12 January 2013

Surreal moments with my children, my chickens, and a warm winter day.

I had a surreal moment yesterday.  It was a simple moment.  We were leaving our local grocer after stopping by for a few items needed for dinner preparation.  The girls had climbed into the car.  Brad had walked over from his office and met us there.  I placed grocery bags in the car and leaned up.  As I did I took a breath.  That’s it.  A breath.  Suddenly I moved back in time.  Two years ago, we stepped out of full-time vocational ministry - the life we had been living for ten years; the life I thought we would live for at least fifty more.  My heart was broken.  My children were fearful.  But then we took several months to just sit.  To be together, to listen to the words of God and to drink coffee on the back porch of the house that was given to us. We drank and prayed and cried.  It was the most beautiful time.  Time was slow – our oldest homeschooled for a bit and my baby was still small{ish}.  God provided jobs for us and we worked – but had much time to process and pray.  I began to heal emotionally. 

That was February 2011.  This week has been an unusually warm week.  As I stood up yesterday the air took me back.  That winter had been warm.  The air was the same.  The buildings that have become part of my normal routine were fresh again.  I remember running into this little grocer and seeing it all with new eyes.  No longer was I in a city driving back and forth with crowded streets fighting for a parking spot at a mega store.  No, our little town has one small grocer.  His family works hard to stay open.  We try to help in that area.  But it doesn’t have the selection of a mega store, so we have learned to adapt.  After all, sometimes less options are more when you know the lives being supported behind the scenes.

Two years have passed.  We now live here – have bought a home here.  Currently I hear my rooster, Elvis, crowing on my front porch.  He has been a bit ill and I have been nursing him back to health.  His crow-timing is off.  It cracks me up that we have a rooster living in the front yard and sleeping in the guest bathroom.  He is a beautiful white silky rooster – and it broke my heart to find him twisted, head backward one morning.  Apparently silkies are susceptible to a type of vitamin deficiency.  We must have caught it quickly because he is slowly recovering.  But now he crows at odd times.  Hopefully soon he can move back to the barn.

The past ten years were delightful and hard.  There were times of heartbreak and times of absolute JOY.  I choose to keep the joy.  To keep the hearts of those close with whom we walked beside.  There are many friends, many coworkers, many hearts whom I miss and love. 

The past two years have taught me much.  We made the right decision.  We all needed healing.  My children needed more time with their family.  We needed to listen to God – and He was gracious.  He has given us time together, provision for our family, some new dreams, and the continuance of some old dreams.

More than anything, he is still teaching me that a vocation is not my calling.  My calling, my direction for my life, is a daily step of obedience.  Today I am a mother.  My daughter has a school project and I have the joy of working on it with her!  She feels overwhelmed by it – but I can walk through it with her.  Showing her that together we can climb mountains – overcome high stone walls – seek new adventures.  Together our family can run and meet each overwhelming moment.  It doesn’t matter if it’s my moment or one of the girls’. 

In this I see the heart of God.  When I come to him, like a child, overwhelmed by the project, the decision, or the heart break that I’m feeling, His heart is to take my hand and say ‘Together, we face this’.  Never alone.  Just as I wouldn’t make my daughter face her fears alone, his heart won’t allow me to face mine alone. 

Weeping may last for the night, But a shout of joy comes in the morning.” (Psalm 30:5)

I think that part of the idea behind this iconic verse is that the lies of night spin a web of emptiness – alone and afraid.  Surrounded by no one in a fast void of nothingness – until the light brings forth reality and truth.  That we are only alone in our own decision to be!  That’s never reality.  HE is there.  He is waiting – to be called upon. 

I choose to call.

I choose to not walk alone.

I choose to remember my past and rejoice in my future.

I choose life.