hello there, part 2

I guess it isn't fair to write a post about being super overwhelmed and just leave it at that. A week ago I felt paralyzed by everything that needed to be done and by the things that had happened which were out of my control.

Last week a very dear friend of mine came to visit. God knew I needed her here. We've been friends for nearly a decade. There's just something about being with people who know you well...people who don't mind if you can't muster up words to say anything important. I felt like I had nothing to give. I couldn't even cook her meals, because of the state of my kitchen.

The truth is, I've been so busy since we moved from Washington this summer, that I haven't really settled in yet. We stayed with family in California for a month, then moved into a hotel for two months while we waited for escrow to close. We've lived in our new home six weeks now, all the while doing major renovations. It's been a crazy few months, to say the least.

But what I've loved about this crazy season is seeing how relentless Jesus has been in pursuing my heart. I can't really explain it, but I feel it. I've doubted Him and questioned Him, even blamed Him for things. But then I find my bearings again because He rescues me from self-pity. I'll never know why. I've been ugly these past few months. I won't lie.

I just can't stop thinking about and grieving over what we left behind in Spokane. Have you ever heard Sara Groves' song "Painting Pictures of Egypt"?

...The places I long for the most
Are the places where I’ve been
They are calling after me like a long lost friend

I’ve been painting pictures of Egypt
Leaving out what it lacked
The future seems so hard
And I want to go back
But the places that used to fit me
Cannot hold the things I've learned
And those roads closed off to me
While my back was turned

When I went to her concert last month in Spokane, she opened with this song. I was hoping she'd sing it that evening, but she opened with it. It made me cry, of course. My sweet friend, Andi, held my hand and said, "That was for you." I think it was.

I've always thought I relate well with the Israelites. Something about needing to learn the same lessons over and over again, and how God parted the Red Sea for them and it just wasn't enough...as if God would really perform miracles on their behalf and then dump them off in the wilderness to fend for themselves. I love this line from Joy Williams' song, "Beautiful Redemption"

I've walked with sand from the ocean floor on my feet
To turn and say, 'you left me'

I wonder if the Israelites still had sand from the Red Sea's floor between their toes when they spewed out complaints from doubting hearts. Unfortunately, I can relate.

This past Saturday I told my husband and my friend from out-of-town that I felt paralyzed, like I couldn't function among the stress of the boxes and the paint and the microwave and the laundry. Later that evening we found out that her flight home, which was scheduled for the following morning, was cancelled due to weather. Cancelled. Just like that. Our airport is tiny, so her chances of getting home the next day were very slim. Phil thought it would be best if she made arrangements to fly out of the busier airport 3 hours north of us. So we (she and I) packed our things and left right away. We decided to stay overnight in a hotel near the airport so we could be there first thing in the morning. What a whirlwind!

I must say, this whole cancelled flight thing was no accident. Do I really think Jesus would allow that flight to be cancelled so He could restore my soul in the midst of all the chaos? Yes, I think He would do that and I think He did. I realize there were probably a few more factors that played into this whole thing, but my weary heart was certainly one of them. I was gifted several hours of drive-time and the chance to listen to music that turned my heart to worshiping Jesus instead of doubting Him. It truly was a gift. I had this thought last night, that maybe my kitchen isn't the only thing being renovated around here.