When we lived in
Redding, California I experienced a deep sense of belonging. I
wondered how I’d ever live apart from that experience. It wasn’t
just Bethel Church, or the friends I had made, or our backyard that grew
fragrant with seasonal rose bushes. I developed this imaginary notion
that Mount Shasta was mine. I searched for her every day, no matter
where I was in town. Her snow-capped peak captivated me, and when I’d
see her a feeling would swell up within my heart- I had a place to call home.
I remember telling God
that I couldn’t leave Redding…but over time, my spirit begin to
entertain transition. I’d think, “No, that’s not God’s plan.”
I even painted a prophetic picture and hung it in my house. I titled
it, “Prayer to stay in California” (of course).
I’ll never forget
when I felt the shift. I was doing the dishes, of all things, and
God’s voice penetrated my spirit.
“You’re leaving
Redding.”
Such peace accompanied
his voice that I kind of stood there with a wet sponge in my hand and
accepted it without a fight. I knew that if God was asking us to
leave, He’d only lead us somewhere better.
The hunt was on and I
was excited.
I had spent years
feasting on Revival history. Like my bizarre connection with Shasta,
the idea of Revival happening in my lifetime felt like it was part of
me. I took notes and listened to sermons. I’d pay any price. I
could go into the backyard, sit among the roses, and hear God’s
voice like a friend. I had dreams that I’d raise the dead and I
believed it. I was destined for an extraordinary life!
So we moved to Texas.
It was miraculous how
God gave the word and confirmed it. We were meant to move here, to
form some of the most beautiful relationships we’ve had in our
lifetime. However, Kerrville, Texas has truly been our wilderness.
Two weeks after we
arrived, Paul did not get the job we moved here expecting. He
transitioned into a six-month-long depression while I was pregnant,
soon to have four children on my own. Paul got a job waiting tables.
And everything, everything since, has been a fight to stand on what
we know is the truth about God and His goodness, despite circumstance.
Recently our family was given the opportunity to move to Austin and we accepted. A close friend
asked why I would ever leave...and why so quickly?
Honestly, I can’t wait to
leave. Even with all the people I love- and there are incredible,
salt of the earth people living right here in this little town- I
am tired.
I tried to go deep
today, sit with my feelings. Like a movie, my time here began playing
through my head.
I was standing in my bedroom the day I learned my grandpa was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer.
That one detail set off a chain of events in my inner-world that
caused immense pain.
(If you haven’t watched someone you love die
of cancer, I don’t recommend it)
I had two
unplanned pregnancies in the middle of hard, life-shattering
circumstances.
My husband worked five
different jobs in five years.
We almost lost our
house multiples times.
Relationships I
expected to become partnerships- family- stagnated.
We transitioned out of
two churches (soon to be three), all of which I loved. I had never
even left a church before this season. I thought, honestly, that
people who left churches were selfish and shallow. But, ladies and
gentlemen, TWO CHURCH transitions in three years.
And more than anything,
I forgot how to hope for anything good. I’ve let myself grow
bitter, apathetic. I’ve been frustrated. I’ve doubted God’s
nature, his faithfulness. I’ve felt filleted open, uncovered,
exposed by my grief. And in the midst of it all, I’ve been
responsible for my own discipleship, and that in itself is
exhausting. In the last year, I’ve experienced two panic attacks in
public. I don’t even recognize myself, or how to find her. I don’t
know how to close my eyes anymore and hear God speak clearly. All I
know is how to put one foot in front of the other and hope beyond all
hope that it leads me out of this season.
Forgive my haste. I’m
not in a hurry to leave Kerrville as much as I need something new. A
new adventure. I need to remember what it feels like to abandon
everything and have God standing on the other side.
I
need to believe again.
Someone
posted a picture of Shasta recently, my old friend. Such hope filled
me that I might have a new home very soon, and I felt ready- finally-
to sit with my grief, my pain, and say goodbye to the wilderness. It
served its purpose but I’m ready to come home.
