where our feet can't touch
A week from tomorrow we will have a real home. A return address, a place for our pots and pans, where our shoes will be inevitably strewn haphazardly around despite our various attempts at keeping them neat. My husband's green thumb will ensure we have plants and lots of them, and I will put a candle in every room. Perhaps we will finally print our wedding pictures. We will rebuild a home, and walk with as much faith we can muster into the next stage of our lives. The summer is almost over, and the heat is welling up inside with anticipation.
It is quiet now, as we play house in my parents' home while they are away; finally cooking what we want, not being cooped up in a room when we need alone time. There is space to breathe in every room, and goodness is this how it is for everyone else? Next Saturday has always felt forever away, but now it is next Saturday and we aren't sure what to do with all of this.
This summer has drug us to the outskirts of our trust, forced us to cross the boundaries into territory we said we'd never be able to handle. The places we figured we'd never have to go, He pushed us toward. We'd said I'll trust You if... so He took us to the if and let us live there, out past where our feet can touch into dark, deep, murky, unknown waters. How dare He slow things down to soften our hearts? How dare He make us throw out our timeline and ask us to wait on Him? Surely He'd never drive us to desperation or a greater understanding of our dire need of Him. Surely we'd never run out of logical answers.
I suppose it's not trust if our schedule is on time, our questions answered, our options endless. Perhaps the dreaded waters of if are where true trust grows.
He stopped us in our tracks and I stand quieted, humbled, almost fearful. Afraid because I know now that He does not follow my rules. He does not pander to my comfort levels or heed my boundaries. He is mostly concerned with the state of my heart, its softening and sanctifying. He loves to shatter the walls of my capacity for trust and He is too merciful to change the circumstances before He changes my heart.
But I can tell you that when He destroys the walls of our trust, we will always find ourselves spilling out into wild, frightful waters that occupy the cisterns of His faithfulness that can never, ever be shattered.
And in awe of His mighty faithfulness, we finally say, write Your story, have Your way, do Your will.
It is quiet now, as we play house in my parents' home while they are away; finally cooking what we want, not being cooped up in a room when we need alone time. There is space to breathe in every room, and goodness is this how it is for everyone else? Next Saturday has always felt forever away, but now it is next Saturday and we aren't sure what to do with all of this.
This summer has drug us to the outskirts of our trust, forced us to cross the boundaries into territory we said we'd never be able to handle. The places we figured we'd never have to go, He pushed us toward. We'd said I'll trust You if... so He took us to the if and let us live there, out past where our feet can touch into dark, deep, murky, unknown waters. How dare He slow things down to soften our hearts? How dare He make us throw out our timeline and ask us to wait on Him? Surely He'd never drive us to desperation or a greater understanding of our dire need of Him. Surely we'd never run out of logical answers.
I suppose it's not trust if our schedule is on time, our questions answered, our options endless. Perhaps the dreaded waters of if are where true trust grows.
He stopped us in our tracks and I stand quieted, humbled, almost fearful. Afraid because I know now that He does not follow my rules. He does not pander to my comfort levels or heed my boundaries. He is mostly concerned with the state of my heart, its softening and sanctifying. He loves to shatter the walls of my capacity for trust and He is too merciful to change the circumstances before He changes my heart.
But I can tell you that when He destroys the walls of our trust, we will always find ourselves spilling out into wild, frightful waters that occupy the cisterns of His faithfulness that can never, ever be shattered.
And in awe of His mighty faithfulness, we finally say, write Your story, have Your way, do Your will.
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