Don't map out your life in pen.

About three months ago, my husband and I sat across from each other on stiff, red diner booths, sharing a milkshake and jotting down our thoughts in a spiral notebook.

At the top of the page in capital letters he wrote "Nashville" in pencil. The second half of the page read "Portland". 

You see, for the past two years, we've been trying to get out of California. We love our life here and the community God has cultivated, but we feel ready to leave. More importantly, we feel drawn to the south. Closer to Matt's family, back in his element, we want to set down roots and begin a new life. God has graciously allotted me love and passion for a part of the country I had never been to until three years ago. Although I can already see parts of the culture that will challenge  me greatly, my heart warms when I think about it. When I hear a southern accent or when I flip through pictures of our visits there. 

After spending a few months in the south this summer, traveling to various cities and exploring our options, we fell in love with Nashville. Only an hour from where Matt grew up, it offers a safe distance from his hometown with the familiarity of his roots. As a popular city with quickly disappearing real estate and a coffee shop on every corner, it's like a little slice of the northwest nestled in the south. (My heart jumped a little when I spotted three different type of recycling canisters clustered on the street once.) 

We had a GREAT visit there, met friends of friends, visited a healthy church and ate the best cheese dip I've ever had. 

So now, we sat infront of our pros and cons list sorting out what would stop us from moving there. Portland made it on the list out of convenience. Matt and I could slip away from the high cost of living in California, be near my family and land in a healthy church instantly. After a really hard year, depleted savings and months of visiting churches around here, that sounded appealing. But in the big picture, we both desired to be in the south. Portland would be a nice detour to recoup from the past year or so, but we were confident God could take care of us and provide for us in Nashville too. Enter: the pros and cons list.

By the time our basket of fries were empty, we were excitedly talking about job hunting in Nashville and moving there by 2014. We stayed up late that night, hovering over Matt's laptop, looking up rentals and real estate in Tennessee.

The next morning, I found out I was pregnant. 

Before I shared the news with Matt later that night, thoughts flew across my brain for hours. I believe God's timing is perfect, didn't I? Would Matt? Would he resent this pregnancy if it prevented our newly mapped out life? Would I? 

By the time I sat him on the edge of our bed and told him he was going to be a dad, I was confident, excited and the only thing I was afraid of was miscarrying. Keeping in mind that I just had a whole day to process the news, I smiled and embraced Matt's reaction. Excitement. Joy. But then, "what about Nashville?"

Now, three months since that night, I'm just about to enter the second half of this pregnancy. Unable to afford the cost of living in California without me working full time, we are looking at options in Portland and in Nashville, with trusting and eager hearts (and sweaty palms) that God has a plan for us. This pregnancy, not planned, yet not prevented, is still in the scope of God's plan for us. He's consistently shown me that his ways are above my ways and his timing is perfect. 

I never imagined that we would be starting our family while we were in transition, without a church community, renting a room from friends and after one of the most wearing seasons of my life. Not to mention, two years into our marriage.

On hard days, I remind myself that his power is made perfect in my weakness. Almost every day, I try not to miss what a gift this is. It doesn't escape me what a sensitive topic fertility is and I'm trying not to take for granted how blessed I am to experience it so easily. 

"I pray that whatever you do with our family, we will trust you and depend on you fully. You are such a great and dependable God! Especially in the unknown." I wrote down that pray in my journal ten minutes before taking a pregnancy test. I'm so grateful for a God who doesn't waver in his dependability, who isn't affected by circumstances and who already knows the ending to this story. 

I can't even believe how much love he's given me for this baby already. I also can't believe he thinks I can handle this! I anticipate that God will steer us in the right direction and I'm writing this post for my eyes to skim over on the days I drift towards doubt.

Read your own psalms too.

I went through a period of time when I didn't think the Bible was true. Not the stories of talking donkeys, virgin births or parting seas, but the promises from God. I was confused by verses promising that God would keep me safe, knowing that I could be physically harmed by one wrong move on the highway. I'd read verses like "he will rescue you from every trap, and protect you from deadly disease" in the book of Psalms and wonder why people, children, were still dying and suffering from AIDS. It was confusing.

A lot of the psalms I'm referring to were written by David. When l looked more into David's life and knew his story, his words made sense. God relentlessly protected him from harm, one time after another. He made David incredibly successful in battle and kept him safe while Saul hunted after his life. These praises to God are David's and to him, they are true. And although I haven't experienced God's presence the way that David has, there's still a lot about God that I can agree on. When I read verses like "You thrill me Lord, with all you have done for me! I sing for joy because of what you have done!" (92:4) I can shout and worship alongside him, because I too find delight in what God has done for me. 

