I remember, when I was younger, watching a Christian comedian give his humorous take on the true nature of an abundant life. He commented that life was a series of highs and lows, demonstrating with his hand using the up-down motion of a roller coaster. And then, he amended the patterns of his hand to reflect the difference between “life” and “life more abundant.” And in the true nature of an abundant life, the peaks got higher and the valleys got lower. The transitions got fewer and farther between, creating that sick-stomach feeling like the one I get when I drive the curvy road to church camp too fast. There’s always a level of exhilaration to it, but it’s also pretty uncomfortable in moments.
Such is life.
Two weeks from now, Josh and I could pretty realistically be living five hundred miles from here. That possibility is pretty exciting, and at the same time, when I consider how short two weeks really is, it’s a little terrifying as well. And what I’m learning throughout this entire experience is that my heart, my mind, my emotions–they’re completely fickle. Holy cow, how drastically my perception of things changes from day to day. Even moment to moment.
There are fragments of time in which I want nothing more than to pick up and move. Partly because I thrive on change and adventure. And also partly because this move would require a whole boatload of trust in God regarding a whole boatload of subjects. And as hard as those moments are, life experience has taught me that I never grow more as a person and as His disciple than I do when I’m thrown into situations that require my faith that He is God and He is good and He will come through in an extravagant way.
And then, there are those other times. This moment is one of them, to be completely honest. It’s one of those moments when I think about the kids I’ve been investing in for two years. I think about how different that school is going to be this year. How shell-shocked they will be by the changes. How radically they respond to change and uncertainty and disarray. How much they crave and need consistency. And in moments when all of those realities hit me, I wonder that I can leave. I mean, I can–I know that. But I wonder that I will. I wonder that I have the heart to add to the chaos of my babies’ lives by leaving when I’ve received the offer to stay.
And granted–in moments, I have no faith in that offer. In moments, I worry that things will still fall apart, and that I will have hitched myself to a shattering wagon. And it’s in moments like this that I realize that whether we stay or go–God is REQUIRING our trust right now. Our trust that things might fall apart–but that He’s bigger than the things that fall apart. Our trust that it might get hard–but He can handle that.
How funny is it that we love to say that we trust God, but we also love to run kicking and screaming in the opposite direction when we’re faced with situations that give us an opportunity to demonstrate that trust.
And by we, I mean I.