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.