A few years ago, my friend Katie suggested that I write my own psalms to God. It was the middle of the summer and we were both working at camp, exhausted and spread thin. I had shared with her that I didn't want to forget what God was doing there, day in and day out, out of busyness or laziness. I wanted to look back and rejoice at the work he was doing around me and through me that summer. The next morning, I took her advice and wrote out a psalm. The first one was choppy, I wasn't sure if it should be poetic or not. I didn't know what words to use. But I kept writing them. Now, writing psalms are a regular part of my worship to God. My pen flows freely on the paper, praising God for everything from weather to healed cancer. Or simply, for his character. For his love.

If someone else read my psalms, they might not find them true. Maybe they have a family member who wasn't healed from cancer, but died. Maybe they have never experienced God's love through a spouse, because they're single. Or maybe, they'd relate to how much I just simply love God's word. Praising God shouldn't be about us, it should be about him. Still, it can be hard when you don't relate. 

Of course I'm not suggesting that we skip over the book of Psalms or disregard David's praises. They're important, they're beautiful and they're in the Bible. But what I've learned is not to compare God's presence. It's confusing, it leaves you struggling with contentment and takes away your joy. And it makes worship about you. 

My friend Bethany and I always joke that she is openly favored by God. For a while, I actually struggled with it and wondered why things seemed so easy for her. She'd walk into jobs or perfect ministry opportunities constantly. Before she would even have time to panic about a problem, God would get her out of it. One time she ripped her only pair of jeans and out of no where someone her exact pant size gave her a garbage bag stuffed with clothes because she was "cleaning out her closet". It was ridiculous! One morning, over steaming mugs of coffee on the couch, we talked about it. I shared with her that God's presence in her life encouraged me, but it was hard for me sometimes too. She threw her head back and laughed. Pointing her coffee at me, she admitted to thinking the same thing about my life. After that, I committed to stop comparing my life to hers. Now, I tearfully rejoice alongside her when God shows up in her life. Because I'm happy for her and because when God is good to Bethany, God is good to me. He doesn't need to be answering my wishlist to be deserving of my worship.

God hates it when we compare ourselves to one another. When we complain about what we don't have instead of thank him for what we do have. Just because I don't relate to David's stories in the Bible doesn't mean I can't praise God for what he's done. But I think it's important to record God's presence in your life too. I'm convinced that if you started recording God's greatness, in your life or someone else's, you wouldn't be able to stop.

Performing

"As Jesus and the disciples continued on their way to Jerusalem, they came to a certain village where a woman named Martha welcomed him into her home. Her sister, Mary, sat at the Lord’s feet, listening to what he taught. But Martha was distracted by the big dinner she was preparing. She came to Jesus and said, 'Lord, doesn’t it seem unfair to you that my sister just sits here while I do all the work? Tell her to come and help me.'

But the Lord said to her, 'My dear Martha, you are worried and upset over all these details! There is only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it, and it will not be taken away from her.' " Luke 10:38-42

This story has always been hard for me. Sometimes I even roll my eyes when it makes it's way into a sermon or a women's devotional (it often does). To me, it can seem like a judgement on people who focus on logistics and an excuse for type B people like myself to over-look them. I wonder how I would feel if I were Martha. Trying to serve and impress Jesus, like I so often do, only to be unnoticed and reprimanded. Compared. Nothing is worse than a woman being compared to another woman in the room.

But I know, like I always know, that Jesus is right. He's never wrong and I believe that in the deep part of my heart. The part of my heart that while trusting God's word is true, questions and sifts through it. Like sand in my hand, I pour it back and forth, weighing it and examining every part. I've sat in many Bible studies or read blogs about this story in Luke and the lesson is a good one and usually the same one: Jesus doesn't want or need our performance, he wants our hearts and eyes on him. To sit at his feet and hear his words. 

I love the part where Martha asks him if he thinks her circumstances are unfair. Nothing about being with Jesus is fair. Yet I still point my finger at someone else's life and like a child, exclaim that something's not fair. I noticed Jesus doesn't really address her question, he gently shows her that she's missing the point. That she's focusing on the wrong things. 

