What I'm learning is that it's a tricky game of guess-and-check when you're trying to gain perspective in the middle of something like this. I'd love for this blog to become a place where I can accurately chronicle this adventure we're on--searching for the kids that God intends to complete our family, and learning what it means to become a disciple along the way. But (and I borrow this analogy from the now-infamous-in-our-house Jen Hatmaker) it's as if a grenade rolled up into the middle of our life here in the suburbs of Little Rock. I kind of saw it coming--indeed, I was aware that we were on the verge of a major shift, but I tiptoed around it for awhile, and for some reason was rather taken aback when it had the audacity to actually EXPLODE on me, after I'd been so mindful not to disturb it. And when it did explode, I realized the pieces won't fit back together in the same way--in fact, the pieces don't even look the same to me anymore. So I'm having to rely on someone else (ahem--cough, cough--reading over my shoulder here, God?) to show me how they're supposed to go. I'm kind of just along for the ride at this point, and the blog has likewise started as a dumping ground for fragmented thoughts and feelings as I try to sort and process.
So please, please tell me you understand why I sound like a mental patient at times.
I tend to frame this whole journey, this going, if you will, around the promises God has breathed into my heart. Each promise has brought a new, specific hope and a renewed sense of direction:
Your family will include children; don't worry.
This baby will be healthy; quit worrying.
I'm not going to fail you, so seriously: Quit. Worrying.
I have your kid's future in my hands.
There are more kids for your family; go to the place I tell you.
And don't worry.
An intervention of the Holy Spirit is a gift, though we sometimes laugh off the people who lay claim to the Spirit's presence as a real, tangible, force in their lives. We say that they read too much into things or that they're a little too dramatic or a little too into themselves. We are uncomfortable that they shout "hallelujah!" in church or lay their hands on our babies. We think it's really weird that they go to certain places or seek out certain people because "God told them to." We especially do not like it when they claim healing in the name of God or suggest that something miraculous has happened......well, miracles are okay, but we would prefer people claim miracles after they happen--not predict them. "We" were certainly due for an attitude adjustment somewhere in our early twenties, I must say.
This week as I chatted with a friend, she remembered a quote from Beth Moore, which she paraphrased like this: The Spirit is super-natural, so if supernatural things aren't happening in your life then maybe you need to question your connection to the Spirit. (She wasn't criticizing, by the way, only justifying some nutty dreams we've been sharing with each other.)
I have always been a planner, always relished in predictability and rationalization and in being "the levelheaded one." So it's with great trepidation and not a little fear that I have to acknowledge that the things happening lately in my life and the ideas floating around in my head could be loosely described as "ludicrous," "irrational," "daunting," or "insane." Instead of working out practical ways to pad our retirement, I'm dreaming of things like moving to the ghetto and gathering inner city kids in our living room for storytime. On the way downtown the other day, we missed our exit and ended up having to turn around in a neighborhood I would optimistically categorize as "questionable." I know a good opportunity when I see one--so as I searched feverishly through the window for our future home, my husband, noting that I was mere seconds from jumping and rolling, scouted connecting streets to get us back on track. As we turned a corner, we came upon a group of five or six people carefully preparing what would clearly be a community garden.
"Willie, look at our future neighbors!," I gasped. "They are ready for us!"
"NO."
Whatever. He loves me.
As my dreams are changing, I'm learning more and more to seek out and rely on the Spirit for guidance. I'm realizing it would be unwise to proceed without it. I have (almost) entirely stopped rolling my eyes at people who "feel called" to do something. I'm learning that while perhaps I can't live IN those blissful moments when God speaks clearly and comes very, very near, I can in many ways live FOR them--for those times when the thin spots (my husband and Stephen King would be proud of that one) between heaven and earth ripple and shimmer and the face of Jesus is revealed in a person, or a gesture, or a moment of spiritual revelation. I crave God's presence. It has become precious and crucial to me, and I'll do anything to feel all wrapped up in it. Francis Chan, in his book Forgotten God, notes that "the Spirit is more obviously active in places where people are desperate for Him, humbled before Him, and not distracted by the pursuit of wealth or comforts." In truth, I've been compelled as of late to seek out these places, but I've still got a long way to go.
Did I mention that I'm very much a Proverbs 16:3 kind of gal? Commit your actions to the Lord, and your plans will succeed. The rational planner in me wants to kiss this passage all over its beautiful face. And before I go on, let me clarify: I certainly believe in the truth of this verse. I've seen it in action. And I'm aware that handing your plans to God as you proceed with them sometimes boosts your plans to success in supernatural ways---and I'm aware that sometimes God will grab your plans, shake them up, and dump you on your head (in a totally all-loving way, of course. God is just fun and unpredictable in his unchanging way of restoring his kingdom.) But anyway, what I'm sloooooowly on the way to saying is that I've seen another side of God lately. I've committed the HECK outta my plans, taken a step, and been jerked off my feet in a different direction. I've had things that are SO FAR off my radar appear suddenly at the forefront of my thoughts. I've felt pretty sure about a course of action and then been unable to follow through because something super-natural was stopping me (more on all this later). I am more convinced than ever that the more I quiet myself, the more clearly God will speak, and for this particular journey I am utterly sure that he has a course plotted, and I'm finding a new kind of comfort in that.
Which is why I am wholly repentant for brushing off the words of a very kind convict awhile back.
Willie and I had joined some folks from church at the Pathway to Freedom prison in Wrightsville for a Wednesday worship service. It was our first time to attend. (Hello, new-found love of instruments in church! My Granny would roll over.) After the services had wrapped up, we were mingling with some of the inmates (Prisoners? Future parolees? Dudes? I'm awkward.), and as I shook hands with one man he said, "God has something good in store for you." I smiled, and, thinking this was perhaps a customary greeting for this particular prison, which fosters community and fellowship, mumbled something profound like, "You'm too. derp," and moved on. Several minutes later I was standing by myself when he approached me again.
"I think you got the wrong idea before," he began. "I want you to know that when I saw you I felt really strongly that God was telling me to tell you this. He has something good for you. I don't know what it is. But he wants you to know."
(In case you are wondering, NO, there is no chance he was flirting or just looking for an excuse to talk. I call as my witness the fact that I hadn't showered for like two days before we went, as well as my mascara-smeared face, a side effect of being moved to tears throughout the entire service. Just wanted to clear up any suspicions.)
This time I was baffled. I told him his message meant a lot to me, and asked him his name (Justin), and we chatted for a bit about his time in prison and the worship service before I thanked him for his courage and excused myself to go find Willie. While I was genuinely grateful, my knee-jerk (emphasis on the JERK) response to God was Really? You have something GOOD for me? I would certainly hope so, since I'm trusting you to take me to my kid and all.
Ugh. I don't like seeing it in print. The thing is, I had grown pretty accustomed to God's words being a bit more specific and directive. I'd come to expect a certain amount of information, like "becoming a better Christian" (ugh again) had entitled me to the "better" messages. God has something good for you seemed like a bit of a backslide, in my humble (Pharisaic) estimation. I put the ambiguous words aside in my head, not forgetting but also not sure how to dissect or follow them.
That was more than a month ago, and since then I've become keenly--at at times painfully--aware that God is leading us, holding our hands and simply asking that we come along. I'm still pretty sure he was messing with me with the whole "message through a third party" bit, but I think I get it. Sometimes he wants to tell us something in particular, and sometimes he wants us just to find comfort in the fact that he's there, always working, bringing us together in communion, connecting the dots for his glory. Sometimes we're supposed to just be still and know. He's always finding new ways to wreck me.
So God help me if I ever get to a place where God has something good for you leaves me unaffected.
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