Changes (This was written in 2012)
There is no way to describe the last few weeks. I have neglected to write it down because the emotion of it overwhelms me.
It appears that we have sold our home. We are due to close in ten days. I can't describe the depths of sorrow and grief that I am experiencing. I have made myself virtually sick over it. My stomach is like raw hamburger... largely because one of my children is so grieved. It is scary, different and permanent. That is the hellish part of change. It is usually permanent. You can't go back.
God has seemed to almost lock-step cause everything to fall into place. So strange. All these years, only a handful of lookers at our house. Then all of a sudden, they were everywhere....and we had two offers within six days of each other, then another offer this week.
The people on the other end, where we were looking to buy, took our offer and also gave us money for repairs. Every objection or problem that has come up has resolved, and quickly.
I seemed to find peace and then my son's depth of grief pulled me right back there. If he were just mad, it would be one thing. But when he wept with me on the phone, I could not bear it. It is a death, and I am ashamed that I have grieved more over this than I have over the deaths of my loved ones.
I also know that my fear and despair are more about the leaving behind of other things. Jon is married; Daniel and Jesse recently married. Liz is busy with her life away at college. Our children are grown. My life's main pursuit and goal has been to raise a house full of children. That job is over. Even Liz is now a woman. We have four precious adult children and that significant purpose is over. I am still here for love and advice (ha!) and frozen pizzas....but maybe it is just really hard to face that.
I am not healthy -- a hundred-plus pounds overweight and aching all over. My hands are bending in on themselves. It is nobody's fault but mine. And life goes on.
Meanwhile, the Lord....
His purposes are complex and unfathomable. Way beyond what we can see. The threads He is weaving are on the back side. Who am I to question His will or what He is doing? I used to think that His will would always be manifested with a slice of cherry pie...and that my world would be safe and secure, free of trouble and full of purpose and happy things. But as you age, you begin to see that just because you are His child, you are not immune to suffering, to the encroachments of a cruel and evil world. Towers fall, people get sick and die, jobs are lost, dreams fail. We realize we are indeed cracked at our very centers.
At the same time that I begin to see these truths, I also begin to deeply and subtly understand the heart of the gospel: that I need saving. The fatal flaws that run through me and threaten to shatter into a million pieces are irretrievable. There is no hope, but for Christ. The picture becomes clearer.
I am undone. My world is shattered, oh so temporary. I cry out to Him in anguish. I don't understand. I am afraid. It all is slipping through my hands.
But God.
He's in the boat. The waves are crashing around, there is no hope. Damn it, He's asleep. He doesn't even care that we're going to die.
With a word, He hushes the storm. The waves fall. The wind stops.
He wasn't asleep, after all. He did care. He knows everything.
He works all things, even the storm, to my good. Then He admonishes me because I didn't have faith.
The storm is huge and roaring. It's all I can see. It's what I can taste and feel. Yet He tells me to trust Him.
I determine, today, to keep my eyes fixed on Him. Not the storm, not the boat. He is there at the eye of the storm, where all is still even though hell rages at the door.
It appears that we have sold our home. We are due to close in ten days. I can't describe the depths of sorrow and grief that I am experiencing. I have made myself virtually sick over it. My stomach is like raw hamburger... largely because one of my children is so grieved. It is scary, different and permanent. That is the hellish part of change. It is usually permanent. You can't go back.
God has seemed to almost lock-step cause everything to fall into place. So strange. All these years, only a handful of lookers at our house. Then all of a sudden, they were everywhere....and we had two offers within six days of each other, then another offer this week.
The people on the other end, where we were looking to buy, took our offer and also gave us money for repairs. Every objection or problem that has come up has resolved, and quickly.
I seemed to find peace and then my son's depth of grief pulled me right back there. If he were just mad, it would be one thing. But when he wept with me on the phone, I could not bear it. It is a death, and I am ashamed that I have grieved more over this than I have over the deaths of my loved ones.
I also know that my fear and despair are more about the leaving behind of other things. Jon is married; Daniel and Jesse recently married. Liz is busy with her life away at college. Our children are grown. My life's main pursuit and goal has been to raise a house full of children. That job is over. Even Liz is now a woman. We have four precious adult children and that significant purpose is over. I am still here for love and advice (ha!) and frozen pizzas....but maybe it is just really hard to face that.
I am not healthy -- a hundred-plus pounds overweight and aching all over. My hands are bending in on themselves. It is nobody's fault but mine. And life goes on.
Meanwhile, the Lord....
His purposes are complex and unfathomable. Way beyond what we can see. The threads He is weaving are on the back side. Who am I to question His will or what He is doing? I used to think that His will would always be manifested with a slice of cherry pie...and that my world would be safe and secure, free of trouble and full of purpose and happy things. But as you age, you begin to see that just because you are His child, you are not immune to suffering, to the encroachments of a cruel and evil world. Towers fall, people get sick and die, jobs are lost, dreams fail. We realize we are indeed cracked at our very centers.
At the same time that I begin to see these truths, I also begin to deeply and subtly understand the heart of the gospel: that I need saving. The fatal flaws that run through me and threaten to shatter into a million pieces are irretrievable. There is no hope, but for Christ. The picture becomes clearer.
I am undone. My world is shattered, oh so temporary. I cry out to Him in anguish. I don't understand. I am afraid. It all is slipping through my hands.
But God.
He's in the boat. The waves are crashing around, there is no hope. Damn it, He's asleep. He doesn't even care that we're going to die.
With a word, He hushes the storm. The waves fall. The wind stops.
He wasn't asleep, after all. He did care. He knows everything.
He works all things, even the storm, to my good. Then He admonishes me because I didn't have faith.
The storm is huge and roaring. It's all I can see. It's what I can taste and feel. Yet He tells me to trust Him.
I determine, today, to keep my eyes fixed on Him. Not the storm, not the boat. He is there at the eye of the storm, where all is still even though hell rages at the door.
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