I get that. I need that. I struggle with that. There have been times when I wonder what everyone thought about the dessert I brought to Bible study instead of listening and participating in the conversation being held. Sometimes I leave a living room full of guests to get a jump start on the dishes. Often, I rehearse my prayer in my head before speaking it out loud in a group, missing three of the prayers before mine. I need a good ol' fashioned lesson on performance once in a while, just like the next person (if not more). 

But this morning I saw more in the story. 

"My dear Martha, you are worried and upset over all these details! There is only one thing worth being concerned about. Mary has discovered it, and it will not be taken away from her." 

When I zoom out and look at this story, I see what I always see: my anxiety. When God isn't ruling my life, fear is. I read what I always read: God telling me not to fear, but to trust his words. 

This quintessential story about sitting quietly at the feet of Jesus flares up my pride like oil on fire. Sometimes I don't want to sit quietly and humbly, in the position of a learner. I want Jesus to be impressed by my hospitality and work ethic, amazed that I'm filling my role in society so obediently. Such performance is rooted in my fear of approval, in my eagerness to please people over God. 

The radical, liberal and rebellious Jesus I know and love so much saw women during a time in history when they were unseen. Jesus calling a woman out of the kitchen to hear his teachings should excite me, shouldn't it? 

I wonder if this Scripture is hard for me because its a reminder of The Great Struggle in my life: to cling to the one reliable thing in this world, God's Word, and let go of everything else. To not rattle off my list of fears to him, but to listen. To "be still and know that he is God" instead of worrying about details. To believe him. 

I write about anxiety and fear a lot because I'm anxious and fearful a lot. I love God and believe the Holy Spirit hosts my soul, but I am often riddled with uncertainty. That's hard to reconcile, as a believer. If you read this blog, you'll see my attempts to poke holes in Scripture so I can make room for my sin. It never works. 

I don't like this story, because I'm Martha. I'm the one that tries to perform. I'm the one comparing myself, I'm the one oppressing myself. Jesus wants me liberated. Wants me free. He invites me into rest, to sit down and hear his sweet words. To leave the dishes for tomorrow. He reminds me that all of this life here, that I worry so much about, will be gone. He reminds me of the gift that lasts forever. His word. 

I hope, over time, I ask God less questions and believe him more. I hope that eventually I read this story and feel a little more like Mary. Maybe even more like Jesus; calling people out of their slavery and inviting them to hear God's words. 

Bragging about borrowed friends:

Marrying Matt after a few short months of long-distance dating was a pretty big (and apparently scandalous) risk among some of my friends and family. It's turned out pretty great and he is still exactly who I thought he was, give or take a few surprises (like Doctor Who figurines). One of the many blessings and surprises that have unfolded as we continue to get to know each other in our marriage is how many incredible friendships he has. I barely knew him when we got engaged, let alone his friends. It has been a supreme honor to inherit and marry into his relationships.

Two of these people are Jacob and Sarah Lewis. The Lewis family in general is pretty important to Matt. He and Jacob's brother, Josh, were living together when I met him and are incredibly close. I didn't actually meet Jacob until the day of my wedding, as he waved to me from behind his camera, but Matt raved about him and his wife, Sarah, whom I met the next day at a blurred post-wedding brunch. Months later, when Jacob gifted us an incredible wedding video, he and Sarah went from "Matt's friends" to "the reason I remember anything at all about our wedding day". But I still didn't know much about them and wondered if them seeing all my extended family and me under the stress of a wedding was going to compromise the chances. Also, they lived across the country.

I finally got the chance to spend some quality time with them earlier this spring when they came over for dinner. It doesn't escape me how hard it is to budget your time well when you're visiting a city you once called home. You have a prioritized list of places you want to revisit and people you want to catch up with. We got lucky and got to see them for a couple hours before they headed to the airport. We all stood around our kitchen as Matt and I fumbled to make a dinner that was a bit behind schedule and serve wine in foggy glasses while simultaneously catch up with them.

When I think back on that night, I can remember most of our conversations, most of their answers to my questions and every bite of the cheese danishes they left behind for us. But overall what sticks out to me is how genuine they are. They are doing more than sitting around a table talking about how the church needs to change or how Christians should really reflect Christ; they are changing their lives and sacrificing comfort to do those things. Matt and I get into these conversations a lot, partly because we're a bit critical and partly because a great desire of our heart is to serve and be the church. But rarely do I get into a conversation with someone who can follow up their "we think      " with a "so we are going to do      ". It's encouraging. It's convicting. It's great.

