Month: June 2021

Masterpiece.

“For we are God’s masterpiece. He has created us anew in Christ Jesus, so we can do the good things he planned for us long ago.” Ephesians 2:10

I’m not very good at being present in the current moment. My mind tends to wander to my to-do list, future plans or anything my overthinking brain wants to ruminate in.

As a mom to two little girls I find myself resisting my natural instincts, longing to slow down, to be present. I love watching and being with them, whether dancing, playing at the park, doing puzzles, or snuggling up in my bed early in the morning. I wish that I could bottle the feeling of pausing, of being fully present in every moment of my day.

Leading up to moving has left me little time to slow down, and now I find myself somewhat settled into our new home. Attempting to pause and be present. The lazy days of summer lie ahead and I’m eager to fill them with activities and playdates and doing things to make our home feel complete. As I stare at our bare walls and shelves to be filled my mind wanders to the potential, to the things I could do to our home. It feels both overwhelming and exciting at the same time. And yet I also find myself looking back at where we came from, remembering the home we built together and longing for a different future. I know that I cannot change the past, I can only find hope in the present and in the promises God has to give me a hope and a future.

So here we are, looking at the vastness of our walls to be filled, to our potential, to our future—and to our present. The planner in me wants to do it all at once, to do all the things, to finish our home now. There’s so much I want to do, so much I see, and I’m not sure where to start.

So then I pause. Breathe. Slow down. The girls and I spent the morning doing a puzzle today, each of us taking a section, helping each other out, fitting the pieces together. We each had to start with one puzzle piece, finding the others that fit into place, then we connected them all where we found they came together.

I feel a bit like that puzzle. I know there is a vastness that lies ahead, a story that I’m writing, and I’m trying to write it all down now. I’m trying to make sense of it all, putting everything into its place, finding a way to control what I cannot see. I’m reminded that I cannot do it all at once. I cannot fill every bare spot on my walls, get everything I ever wanted for my home, and make everything feel complete.

Because my life is not complete.

My life is the puzzle. My pieces are fitting slowly together, intricately telling a story that I’m not going to see until the very end. Only God knows the plans, the hope and the future he has promised me. All I can do is be present, to find the pieces that fit the parts of the story that I am writing right now. I cannot change the present, the past or the ending to my story. All I can do is embrace it and find one piece at a time. I must connect the parts as they come together, coming alongside those who are walking with me in this journey. They are a part of my story, my puzzle, and they see my potential and encourage me along the path. They help me to see that I cannot complete it all at once but remind me to pause, to be fully present, to let God use me in this story that I am writing.

We all have a story we are writing, and it is up to us whether we embrace it, live in it, and are fully present to what God has for us. We must trust the process, take the pieces he has given us, and put them together to make something beautiful.

Because our puzzle, our story, our lives we are living are a masterpiece.

Image by Gordon Johnson from Pixabay

Stepping out of the boat.

Earlier this year, just after those frigid weeks of subzero temperatures, I wore one of my usual pair of boots to work. It was a typical day, but that day I did a lot more running around than normal than sitting at my desk. By the end of it, my feet were sore and tired. So the next day I retired those boots in favor of my more comfortable pair. By the end of the week, my feet were feeling still a little sore but like they were on the mend.

That same feeling persisted…sore yet not painful, almost tired. As the weeks went on the pain increased. So after a Google search of my symptoms, my self-diagnosis encouraged me to get my feet checked out. Sure enough I had what was known as ball of foot pain (ie inflammation or metatarsalgia). Consequently, I needed to rest. To heal and let myself get on the right path.

At the time when my pain started to get worse, I felt a nudge, hearing God whisper. To stop running like Jonah in the opposite direction as to where I was to supposed to go. To trust in where God was leading me, even if it felt difficult. I felt like I was being led in a direction I didn’t want to, or perhaps was not ready, to go. I was afraid and didn’t want to go it alone. I didn’t know where the path was taking me.

And the voice persisted, to let go. To surrender and trust. To take just the first step out of the boat. I didn’t need to know the whole path. I just needed to simply step out of my place of comfort and into a place far greater than I could have imagined.

Needless to say, I still resisted. I’ve known for the past year that I want to move into a townhome, and yet I have been scared to leave this place of comfort behind. Wonderful neighbors whom I hold dear and have been a rock and comfort for me and my girls. Proximity to close friends and my church. And yet I knew I needed to move, to find my way, even if taking that first step was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

I resisted. I questioned my path. I tried to find the right one on my own and shut out the option that would have made the most sense. The pain in my feet persisted. Finally, I opened my options of moving farther from where I am and closer to work. The door opened to a beautiful place that the girls and I will be moving to this summer.

The same day that I put in the offer I went to the doctor and he tried something on my feet that brought immediate relief. I no longer have any pain when I walk. Finally, I had chosen the path marked out for me. Finally, I stopped running the opposite direction. Finally, I listened to that still, quiet voice that called me to trust and take that first step.

There are so many questions and unknowns and next steps to navigate…and despite the anxiety I have felt the past several months over moving I finally feel a sense of peace. Don’t get me wrong I am still overwhelmed by it all, but I no longer feel afraid of where I’m going.

I had a good cry several weeks ago when I was still uncertain of where I was going, feeling like I was leaving a chapter of my life behind that I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t want to step outside of the plans David and I had laid out for our future. I didn’t want to leave the home we built and the memories made here.

I haven’t been big on talking to Dave (I’ve been talking more so to God) but I talked to David and felt his comforting presence reminding me that he was with me no matter where I go. That our plans we made together don’t have to determine my future. That the decisions I make for me and the girls, as I seek to honor Dave, don’t have to be tied to what our plans had been. I could feel David telling me that he trusts me and is with me and the girls every step of the way.

So the girls and I are stepping together into what feels like an ocean…a huge tide and yet with calming waters because I can trust in God to be with me and keep the crashing waves from washing over me even in the storms. And I can trust in Dave to show us the ways he is with us in these big and small decisions, no matter where we go.

My feet continue to feel better as I slowly heal. My body reminds me when I need to listen and be still instead of running, to hold tight to God’s promises and listen to his voice instead of trying to go my own way. Though the future is uncertain, I know for certain that I am not alone. I’ve got an amazing community and support system and a wonderful family who has been supporting me through this process. And for that I am eternally grateful. 

Image by Frederic Willocq from Pixabay