I haven’t written in weeks. Not anywhere. Not here, not in a journal, It’s silence on my part. I’m wound so tight. I strategically avoid my Bible. I hear his whisper calling me, trade burdens. I stubbornly shake my head no, hike my burden higher up on my shoulders and push forward.
But now I am about to explode with the overwhelming reality of it all. The tug of war between my standard dysfunctional response and the option of falling on my knees to find peace has played out. I must have peace.
We prayed as a family last night. Prayed for change. Prayed for hearts that embrace adventure. It’s been busy here and the busyness is in the right place, doing the right kind of stuff, eternal stuff. I can’t always say my busy is focused there. A paradigm shift is happening in my heart. I am running for faith that really believes my God will supply all my needs. Belief that supply all my needs may mean eating peas when I want dessert. A heart that chooses to be okay with that. Living life proving I believe those lilies in the field are truly clothed beautifully. This is hard stuff. I’m the rich man and I hold all this stuff with a closed hand. God’s got to surgically remove it from me.
Our house is for sale. I have a love hate relationship with this house. This dwelling has manifested itself excatly the way I envisioned it eight years ago when we stood on the flat sand previewing its 2D glory on printed parchment. It’s been years of labor to achieve the beauty we dwell in. I love dwelling in all this beauty. I hate that living here isn’t what God has called me to. So, I must be moved. A million times a day I mentally take our house off the market and declare it mine. The Man and I have an agreement, when one is weak the other must be strong. He feels the same about the house. Dare we call it an idol we worship on a regular basis?
It seems my stuff and my way die hard. I am at war against me. I have to hold me down, binding and gagging her so I can hear my God’s voice. The act of waring with my self leaves me gasping, the pain is real. My sin, even when handing it over, is cancerous. Its tentacles wind, twist through joint and marrow as a real, connected, living parts of me. I cry, scream at the pain, but I push on.
My faith is weak and I want to strengthen it. As I sacrifice my self I realize I also lay my children and their comfort on the alter. I beg that God honor my sacrifice and be Lord of their little hearts.
Already The Man is changed in the journey. He emerges stronger, deeper, more assured– A true Leader of his little family, this family. We joyously fall in line behind him. My respect runs deep for this gentle, compassionate man who works so hard to lead well. He’s our beating heart, our road map.
He’s traveling today and I load up our brood to give strangers the run of this, our current castle. We exit to let them dream of making it their own. I don’t know where we’ll live but I’m learning to believe in miracles, trusting that God who created those lilies and provides my salvation knows where The Party of 5! will go from here. I am believing that God will provide– in his time, the author of ‘Just In Time’.
He has never let me down.
And yet, I still doubt his faithfulness.
I am so very, sinfully, human.