It amazes me at times, to see how God pulls the circumstances of my life together - gathering them like stones, sifting them through His fingers, allowing them to shift and morph within the rhythms of His own movement. One minute and my world feels as if its caught in a landslide, pitching itself towards a cliff hovering above a rocky shore. In the next moment I find stillness; I have finally landed, not unscathed but with a better vantage point than before.
The past few weeks have been marked by frequent trips to our land, as the boys and I eagerly anticipate the progress Eric is making on building our house. Since I am not a home builder, I have no idea how much time it takes to complete any specific task. It's been three months since my husband broke ground, and I am still staring at invisible walls. My insightful, rational way of thinking placed me inside a discernible house with walls and a roof by the 4th of July (and I must add, if my husband worked at my pace and did it my way we would have no septic tank or plumbing anywhere in the house). Apparently there is a bit more to preparing the foundation than I ever realized.
I've been keenly aware of how the progression of our land (clearing rubble, planting trees, building a work shed, digging a hole for the foundation of a house) has symbolically paralleled the movement and growth within my soul. And today I sit with my dreamy-eyed boys planted in the grass beside me, watching their daddy smooth sloppy, wet concrete into a basement floor. The foundation is the most important part of the house. If it is askew in any way, the rest of the house will be as well.
For eight (or more) years I have been dreaming of this house and the way I want to design it. From the colors on the walls, to the layout of the kitchen and the art work I will create to match each imaginative space. Each detail paints a portrait of my family; every color choice and light fixture and framed photograph is a brush stroke that brings the melody of our home together. But none of these design elements will hold up if the foundation gives way.
I recently went through a period of time where God fell silent. No matter how hard I dug into the Word or prayed, I just couldn't hear him. I continued serving and pursuing opportunities that I thought would bring Him glory. I had become so focused on the details - the dream of the future and what I thought it should look like, that I quit paying attention to the still, small nudges coming from deep within, warning me that I was stepping off course. I was blindly doing without actively listening. But I pressed on anyways, because the ways I thought I was moving towards him made sense to me. I could not see that they were pulling me further away from Him.
Holy restlessness. It's like ivy that wraps itself tightly around a trellis - when it grips your soul it doesn't let go until you pull it back and reveal what is underneath... the foundation. I began to understand why I couldn't hear God's voice. My foundation was askew. It had cracked, becoming unstable. What one would see when looking at me was not a clear representation of what was thrashing around inside of me. I felt unsettled and unfulfilled. But even in the silence, God was still tending to my soul. A holy restlessness cannot be ignored. It's a symptom of work that needs to be done; a blazing red flare high in a dark sky that urges immediate attention. A rescue mission needs to be put into place, or the whole house is coming down.
Jesus has redeemed me, over and over again. He's there in the quiet whispers of the morning, and in the loud chaos of a life with three small boys. And as I began to pull back the ivy that had entangled my soul, Jesus was there too, with a machete in hand, hacking away at the stuff that was wreaking havoc in my life. I began to feel naked, like I had been stripped of everything I thought was certain. I was either on my knees, begging for clarity from a God I couldn't hear, or just simply whispering His name, hoping I would make a connection I could see and feel. And in those raw, vulnerable moments, I began to hear him.
Peeling off the layers of a busy and perfectly crafted life to tend to the foundation of our souls is a messy, inconvenient and gut-wrenching thing. I've learned a lot about who I am, who I am not, what is important to me and what I can live without. I can hear and feel God's pull on my life in new and unexpected ways. I have begun to feel his movement around me, gently pushing me forward. The details are beginning to take shape, framing my life in a fresh way, and firmly set on a strong foundation.
No more restlessness. Now its time to build.
Written on February 21, 2018
I sat down today to write something new, and saw this unpublished piece from months ago. Not coincidentally, it mirrored my heart and thoughts today. As I consider where I was, and where I am right now, something stands out to me.
This time last year, I was running around like the Energizer bunny. With fully charged batteries, I was banging on my drum, but I was running straight into a wall... over and over again. The holy restlessness was the Holy Spirit awakening me to the fact that I had been finding my purpose in the things I did, not in the One who called me according to His purpose. As God stripped the busyness away from me, it freed me to move. God made his point loud and clear: activity does not equal productivity. If I was going to be productive in the ministry God was stirring in me, then I needed to be free to move forward. Through prayer, worship and digging deep into God's Word, my foundation was strengthened once again, and I could finally hear his voice when He spoke to me. Moving forward meant taking a step back - away from many of the ministries and clubs and groups my hands and heart had helped build - and going to seminary.
Now, a major building project is underway. Through school, God is at work, building something new in me. He is slowly revealing his plan for me, for Eric, for our family and the role this house will play in our ministry. As I visit our house, which now has windows, dry wall, a roof and heat, I see more than a house - more than a home - but a promise that is full of hope and movement.
