I live in a reality where I’m honestly a pretty lame stay at home mom and I live a very mundane life. My breath stinks. My floor is dirty. I’m fairly uneducated. This is a snapshot of me and my life.
On paper it looks cooler than that. It looks like I’m this free-spirited, world-traveling hippie who’s hopelessly infatuated with her husband and a patient/funny mom. It looks like I’m about 20 lbs thinner and have a faith that can move mountains and that I’m a “real” writer. But reality is less shiny, less interesting.
In blog form our life may look slightly impressive. Selling everything we own and driving across the continent? If I were reading that about someone I would think, “Wow. That is freaking awesome.” But in real life? It doesn’t feel that way. It just feels like, “Meh. That’s, ya know, just what we did. Whatever.”
I meet new people and they want to know all about me, they ask me question after question, and even though I purposefully try to downplay it, it still comes across sounding “cool”. “Wow, your life is so interesting”, people say to me all the time. And I laugh and smile and look at the floor insisting, “Really, it’s not”.
Until this year. This year, no matter how much I try to pretend like it’s no big deal, life has been amazing. Leaving Church, starting house church, selling everything we own, driving from Georgia to Western Canada, God providing for us a million times over, returning to Church. It’s kind of a lot to take in, honestly.
So I’ve been mostly blocking it out. Because if I look this year square in the face and focus on it, I want to freak out a little. I want to cry and lift my hands to God in praise. I want to believe and not doubt and trust. It seems insane that I’m not already doing that, but it’s true.
Half of the reason that I rarely sing in church is because if I dare open my mouth I’ll start crying. I might actually start bawling. And I’m holding it together just enough to want to avoid that.
It’s the strangest thing, having God break you with kindness. I’m more used to the other kind of faith – the one that comes through brokenness and surrender. But it’s like God has switched gears on me. He’s spent this last half year heaping so many gifts on my shoulders that the sheer weight of them is bringing me to my knees.
And with each new miracle, each new basket of loaves and fishes at our door, my knees weaken and I come closer to that holy break down I’ve been resisting. I look to the future and I realize I don’t have a choice, I have to surrender, to jump head first into faith and trust. Because God is the only one who can fill in the very big gaps that riddle our path right now.
It’s so easy to give into that little Israelite on your shoulder who’s forgotten how much God has already done, how far he’s already brought you.
Because, dammit, this desert is empty. Except, ya know, when it isn’t. When every morning you wake up and the ground is littered with provision. Except for those times. But what about tomorrow?
I don’t know. I guess I’ll just have to wait and see.