It’s slated for the beginning of March.
That move that will take us closer to where our hearts are and his work is and my garage is starting to accumulate with boxes to fill.
Back in the summer, in the sweltering heat, my passion was ignited and waiting for the move felt eternally long…
but now that it’s almost here?
There is a young woman, with beautiful eyes and a sweet spirit and every once in a while, across from those tables in the kitchen she’ll ask me, Are you scared?
And for months I could look her in the eyes and truthfully say no.
But now, if He continues to open these doors over the next five weeks?
Yes, Yaz…I am feeling fear.
Proximity to something always seems to magnify it – the closer we get to the month of March, the reality of the area we are moving to seems a bit more obvious and we begin to count the cost and as I look at the lives of my children and husband, this decision feels weighty.
And it should.
Going against the pull of comfort always causes discomfort and when bullets and drugs and gangs will be the new reality, your eyes begin to see life a little differently.
Death has been a theme lately.
Not in a morbid sort of sense, no…though, I have wondered. Though I really have sat down in the middle of those moments and held them…because there is a cost to be counted when we say yes to the Lord.
I was driving home from somewhere last week, wrestling through the reality of the messes made and the brokenness of now and holding the thoughts of my own part and parcel of it all and wondering how it can all fit together…how Jesus could work all of my mistakes out for good.
Because when Jesus calls out our name – when He says, Come, follow Me; When He comes near and speaks into a trembling soul, Whoever saves his life will lose it, but whoever loses his life for My sake will find it, do we truly understand what that means?
Have we really counted the cost?
There is a man here who has loved us like a father and this past Christmas placed a book in my hands that he knew I had wanted.
I crack open the pages through this month that has felt like a wrestling of Jacob’s – all done in the dark and as though morning will never come.
It’s these words that I read, when He lets His peace wash over me, gives me a day to breathe, and I feel the truth of them deeply,
It’s kind of lengthy, but please, bear with me,
I believe that God is doing something – and this thing He is doing requires a death of sorts. My hands tremble in time with the quaking of my soul as I type that out.
Take up your cross and Follow Me – His voice calls out from pages of my bible and I know that what He asks is necessary but sometimes, I just need to still under the weight of it to count out what it will mean.
In the middle of my fears, in the middle of that moment of now and the one where I will pick up one foot to set down in the footprints marked out by my Savior, my eyes fall to my wrist.
I don’t know why the word for this year has felt the way it does – why I have felt the desperate need to have it wrapped around me – a still anchor of sorts for the uncertain days ahead.
I don’t know why, and that scares me.
But Jesus – the Son of the Living God Who bled out on the road to Golgotha and gave up His last breath on that tree so that I could be found in Him alive and free – He remains steadfast. His love holds firm and faithful.
He doesn’t give a map, He only gives a command spoken with love from a Heart that intimately knows that of what He asks,
Pick it up, child. That cross that feels so heavy and unwieldy that I have asked you to carry and die to yourself. Yes – it will be painful. But My yoke is easy…My burden is light. You won’t do this alone.
My Arms are carrying you the whole way.