Much to my delight, Sarah has recently entered into the blogging world and writes here. The morning I read her post about their Fourth of July, I cried. It was empowering and heart-breaking and spilling out Jesus' love all over the page. You should read it. As a person with what some people call "a sense of justice", her story pulled on my heart. At best, this sense of justice fights alongside God for the defenseless. At worst, it results in me confronting someone who cut in line at Starbucks. When I read her post, I thought about how differently that night could have gone if they were feeling a bit more selfish. If they weren't thinking outside themselves. I also thought about how many times I've probably missed an opportunity like that in a moment of entitlement, laziness or distraction (of myself).

I'm so thankful for a woman like Sarah, who not only writes about living like Christ, but is making great efforts to do it.

A Nautical Story

"One day Jesus said to his disciples: 'Let's cross to the other side of the lake.' So they got into a boat and started out. As they sailed across, Jesus settled down for a nap. But soon a fierce storm came down on the lake. The boat was filling with water, and they were in real danger. The disciples went and woke him up, shouting, 'Master, master, we're going to drown!' When Jesus woke up, he rebuked the wind and the raging waves. Suddenly the storm stopped and all was calm. Then he asked them, 'where is your faith?' " Luke 8:22-25a

Usually when I read this story, I think to myself how nice it is that Jesus's very breath controls the storms. After experiencing some truly stormy weather in the south, I appreciate how great and powerful that is even more now. I love that reminder, I love this story and I don't get tired of reading it. But yesterday when I came across those familiar words, I set down my coffee and using both hands, lifted up my Bible close to my face. I read the words out loud, slowly. Questions started filling my mind. What? Why would he respond that way? Is he irritated that they asked for his help? Is he empowering us to stop our own storms? Doesn't he always want us to come to him when we're afraid? When the waters rising and the storm is raging? Do not people drown on boats? What are the disciples doubting, exactly?

It seems so normal, so human, to be afraid when death is approaching. When you're in danger. When the water's pouring in the boat. To cry out to him, "I'm drowning! Help me!" Doesn't David do this all throughout the psalms? Can't I do this too? His reaction to the disciples in this story makes me uncomfortable. It doesn't match up with what I've decided about Jesus. Because all too often, I go running to him in sheer panic, tears streaming down my face as I ask for his help. This story makes me wonder how many times a day, when anxiety overtakes me, he asks me where is your faith? And is, perhaps, disappointed or hurt by my doubt.

I usually feel pretty justified in my anxiety. Why shouldn't I? If it's not one thing around here, it's another. From cancer to terrorism, and everything in between, there's a lot to worry about. But obviously Jesus wasn't telling the disciples they weren't justified in their fears. He doesn't even mention that. And actually, Luke writes that the disciples were in real danger, as the sea filled their boat. 

He doesn't tell us "fear not" 365 times in the Bible because there's a lack of fearful things, he says it because we have an abundance of him. His peace, his plan, his provision. Most importantly, his presence. Anxiety is the ultimate faith-snatcher. It leaves you alone and overwhelmed, shutting out truth. So why then, does he seemingly scold them when they run to him? 

I thought about that story the rest of my day, wondering what he meant. Why he said that, if he was mad or not. I flipped through different versions of the Bible, reading the same verses, thinking maybe I'm just misunderstanding him. I asked Matt about it, trying to pick his Bible-educated brain to find my answer. I was eager to find an explanation for this passage. I didn't want to think that Jesus would be disappointed in me, in my fear, if I called for his help.

I thought about it again this morning as I cleaned up dishes from breakfast. That's my favorite place where we meet, God and me. My mind is cleared from distractions as I monotonously sud up bowls and plates while we talk. I get answers from him over the sink and it helps me not to grow bitter about how often I find myself there, slipping on rubber gloves. Sometimes I (poorly) sing hymns and sometimes I rant and rave to him. Either way, I experience his presence. 

While scrubbing baking pans and batter-covered mixing bowls, I got my answer from him. I repeated the passage to myself again, having it memorized by now. It looks a little different than most of the passages in the Bible about fear and anxiety, but it also looks exactly the same. He's telling us not to fear, but to take his peace and trust. He wants us to believe that he is taking care of us, that he has a plan and he loves us. As I dried the dishes, I thought back on a few times I'd run to him, panicked and afraid. I remembered the several times he's seated me next to fellow believers on flights while traveling alone, easing my anxiety about flying. I thought about how he seamlessly handled every detail as we packed up in a frantic attempt to be with family during a crisis. I remembered his physical presence the night my friend's lifeless body was found. Countless situations crossed my mind where I was overwhelmed with anxiety and God protected me. And comforted me. It occurred to me that although he pointed out the disciples doubt, he stopped the storm first. Of course I can come to him when I'm afraid, when has he ever abandoned me in my troubles? 

