There’s a surreal-ness that comes with big change. It doesn’t seem to matter how long you’ve been preparing for it, when the big event finally peeks around the calendar corner it still seems to come as a surprise. I remember feeling this way the night before I went off to college for the first time.  Surreal-ness snuck up on me on the morning of my wedding day, and then again when my babies were born.

And now, when I’m facing a 26 foot long moving truck and a map with a path marked through 5 different states in search of home, surreal-ness lingers. Despite dates marked on the calendar, boxes that I’ve been packing for weeks, and goodbyes that I’ve shared with friends, I am drenched with the feeling that I can’t believe this is really happening. 

This week I have been chewing over the story of the Israelites and Moses, and their encounter with the Red Sea. Talk about a feeling of disbelief over life change – can you imagine having been a slave your entire life and then being told that you would be allowed to walk away from slavery and into freedom?

So they followed God to their freedom, and He led them right up against the Red Sea – right into a dead end - as their captors pursued them.

I think it’s so interesting that God chose to lead them that way. There were other routes they could have taken, other paths that would not have been so risky or so frightening. But God chose to lead them into the dead end so that they could have a front row view of the miraculous. Unfortunately, they were absolutely clueless. They yelled and cried to Moses. They were certain that they were going to be killed.

And then, in Exodus 14:15 we see this: “Then the Lord said to Moses, “Why are you crying out to me? Tell the people to get moving! (NLT)“  In the ESV it says “Tell the people to go forward.”

I love this.

The people, convinced that they are facing death, are completely freaking out. And God tells them to be quiet and get moving.

Stop talking.

Stop whining.

Stop complaining.

Go forward.

The kinship I’m sharing with the wandering Israelites these days is borderline embarrassing. I can understand how in that moment when they were faced with a sea before them and an enemy behind them, they began to question everything that they thought to be true. Why in the world did they leave Egypt? Who was this Moses guy? Did God lead them out in the wilderness only to let them die?

Surreal-ness often leads to speculation, and speculation invites procrastination. We ask questions that have already been asked. We rehash old fears. We find excuses for wanting to stay in Egypt where life was miserable, but predictable. 

And I find it amazing that God, who so often implores people to be still in His presence, tells the people to just move forward.

There’s a time for questions. And God, in His grace, will even meet me in my doubts. But, there is a time to just get moving.

Moving forward requires faith. And, with each step taken, you choose to trust that God will meet you in the thing that seems so big that it could not possibly be real.

This week we are moving forward, and trusting Him to work the miraculous.  There’s really nothing like a front row seat.

It has been a Spring of Waiting, much like the May and June of six years ago when we waited with both hope and fear, to see if  God was bringing another child into our family. Looking back now, I can easily tell you that we received a phone call about Elli at the end of May, and she was born less than four weeks later, on June 20th.

But at the time, living through those ‘less than four weeks’ was anything but easy.

It was a true object lesson in continually surrendering desire to Jesus, and trusting Him with it. I so badly wanted to have this yet-to-be-born baby for my own. But, I didn’t want my family to grow through selfishness at expense of someone else. I didn’t want to live or pray in a way that tries to manipulate God’s hand. And so, I surrendered – over, and over again.

The prayer of longing- desire- surrendered feels and sounds a little crazy. With hope that fears loss, and through tears, it went something like this:

“Lord, I want so badly to have more children. I dream of holding this baby in my arms and singing her to sleep at night. But I don’t know what your plan is in this. I don’t know what you are really doing here. And so I hand this longing, desire, need, want, over to You. I trust You to work out your good and perfect plan.  But God, I want this baby so much!…”

And on the bright morning of June 20th, we received another phone call to let us know that Elli had been born and that her birth mother wanted us to come to the hospital and meet our daughter. God had chosen us to be her family.

Fast forward a few years later, and God brought Morgan to replant and pastor The Valley Church. Our four years at The Valley were filled with joys, as well as trials and disappointment. During our time there, God chiseled away at our false securities and shattered any amount of our identity, pride, or knowledge that was not rooted or grounded in Him.

And then ~ much in the same way that when the days get longer, the sun shines hotter, and our gardens start growing, we realize summer is upon us ~ we knew that our season at The Valley was over.

And so began another May and June of waiting, praying, and surrendering desire. Seasons often don’t change as gracefully as they should. Autumn leaves cling to trees after the snow begins to fall, and winter often litters the new flowers of spring with its furious snow.

There has been pain in this.

Even Jesus bears scars.

But what we need to avoid are the wounds which gape and fester and never quite close. And this need for wholeness leads us to Texas.  What’s there for us? I know you must be wondering.  A job? Well, hopefully, but not yet. Not a house, which is in Meadville, and not family, which is scattered across the country.

