The good Lord has me in the wringer these days.
It has begun to sink in that everything in our lives is about to change, that giving up the crazy patchwork life that we’ve been living—how many jobs can one man work?!—also means giving up a lot of things I love. Because a new job for Clint probably means moving.
Moving and I have a history. Like that one period of 18 months in college when I moved seven times.
Last week this reality hit me hard, in my very body. My stomach gets that light, tumbly feeling like when I’ve jumped off of something high up and I’m falling. My throat constricts with grief: If we move out of the Lower Mainland of BC, how will I make it without my friends? Without this apartment we call home? Without all the community resources in our neighborhood? Without Avalon whipping cream? (Trivial but crucial for someone with allergy)
But seriously: we don’t have any idea what our future will look like beyond August. Like none. We have wishes and dreams and that's it. Where will we live? What will our lives look like? How will we make ends meet? Will we all be able to be together while we file the right papers with the right immigration authorities and wait interminable waits? (ok, now I hope I’m being irrational) How will I keep the girls safe and happy and fed on time? What will we take with us and what will we leave behind?
Can you feel it with me? Those tummy-butterflies?
When I was younger I lived on this uncertainty. This is the life I chose for myself: international travel, perpetual schooling, bustling cities, risk-taking ministry, small apartments, smaller income. There is an exhilaration to taking a jump, packing a vehicle with everything you own and heading off for the unknown. But now that I’m in my thirties with children to be responsible for, I’m getting tired. I’m feeling so homesick for the lovely people and comfortable places I’ve left behind. (It’s possible that the thirties are just exhausting no matter what… but my case still stands.)
I pray every day. Hard. But I still feel ALL THE THINGS. Anxiety. Worry. Anger. Sadness. Grief. And hope. (Is hope an emotion? I think so. And something more.)
A week ago on Pentecost, I felt the weight of all this and I found a little prayer:
Send your Holy Spirit upon us and clothe us with power from on high. Alleluia.
It reminded me (again) to trust in the power of God that I really do believe in.* Not just, like, a little bit, but at the core of my being I believe in this power. And I believe it’s our only way forward.
Will you pray with me?
*Do you remember my first post on Trust in January? And this one in February? I'm not sure if I could have said this back then. I think this gut feeling is progress. I wouldn't be surprised if it was the discipline I discovered back in March. Or how God came through for us in April. But I'll gratefully accept.