I'm not re-posting it here to pick on those who shared it or "Liked" it. In fact, there are many times and many reasons to believe that God has wonderful gifts in store for His children.
Jeremiah 29:11 "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans for welfare and not for evil, to give a hope and a future."
Matthew 7:11 "If you then being evil give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father who is in heaven give what is good to those who ask Him!"
Psalm 65:9-13 "You visit the earth and cause it to overflow; You greatly enrich it; The stream of God is full of water; You prepare their grain, for thus You prepare the earth. You water its furrows abundantly, You settle its ridges, You soften it with showers, You bless its growth. You have crowned the year with Your bounty, And Your paths drip with fatness."
We go confidently to our tender Father with our needs and requests, and He very often blesses us abundantly. But what I want to comment on is my initial reaction to this picture, and the spiritual danger I think is lurking just around the corner from this kind of thinking. I'm processing "out loud" here, because this hit me very directly in my current, transient, context. This struck a chord, as you will soon find out, because it is precisely what the Lord has been teaching me during these painfully emotional, and searingly intimate, few weeks alone with Himself.
My honest, gut-level reaction to this at first was, "Oh, God had me give up my house/church family/job so that He could give me even better. I wonder what our next house will be like! I bet it will be awesome! Yay!!" Major silent partying and recalling of the above proof-texts ensued.
Is this kind of optimism sinful? Nah. Again, Scripture is replete with descriptions of God as good, generous, and abundantly giving. But I realized almost as soon as the thoughts crossed my mind that I was toeing the line of presumption with God's faithfulness. Does the promise that He has plans to prosper me really mean that my next house will have four bedrooms with walk-in closets, central air, granite countertops, and maybe even a laundry chute? Or is it possible that His will for me is that I learn the discipline of opening my hands to surrender what I hold precious, whether He has a bigger teddy bear to give me or simply His own strong hand to slip into mine. I rather think it's the latter.
Am I frequently tempted to worry about what our next house will be like, and when we might be able to move into it? A resounding yes to that one. I doubt I should console myself with the thought that our next house will probably be a Victorian mansion with a wraparound porch. What if it isn't? Is God any less faithful? Is He any less good? What if He took my teddy bear in order to teach me reliance on Himself? Perhaps, instead of illustrating Psalm 65, He is rather showing me Philippians 4:11-13: "Not that I am speaking of being in need, for I have learned in whatever situation I am to be content. I know how to be brought low, and I know how to abound. In any and every circumstance, I have learned the secret of facing plenty and hunger, abundance and need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me."
Do I feel reluctant to dive into relationships with new friends in our new church? The pain of leaving dear friends behind is still fresh. And here I seriously don't think the analogy holds up - the people in New Jersey are neither bigger nor fluffier (nor more friendly, nor better cooks, nor more like us, etc.) than those we left behind in Lancaster County. I have to believe that the process of surrender of these relationships, and my church home, has far more to do with learning to trust and abide in Christ while it is just Him and me, here in the in-between.
Is it a huge adjustment to give up being a Licensed Clinical Psychologist? Was it a swallowing of pride to pack my big, gorgeous doctoral degree in its fancy, professional frame into a box with all my curtains? Absolutely no doubt there. Am I giving up that calling for one that is far more glamorous and with a higher earning potential? Well...that part, not so much. Filling out paperwork at my new midwives' office a few weeks ago was pretty humbling as, for the first time, I wrote "mom" on the Occupation line instead of "Psychologist". That's another blog post for another day, and many far more qualified SAHMs have written on the subject already, but what I'm saying is that I didn't let go of my career in order to gain something immediately or obviously bigger and better. I just became a homemaker without a home, for crying out loud.
No, giving up these things was a sacrifice. As in, it has sucked. My heart has been completely broken, and I have felt utterly rent from all that I loved. (Drama much? PREGNANT.) Sometimes I focus far too much on the painful parts of the sacrifice and feel just a bit like a martyr. And as I have spent appropriate time grieving that which has been surrendered, I have felt lonely, out of place, mentally disjointed. I've also felt, acutely, my spiritual vulnerability - how Satan delights in using our emotional weakness as a foothold to ensnare us in old, besetting sins! The Lord gently, but firmly, used this time to lift my eyes (barely) to Himself; to illustrate in living color my need to seek comfort from Him rather than in myself and familiar sins (it might stink, but it's warm and it's mine, as the saying goes).
Going into this move, Joel and I fully believed that this was the Lord's will for our family. We still do. In my more rational moments, I acknowledge the great blessing that is living so close to (actually, with) family as we welcome our third child. His new job provides for me to stay home with our children, a decision we reached before knowing how He would provide. In so many ways, our current circumstance is an utter blessing. So to stretch the metaphor, we live these days with one hand on the bigger teddy bear, wondering what it's really like.
But the journey has been far more soul-baring than I ever anticipated. The past two weeks have been a mirror revealing my sinful heart, and a window into the unplumbable depths of God's grace. I wish I could convey to you in words how tender He has been with me even while I have suffered through grieving and adjusting. I'm still not there 100%. But I can testify that He did not call me to surrender my old life for the purpose of (immediately, anyway) replacing it with bigger and more dazzling blessings. No, I am persuaded that He opened my clenched fist to release what I loved, in order that I might grow to love Him more. He emptied my heart to fill it with Himself, in a way that would never have been possible while enjoying creature comforts and, you know, control over my life. And this is far more precious than whatever He has in store for us six months down the road, guaranteed.
So friends, I guess my point to all this is that when the Lord calls you to great sacrifice, or great loss, or great suffering, don't fall prey to the theology that paints God as a cosmic genie and one who seeks to bless you in solely human terms. You will come away sorely disillusioned. Sometimes He blesses us in ways that are easy for our eyes to see. But at other times, the blessing is in the pain that drives us to greater intimacy with our heavenly Father, whose greatest desire is to fill us, not only or always with milk and honey, but with Himself.
This is probably not anything new or particularly illuminating for all of you who have surpassed me already in Christlikeness (I can be a little slow), but for me it's transformational. And in some ways, the cartoon above is accurate, if you look at the bigger teddy bear as simply, generically, "what I know is better for you", not necessarily something that will look more appealing in the moment. I can be ornery toward Facebook-promulgated "Christian" things, but I try not to be unduly so. What is right on the mark is Jesus' gentle urging to just trust God's provision.
To my old life: I still miss you. I will always miss you. Lancaster County might be my geographical and cultural soulmate. See: Achenbach's pastries, whoopie pies, canning applesauce.
But in the words of a hymn that has grown sweeter to my heart of late:
"I do not ask to see the way my feet would have to tread,
But only that my soul would feed upon the living Bread.
Tis better far that I should walk by faith close to His side;
I may not know the way I go, but oh I know my guide.
And if my feet would go stray, they cannot, for I know
That Jesus guides my falt'ring steps as joyfully I go.
And though I may not see His face, my faith is strong and clear,
That in each hour of sore distress my Savior will be near.
I will not fear, though darkness come abroad o'er all the land,
If I may only feel the touch of His own loving hand.
And though I tremble when I think how weak I am, and frail,
My soul is satisfied to know His love can never fail."
["His Love Can Never Fail," E.S. Hall]
My prayer today is that the Lord would be made greater in my weakness, and that I would not grumble too loudly for Him to be heard. And that I would always be willing to give up my teddy bear to draw nearer to my Savior. Soli deo gloria!
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