It's not okay to be afraid or to give myself over to anxiety so quickly in a moment of doubt. Yet not running to him with my anxieties is also a moment of doubt. But I have to expect that when I do, he'll hold my hand, look into my fear-stricken eyes and ask me why I'm not trusting him. Perhaps his question to the disciples wasn't an accusation, but a reminder. 

Not understanding exactly what's going on in this story doesn't change what is true about Jesus. I know his character and I know it never changes. He loves us, he's with us during the terrifying times and he wants us to have faith in him. Not faith that it will always turn out right or that we will always be perfectly safe, but faith that he is who he says he is and will do what he says he'll do. Faith to read Scripture that confuses me and still close my Bible and believe in him.

I might always struggle with anxiety. With idiolizing my safety. But in an attempt to be freed from it, I need to remind myself, as it creeps in, where is my faith? It's in him. Him. Whose voice commands the storms. Who's on the boat with us. Who brought us on the boat in the first place. Who conquered pain, suffering and death, the things we fear the very most. 

On truth-telling

People always tell me I'm a truth-teller. "Go ahead, Carly, tell me what you think", they say. They know I'll probably tell them something maybe the rest of their friends didn't, or won't. I often hear them say "I love that about you! You always tell me what I need to hear." But I've never really liked this about myself. It sometimes means people won't share with you (because they don't want to hear push back) and it sometimes means you lose friends. I remember the first time this went wrong. I was in 8th grade and all my friends had metaphorically pushed me to the front of a situation. "You tell her!" I did. It didn't go well and my friends scattered when I turned around for back up. This has more or less continued my entire life. I have been in countless situations where I'm elected (often self-elected) to speak truth. I look back and I can count up a few lost friendships, a few conversations gone wrong. Matt and I are currently standing in the wake that our truth-telling created in our latest ministry. When I think of times like that, I wish I could be the type of friend that just listens and loves you. The friend that nods along and offers to pray. I think of my friend Erica and how gentle and loving she is. I can pour out my problems and mistakes to her and she just bathes me in grace and compassion. She nods along. She often cries, even if I'm not. She'll offer to pray with me. She'll scold the offenders from my stories. She shows me so much grace. She's taught me so much about kindness. Sometimes I purposely call her up when I just want to be consoled.

I have some pretty great truth-tellers in my life too. Like my friend Kat. She's bold and honest, I love that about her. I seek after it, she does it so well. These days my very literal and fact-stating husband has slipped into her role, but often on my phone dates with Kat I still treat her like my truth-telling vending machine. I put in my quarter and ask her "tell me what you think about          ". It's a gift to have friends like that. To have people who are willing to look past your happiness and fight for your holiness. But it's hard to be a friend like that. Sometimes I fight it, trying to squirm away from the feeling in my chest that's prompting me to say something. I remember one time I told God if he had something to say to someone, to just tell them himself. (Don't do that.)

So this morning, as I started the book of Jeremiah I found great encouragement in his story. Jeremiah is called to reveal God's (brutal) message to Judah that judgement is coming. The first chapter spoke out to me.

"O Sovereign Lord," I said, "I can't speak for you! I'm too young!" The Lord replied, "Don't say, 'I'm too young', for you must go wherever I send you and say whatever I tell you. And don't be afraid the people, for I will be with you and will protect you." Jer. 1:6-7

I don't think that some people are truth-tellers and some people are not. I think that everyone who follows God in their life will be put in hard conversations that call for the truth to be told, in love and hopefully with lots of grace. But I can't help but notice that some people get put in those conversations more than others. God told Jeremiah that he set him apart, before he was even born, to be his messenger (1:5).

"Look, I have put my words in your mouth! Today I appoint you to stand up against nations and kingdoms. Some, you must uproot and tear down, destroy and overthrow. Others you must build up and plant." Jer. 1:8-9

I love that part. I've learned over the years that truth-telling doesn't just mean blurting out what no one else has the boldness to say. I need to be reminded, as Jeremiah reads, that truth-telling also means encouraging. Sometimes I think it always means reprimanding someone, or asking hard questions, but truth isn't always bad. Sometimes it means affirming someone in their gifting. Maybe it means encouraging someone after they did something hard. It can be just restating something they already know, but need to remember. "God loves you."

