Coming Home

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.