But, Texas does offer an opportunity to be part of a church filled with people who passionately pursue Jesus. And, it will provide a variety of ways for Morgan to receive more training, so that he may one day pastor again. It also happens to be the homeschooling hub of our country, so we just might be able to make a few friends who understand why in the world I would choose educating my children over having a career. Is this subject to change? Sure. For right now though, it seems like this is where God is leading us.

We are living between phone calls, weighing the weather between seasons, praying with both hope and fear.

It’s scary, exhausting, painful, and yet I know that it will be a marked time in our lives which we will be able to look back on and remember God’s faithfulness.

Last night, when we celebrated with our children this decision to move to Texas, Morgan read from Genesis 12: “Now the Lord said to Abram, “Go…”  The city where Abram lived was comfortable and familiar. (They even had running water and flushing toilets!)  But Abram left it all behind to become Abraham, a father of many nations, a man who sought after God.

And our God, whose character is unchanging, continues to lead us in this Irrational Life, for His glory and our good.

10 Years after 9/11, and it’s somewhat ironic to me that one of my first thoughts is “Hey, we’re still married!” On the morning of 9/11 Morgan and I had been married for 6 months. We were dirt poor and struggling ~ two sinful, stubborn people trying to mesh our lives together. It wasn’t pretty.

We were living so “simply”  that we did not have cable, the internet, or even cell phones (yes, it was nearly the stone age – or at least the 80′s). Morgan caught the news coverage that morning while he was out cleaning a local restaurant.  But I was unaware of the magnitude of what had occurred until I turned on the radio in the afternoon and heard an endless list of victim’s names being read.  I remember trying to listen to the radio throughout the rest of the day for news and hearing mostly just the names.

It was a time of fear. Later that same week we had a terrible thunderstorm one evening, and for the first time ever I wondered if the sound of thunder was truly the noise of bombs being dropped.

At this season of our life, we had a tradition of visiting New York City twice a year to celebrate birthdays. So, just a few weeks later we met up with my family in Manhattan. What I had not yet seen on television I was able to experience in person:

Streets were still blocked off.

A small platform had been built and we stood there viewing the devastation at Ground Zero.

Nearby buildings were shrouded in black.

Laminated pictures hung on bulletin boards where the grieving place them in the hopes that loved-ones could still be found.

Flowers, cards, pictures, lined walls and streets as temporary memorials for those who were lost.

And I can remember one year later, after we had finally gotten cable, just sitting in our living room and sobbing over the anniversary specials and live footage that I had never viewed.

10 Years after the attacks,  and God has blessed us with 3 children – who put an end to our frequent trips to New York City.

10 Years of war, and there is still a “Terror Threat Alert” this week. We are flying on Tuesday… should I be concerned?

What I remember the most about the  months following 9/11 is the craziness… the unsureness of life in our country. We had that anthrax scare, and a mailbox bomber who bombed in a smile-face pattern across the country, and the DC sniper. Everyone was afraid. We were all waiting for the next scary thing to happen.

For 10 years our country has been at war. Are we any less scared now? In declaring war on terror, I can’t help but wonder if we are simply encouraging future generations to grow into terrorists.

I do know, that as we stop and remember 9/11, I have much to be thankful for. God has kept us married, blessed us with children, provided for us, and allows us serve Him in ministry.

And yet I also know that as I think back on that beautiful, horrific September day, I still grieve ~ for those who were so filled with anger that they chose to kill and for those who perished at their hands.

The book of Habakkuk is an account of a man who questions God about the evil he sees around him.

In chapter 1 Habakkuk asks: “Why does evil seem to go unpunished?”

In chapter 2 God answers him by saying that the wicked will be punished, but the righteous must live by faith.

And in chapter 3, Habakkuk replies by saying that “Even though…(all seems to be lost) yet I will praise you.”

And 10 years after 9/11, for those of us who live “Irrationally”,  in surrender to Christ, we are living in the “Even though” ~ I don’t get it, just thinking of the tragedy brings the sorrow welling up in me again, and yet I choose to believe that God is good and that vengeance belongs only to Him. I choose to live in the “Even though”. I will look around at our life, at the emptiness that still haunts Ground Zero, at the brokenness of our world at war, and I will choose yet to praise Him.

I’m not a real gardener. At the most, I would say that I like to experiment with seeds.

Sometime in the middle of July the girls and I were at Walmart, and I let them each pick out a packet of seeds that they wanted to grow. Chloe chose a packet with a picture of pink flowers on it, while Elli chose one with the picture of purple flowers. And I grabbed some sunflower seeds.

A few days later the kids and I took the seeds and put them in styrofoam cups filled with potting soil. We watered them, and then left them out in the sun. It was messy and somewhat fun and as I cleaned up all the chaos that three kids, a shovel, and dirt leave behind I thought: “I sure hope something grows.”

