide just what I need, even if that means I don't actually need another friend right now, in His eyes. But in the meantime, I really miss my Life Group girls and Sara. They're the best batch of friends a young girl in this life could have. And, of course, I miss my family.