So let the sunshine in! Face it with a grin!

Today as I drove through town in the beautiful sunshine, I was wishing I could just have an infinitesimal glimpse and understanding of God's plan for our family so perhaps it wouldn't be so darn hard to be still. All this wishing reminded me, though, that my job is to trust and have faith. Isn't that what faith is? The assurance of things hoped for and the conviction of things unseen? And I'm not talking about some wishy-washy hope of a prize, a present, or a fleeting trinket. Our assurance that Jesus is ours is my treasure, but a home to take care of my children is my current fleshly hope. Maybe it's the sunshine brightening my outlook and perspective today, maybe it's the countless hours I've thought, prayed, fret, and talked our friends' poor ears off about this, but I KNOW without a doubt we will be taken care of.
          The plan currently is to park my parents' camper at my in laws' property and have the boys sleep in a room in their house while Luke, the girls, and I sleep in the camper. Until we find a house and are ready to buy, that will be home, unless a miracle happens and a house metaphorically falls into our laps. Although this prospect of living in a camper/inlaws' house is hard to swallow, I know it will provide healthy perspective:


-We'll be forced to live minimalistic lives since all of our belongings will more than likely be in storage for the next few months.

-We'll be blessed with an opportunity to facilitate a stronger relationship with family since they'll have to put up with us for a while (which I'm really excited about, since I truly love my inlaws!!).

-We'll have plenty of opportunity for talks with the kids since I will continue to drive them to and from their school because taking them out and forcing them to go to a new school for the last two months of the year would be salt on an already open wound. Their lives are being upheaved so severely as it is, we want them to have some sense of normalcy and familiarity.

-I will have lots of opportunities to build better relationships with local friends since I won't want to be making two full trips daily to and from Silverton.

-We won't have the pressure of having a clock count down until we HAVE to be out as is the situation currently.

-We'll have some time being closer to old friends and family that we haven't lived near for the last two years.

-We'll still be able to attend the church we've been so blessed to call home since it will still only be a 30-35 minute drive away.

-We'll continue to grow in faith by trusting that the RIGHT house for us is out there and we will be led to it at the RIGHT time.

    God is good. He is worthy to be praised. Our life is to be led for His glory, whether it means living in a house, in a camper, in community, in a hut, or wherever else He calls us. This seemingly trying time is not persecution, not oppression, not destitution. We've never had to suffer through anything of that magnitude. This is an opportunity for growth, to strengthen our faith, and to testify to God's goodness.

...Now if only those little girls would help pack as opposed to the squealing chaos that normally happens when I pack! ;)

Sifted, picked clean, refined.

    This process of preparing to leave our home and trying unsuccessfully so far to find a new one has been...refining. That has definitely been the underlying current, sometimes subtle and sometimes not so subtle. As a family, we are being refined. As a couple, Luke and I are being refined. And as an individual, I am being stripped bare of any and all non-essentials, character flaws, and weakening elements through a fire burning so hot that I lose myself in it at times. We are being whittled, pressed, and refined. More than once I have been presented with the charge of letting go of the things I cling to in my desperation to hold onto what I think is important and in turn it has become my idol in a way. I have been on my knees in prayer, begging God to lead us to our new house, gasping for air at times between sobs and clinging to the idea that we HAVE to have a house in order to survive. Our family, our lives, our faith has depended on it so severely that I have lost sight of the only true thing in all of this: a house is not my salvation. A house is not my children's salvation. A house is not my husband's salvation or my marriage's salvation. A house cannot save us. Only Christ can save us. Only our Immanuel can redeem us. Only He is the truth that I need. He hasn't forsaken us, He hasn't left us without a shelter over our head, even when that shelter will most likely look like a camper parked at my inlaws house. He hasn't left us without food or clothing or beds. How blessed are we as a family that we will be together? He is the only thing that matters in all of this. I know I lost sight of that in my panic to be in the only place that seemed suitable in my mind. How blind I've been to think that four walls and a roof is our only relief or hope. No, our true relief, our true hope is in three nail scars, a pierced brow, and an empty tomb. I believe, Lord. Help my unbelief.

It's a musical life

     This journey is truly one of twists and turns, blind corners, surprise bumps, and more than a few hurdles. It has been a whirlwind of emotions with often times the experience of multiple emotions all at once. It sometimes feels like our heads are going to explode, turn inside out, and implode all at once; our hearts, too. With this twisting, churning, wrenching fog of uncertainties, though, there is always a beautiful song of peace singing. Sometimes it's a quiet, sweet note in the background, sometimes it's a loud, exuberant chorus at the forefront, sometimes it's a low, soothing lullaby calming ragged nerves in the storm, but it's always playing. A pure, holy melody of promise, hope, and peace that echoes, resonates, even times drowning out the fear that threatens to overwhelm our thoughts and tries to take control of our day. It sings to us in our sleep and in our awake hours. It calls to us when we feel lost or hopeless at times, bringing us back to the Composer's arms. It dissolves dungeon walls of anger, bitterness, feelings of injustice and despair, like the trumpets of the Israelites in Jericho. It whispers against our cheeks and hair like a mother's kiss, bringing sweet perfume of alabaster and tears. It binds the two flesh into one, calling on that Union to represent, serve, and carry on. It beats with the drums of a marching song, a battle cadence to do war and fight for truth. This great Song has been the soundtrack to our lives, but lately it has been the musical river that has swept us along God's mighty plan and kept us afloat while we wait for our home. I sometimes forget to listen, but as of late I'm learning to sing along.