This means I can be a friend like Erica and still speak truth into someone's life. Actually, it means I should be like that if I want any space to speak into someone's life. I know, though, that no matter how gently and graciously I present hard truth to someone, it can still go wrong. I've experienced it. But in that moment, when my head hangs in devastation, I have to trust God. He knew exactly how the people were going to respond to Jeremiah's message to them, yet he still wanted them to hear it. It's part of his mercy. He gives us chances upon chances upon chances. He tugs on our sleeves, taps on our shoulders and whispers into our ears. I'm so thankful for the people in my life that are a part of that. Who forfeit comfort and risk our friendship to deliver God's message to me. I'm working on being thankful that God uses me to be a friend like that and I pray that I do it well, that I don't just uproot, but that I build up and plant.

Division

Last night, in the parking lot of Books-A-Million, I sat with my seat belt unbuckled, turned towards my husband as he unpacked some past family pain that pointed back towards some pretty recent church hurt we experienced. 

    When broken down, the bitterness Matt was sharing with me last night seemed understandable. A rift between family members out of protection from years of repeated mistakes and pain. When I think back on what we've experienced over the past few months, I feel justified in our choice to walk away from the church plant we were a part of. When my close friend explained to me yesterday why she has to fire someone in her ministry, I agreed with her. The Bible calls us to wisdom and sometimes, especially if abuse is involved, it is wise to walk away from something. To leave. It doesn't mean you don't think God can fix something. It doesn't mean you don't trust him or have hope in him. Maybe it just means you need to wait for him outside of the situation. But I hate this because I know that we aren't suppose to divide. We especially aren't suppose to divide from other believers. Even when we are suppose to. 

We shouldn't have left our church. But we absolutely had to. Matt shouldn't let family remain estranged, but it makes sense. My friend shouldn't give up on her coworker, but she needs to. 

Division isn't part of God's plan; but it is. Jesus tells us that his gospel will divide family members. And it does. I don't think division amongst believers is ever part of the plan, but it happens. As much conflict as the gospel brings, as much tension as it creates in our hearts, it also fills us with peace and equips us for reconcilation. It provides hope in hopeless situations. It redeems. 

I see the gospel of reconciliation in Joseph's story. At the end of Genesis, when famine threatens the lives of his brothers, they find themselves at the mercy of Joseph. Joseph has every right to turn away from them. The last time he saw them, they were plotting his death. But he doesn't. He should've. He could have, and we, as readers, as humans, would've understood. He doesn't choose revenge. He doesn't even choose division from them. He, instead, consoles them.

" 'Don't be afraid of me. Am I God, that I can punish you? You intended to harm me, but God intended it all for good...no, don't be afraid. I will continue to take care of you and your children.' So he reassured them by speaking kindly to them." 

Yes, revenge belongs to the Lord. Leaving their punishment up to God is heroic to me. My fiery desire for justice burns just reading the story.  But even more honorable, even more unlikely and even more Christ-like is that he comforts them when they're afraid of what he might do. They are afraid of him and he reassures them that not only is he choosing not to retaliate, but he's also choosing to take care of them. Grace on top of mercy. 

This story empowers me. 

I'm not suggesting that this means we need to vow to never walk away from someone or that anything other than how Joseph responded is wrong. I'm just marveling at the work of our God as he redeems their broken relationships.  I see his character in Joseph. I see his heart for forgiveness, I see his desire for redemption and I want more of his grace to give out when I read this story. It reminds me that he can heal anything. Sometimes it's okay to walk away from something  that's hurting you. Something that's broken or someone that's unsafe. It really is; God is not outside of that. But this morning, I'm encouraged as I remember that I'm under the care of the God in that story. We share a heart, him and I, and it's possible to respond the way that he would. The way that he did, with us. 

Emmanuel

I'm sitting in my living room, surrounded by boxes and bubble-wrapped belongings. Most of which smell like cinnamon, since all of our moving boxes were swiped from the Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf warehouse on the day their cinnamon tea shipment arrived.

I'm staring into the face of a 40 hour work week, almost all double shifts, packing and cleaning our house, all before we hand over the keys to our landlord and hop on a flight to Alabama. We're heading there for the summer to be with Matt's family and support them as we figure out how to fight for his aunt's life being held in the ruthless grip of cancer.