For weeks I watered the little cups and watched as green sprouts appeared and grew larger. I secretly stuck extra seeds into the cups that didn’t seem to be growing anything, and eventually we had a small garden of plants growing in styrofoam. Of course, even I know that a plant stuck in a cup will only keep growing for so long. So, the day before we left for a week long vacation, the children and I dug out a small area along our fence and hastily transplanted these plants into the ground.  This time I walked away thinking: “Well, I hope they don’t all die at once.” (yes, I am a hopeless optimist)

The plants (well, most of them) didn’t die, and they are still growing. But, I discovered something interesting happening. Those pink and purple flower plants (which I still don’t know the name of) are not only growing, but they are wrapping themselves around the sunflower plants. Because the sunflower stems are sturdy and are standing straight, the other thin, vine-like plants are clinging to them for support, structure, and life.

This morning, as I dug some metal stakes out from the garage, untwisted the plants from each other, and attempted to offer them a more substantial structure on which to cling, God begin speaking to me about our life in ministry.

Each of us, whether we realize it or not, are vine-like plants. We were created to cling. In John 15:5  Jesus calls it ‘abiding.’ We have an unquenchable need to dwell in Him, to hold on for dear life to Him. But sin confuses us, and we often find ourselves clinging to things that can’t support us, holding on to addiction that will ultimately lead to our death.

In the past several years I’ve encountered many people who have experienced pain, and brokenness,  from wrapping themselves around something that promised life but offered death. They crawl in, practically crumbling, looking for someone to offer them tangible words of hope.

But here’s where it can be deadly – has nearly been deadly. As I am simply one frail person wrapping myself around Jesus, abiding in Him, the only help I can offer is to encourage you to lean in to Him too.

You cannot wrap yourself around me.

Alone, I’m no stronger than the sunflower stem which will bend over and break. I will fail and disappoint. I will leave you wanting. And, if we remain untangled, we will surely both die.

But, I can speak to you about our God and His great love for you. I can remind you that He’s waiting, listening, offering you life. I can pray for you and ask God to capture your heart with His great love.

I cannot make you wrap yourself around Him. That choice remains yours. And it is one that we are all presented with daily. In whom will I abide today? Who will I turn to for the breath of hope, for the sweet taste of faithfulness, for the joy discovered in sacrificial obedience?

Apart from Him we can do nothing.

 

We forget everything.  Well, not everything. I could still tell you the mean things a school bully said to me on the bus when I was in first grade. But I know I couldn’t tell you about anything especially wonderful that happened that year. The bad stuff sticks with us, while the good stuff melts out of our brains like February’s icicles.

Yesterday I found myself giving someone a brief rundown on the miraculous way God formed our family and answered our prayers for more children. Without even hearing any of the really exciting details, the woman I was speaking with said: “Wow, that’s amazing. I’ve got goosebumps.” Yes, it was amazing, and it is amazing. But I forget.

Forgetting the “good stuff” – God’s blessings, the times when He has really come through for you, those moments of soul despair when you were convinced that you could simply not continue from one minute into the next, and yet did – is a tragedy that humanity has suffered through since sin entered the world.

Throughout the Old Testament we see a God who is good, just, and loving, practically begging His people to remember the times when they have experienced His goodness, justice, and love.

With sacrifices and burnt offerings they should have remembered their own sinfulness, God’s justice, and His grace.  Through a stone monument they marked the location where God led them through the Jordan River, so that they would have the chance to tell their children about this miraculous event.  And God even instituted specific festivals and feast days so that His people could remember all that He had done – and celebrate.

But the people forgot. And time after time, they turned away from their God. We forget everything, don’t we?

And still, Jesus arrived, lived, suffered, died, and rose again – all for us. We were given communion to remember His love, our sin, and His sacrifice. We were given baptism to remember that following Jesus requires radical life change. We were given the Sabbath to rest in the holiness and sufficiency of our God. And on Easter we will celebrate the empty tomb, and marvel at a God undefeated by death, whose love for us compels Him to act in ways which seem irrational.

I often thought, during the Long Winter we just endured, that faith is like knowing spring will arrive eventually – even when it is snowing in April.

I despise winter. And yet I’m starting to think that maybe there is more to winter than just overcast grayness and bitter cold.  Perhaps winter is  just one more way that God whispers for us to remember Him. Remember …when you are snowed in the house with three children, He is sufficient. Remember… when you haven’t seen the sun for three weeks, He can be your joy. And, when spring finally arrives, Remember that He is able to bring new life out what appears to be barren, lifeless, dead.

This spring, this Easter, this day, I want to Remember.