almost and waiting

We were supposed to be moving next week.  We were supposed to be signing our lease and our contract to purchase tonight.  We were supposed to be shopping this weekend for some new furniture.


It's over now. We are not moving next week.  We are not signing our lease and contract to purchase tonight.  We are not going shopping for new furniture this weekend.

Yesterday morning we got the news that we lost our house.  The one we had prayed for, the one we had said no to several times, the one that had chased us down.  The one we felt was the perfect fit for our family.  We lost it.  Another family was more prepared than us and didn't need to rent for a few months.  They could close next month and offered more money.

Yesterday my heart was raw.  The breath was sucked out of me.  And then the flurry began.  The flurry of phone calls to cancel the cable and the electric.  The realization that half of our life is already in boxes and some of it is in a trailer in our driveway.  The realization that we've already given away furniture that we didn't think would fit in the new house.  The realization that we've moved our life and planned our life around this move and around this new house.  The realization that I had to call all of our friends and family that were so excited for us and tell them what had happened.  The realization that I had to tell my daughter that the house she was so excited for would not be ours.

Those realizations sucked.  Seriously.

And then came the other realization, the one that I had when my daughter started crying and saying that God never hears her and why do these things happen. The realization and what I told her was this

God is in this.  He is.  He always has been.  I have no explanation for what happened.  It hurts and it sucks and I can't understand it.  And I don't have to.  What I do have to do is trust.  Trust that He is good and that what He has planned for us is better.  Trust that He sees our family.  Trust that He knows ours needs and our desires and He cares about both.

Having to speak those words while holding her little face and feeling like you're a little numb yourself inside is hard and humbling.  I trust Jesus.  I wasn't lying.  And I'm thankful for this refining fire of parenting where I am forced to come face to face with these truths and I'm forced to speak them out loud to her.


Because the truth is that while I'm speaking them out loud to her, my soul is hearing it too.  And I'm preaching to myself because myself needs to hear it.

I know Jesus has our family.  That's all I know at this point.  I do not know how long it will take us to move or where we will move.  I don't know what type of house He has in store for us.  I don't know anything about that.  But I do know that our life is a little lighter right now.  I'm sure we'll have to unpack some stuff but we may just keep some in boxes.  We're still looking for a house.  And we know there is one out there for us.  Maybe it's not even on the market yet.  Maybe it's still full of love and laughter and it's just not ready for us yet.  And that's okay.

I've never been great at waiting well but something tells me that I'm going to learn.

"Almosts" and seasons of waiting are hard.  We all have them.  Some are super long and hard and scary.  But I'm confident of one thing- there is no such thing as total darkness.  There is always light.  It might be just a little bit.  It might be hard to see.  It might take some straining to see it but it's there.  And Jesus is always near.  He is.  So whatever "almosts" and season of waiting you are in, if you're in one- please know this.  You are not alone.  You aren't.  I'm right there with you.  And "almosts" and seasons of waiting don't last forever.  They don't.

If you were in my kitchen right now (surrounded by boxes), we'd drink some coffee and we'd choose to focus on the good things.  We'd choose to think on the stuff that's going right.  Even if it's just the hot coffee in our mugs.  We'd probably smell some essential oils because they always calm me down.  And we'd just chat and laugh.  And I'd tell you that it's going to be okay.  It is.  And you'd tell me the same thing because that's what friends do. 

And then you'd go home and I'd go back to my crazy life but we'd both be a little stronger and stand up a little taller because we would know that we're not alone.