After momentarily kicking up our feet after work each night to scarf down dinner from the freezer section of Trader Joe's, we continue packing and loading up our storage unit. Wincing every time the phone rings and hoping it's not more bad news, we press on. The temptation to collapse in sobs in the fetal position tugs at me, but I can't. As the room metaphorically darkens and my mind wanders away from truth and panic starts to quicken my heart beat, I stop.

At this point, even if I wanted to, I don't think I could panic or meltdown. I mean, talk to me in three days after I've worked three 12 hour days in customer service...but right now, my heart is solid. My trust in God's character is strong. He has been more real to me in the past two weeks than ever before. His love. His care. His sovereignty. His control over our circumstances.

The week we got the news from Matt's family, we started talking loosely about going out there to be with them. His job, my jobs and our lease started a large list of reasons it wouldn't work for us to go. But like a winding line of dominoes, God started knocking things out one by one, paving our way to the south. Matt's bosses were incredibly compassionate and although not legally obligated, are allowing him to leave and switch to part time, working from home, giving us just enough to cover our bills and expenses while we're gone.

Our landlord was very understanding and let us out of our lease. She found people to move in just days after we leave, making a seamless transition in renters for her and saving us hundreds of dollars paying our last month of rent here. The new renters are regulars from the coffee shop I work at, making it easier to pass off my beloved garden in the season of blooming and our sweet, little home to them.

Both of my bosses were incredibly understanding when I gave them my notice, easing my nerves and calming my shaking hands. They both encouraged me a ton and both told me my jobs would be waiting for me when I got back, if I was interested.

Having all those big things knocked out of our way would have been enough to encourage us that we made the right choice, but he didn't stop there. He has continued to lavish us in his blessing and care since the moment we started packing. Our beloved Bethany's spontaneous trip to California became not-so-spontaneous when she arrived the same day we got news that Matt's aunt's condition was worsening, quickly. After wiping away our tears, we spent the evening with Beth, laughing over a huge pizza and mapping out our shortened plan to get out of here. Our plane tickets out there are completely covered since we're using vouchers we received from American Airlines. In January, on our flight out to Alabama, our plane made an emergency landing after there were problems with the landing gear. I was absolutely inconsolable and terrified as the pilot instructed us over the intercom, crying and preparing myself for what I assumed was a crash landing (nevermind that everyone else on the plane was rolling their eyes at my overreaction to what apparently wasn't that big of an emergency..). A small amount of trauma and fear is now being used as a huge blessing in the form of free plane tickets.

We put together a last minute garage sale on Saturday and in just a few hours, all of our unwanted items were gone and we had an envelope stuffed with cash.

Matt and I are clinging close to each other, careful to check in with the other person and take care of each other.

I could go on and on with a list of God's presence in our trials over the past few weeks. He has proved to me over and over again that he is with us. Emmanuel. Why do I ever doubt it?

Darkness

At the end of December, Matt and I decided to step away from the church plant we've invested in for the past year or so. We stepped into 2013 tired and sore from the year before, but hopeful. After only a few pages of the calendar have fallen to the floor, we have endured more pain and trials. Returned cancer. Division. Family pain. An unmet family member, lost.

Through it all, God has been slathering us with his grace. I've been devouring the psalms, basking in their light and savoring their truth. Lately, there have been so many gentle reminders of his presence, his care and his love for us. This sermon has been an important part of my healing. Hearing it from the back of someone else's church, sitting in a chair I didn't help set up, drinking coffee I didn't help make, the words poured over my heart. Simple and important truths coming from a man's mouth who has endured incredible pain and severe loss, greater in measure than mine. Whose heart shouldn't be able to see things so clearly. Who is obviously hosting the Holy Spirit.

I resonate greatly with the psalmist who writes "your word is a lamp to guide my feet and a light for my path". I don't find myself in a well-lit room. I feel as though I'm carefully stepping through a dark forest. Overgrown grass and fallen branches make it impossible to find a trail. But I have a lantern. It doesn't illuminate the entire forest, it sheds only enough light for the few steps in front of me. I lift it to eye level, waving it slowly from left to right to try to see ahead at what's next in my journey, but I can only see what's directly in front of me.

It's the perfect picture of God's presence and his word; a handheld lamp, giving us enough light for one step at a time but never leaving us alone in the darkness.