Beauty on the Backroads

Stories of grace for life's unexpected turns

future

What a day

I woke up today with hope. A rare emotion these days but not on the brink of extinction. A job interview was scheduled for the afternoon, and though I was nervous and all kinds of freaked out and worried, I was excited.

A sense of expectation settled in next to hope. It had been more than a week since vials of my blood crossed the country in a box via FedEx to be tested against my cousin’s blood to determine whether I could be her kidney donor. That call might come today, I thought.

Our car was headed to the shop early this morning. A leaky something-or-other (yes, that’s the technical term) and even though our funds are tight, we felt the repair was needed.

By 9 a.m. hope and expectation slid over and made room for their oversized uninvited guest worry, who hardly ever comes to the party without his sidekick fear. I was on the phone with my mom, asking for money because the leaky thing in our van turned out to be the radiator and the parts and labor were the equivalent of a month’s rent. (Why is it never hard to ask your parents for money when you’re a teenager? The older you get, the harder it is to ask for money, even if it’s for important reasons.)

By noon, hope was passed out on the couch. The job interview had to be rescheduled for tomorrow and the job I applied for has been restructured in the past couple of days. Long story short, the company is hiring for two similar positions in two to four months. But I still get an interview. Hope isn’t dead; but she’s fighting for her life.

By 3:30, expectation had taken his leave. The call came from the hospital in Peoria where my cousin’s transplant coordinator is based. My blood and her blood didn’t like each other, so I’m not a match. And she still needs a kidney.

Where does that leave me?

Confused. Frustrated. Scared. If not this, then what, Lord? That’s what I’ve been asking. We had hope that when my husband had an interview, we were on track for the next step. Not to be. We had hope that this position for me would enable us to make the move we long to make to Lancaster. While that door isn’t closed, it isn’t exactly open right now either. We don’t have the funds to get us through two to four more months, and we’d feel lower than low at having to ask our parents month after to month to help us make rent.

Angry. Where did we go wrong? This isn’t funny anymore, God. What more can we give? Oh, sure, we’re learning some hard lessons right now, but I think it’s time for a summer vacation from lessons. I don’t believe God is cruel. He’s oh-so-good, better than we deserve. And we’ve seen His goodness. Over. And over. And over again. Still, when days like this come, I wonder if He’ll keep on being good to us or if He’s punishing us for bad decisions.

Doubtful. Are we sure we heard right? That we’re supposed to stay in Pennsylvania and move to Lancaster? Is my husband called to be a pastor? Yes to all those things but when life doesn’t match up with the way you plan, you begin to wonder if you took a wrong turn somewhere. And if you heard God at all.

Stressed. I want to take up a contact sport or learn to box. Years ago, I would have taken my tennis racket and a can of balls and just hit, hit, hit against the wall at the tennis courts until I was worn out. Maybe I’ll play a game on the Wii tonight. It won’t be exactly the same, but it might help.

Tired. Trusting, worrying, wondering, it’s exhausting work. I’m tired of life the way it is. Tired of answering questions at the WIC office about whether or not my kids eat breakfast every day. Tired of making eggs for supper because we’re rationing our meat. Tired of choosing which bills to pay when. Tired of feeling like a failure because two college-educated adults can’t find jobs to make ends meet. Tired of easy answers to hard questions. Tired of feeling like I’m deflating people’s hope balloons when they pray for us and nothing (so we think) happens.

Humbled. It’s not MY plan. It’s not MY way. It’s not what I think SHOULD happen. Or WHEN I think it should happen. It’s God. Today. Tomorrow. Forever. I can’t see where this is going. I don’t know what to do. But I know Him. And yes, it sounds easy to say all I can do is trust Him. That He’s good. And has a plan. These aren’t empty words I say to make myself feel better because they don’t always make me feel better. They are reminders of what’s true. Like my husband loves me, even when he doesn’t show it. Or the sun is in the sky, even if it’s covered by clouds.

These are the ramblings of a girl trying to work out in words what she’s feeling in her heart, mind and soul.

Today was a day.

Tomorrow is another.

In the meantime, I’m hitting up the freezer for some ice cream. And praying the kids fall asleep soon so I can cuddle up with a book and go to sleep early.

Thanks for reading.

Life after death

Today, I felt more dead than alive.

Okay, maybe that’s a little morbid, but you have days like this, right?

When you wake up and everything seems wrong from the minute your feet hit the floor.

When you drift from moment to moment, not really engaging in anything, just surviving till the next thing you have to do.

When the words that come out of your mouth are unlovely and produce no life in others.

When you’re sure if someone physically hurt you, you’d feel no pain.

I don’t know why, but I needed a redo from the first minutes of the day, and for the rest of the waking hours, I felt … off. Like I was steps behind where I needed to be.

I tried to reset by reading the Bible, taking a nap and listening to music. Nothing seemed to help break the funk. Not even coffee.

In many ways, what I was feeling today is reflective of the season of life we’re in. We’re mourning, in a sense, the loss of the familiar and the death of expectations. Sometimes, I think our dreams are dead, too.

But maybe it’s not death, exactly, but dormancy.

Months ago, a large and beautiful tree on our block was cut down, chopped into branches and mulch. I don’t know why. I didn’t ask. Maybe it was dead. Or diseased. Or inconvenient.  This stump remains, and the kids and I pass it almost daily on our walks around the block or down the street to check on the cows. A few weeks ago, I noticed a shoot growing out of the stump.

And leaves.

I don’t know much about trees or botany. Heck, I can hardly keep potted plants alive. (I have a cactus that’s thriving. I think I may have found my niche plant.)

But that stump with its new growth gives me hope. Like maybe the end of something isn’t always the end.

Earlier this month, on a family hike, I saw another such dead-but-not-quite-dead-yet phenomenon.

“That’s a weed, not a tree,” my husband ever-so-gently reminded me.

At the time, it didn’t matter. Something green was growing out of something that appeared to be dead. The second time past the plant, I took a closer look and found more growth.

And something stirred in my soul.

Awakened, really.

I serve a God who specializes in bringing the dead to life, and not in a Zombie Apocalypse sort of way. But in a “I once was lost now I’m found” sort of way.

When He walked the earth, He raised people from death to life physically, and ushered in the end of death with His resurrection.

Not long after these dead trees gave me hope, God spoke again, this time through His word. Sometimes, when Scripture is being read, I’m not as attentive as I’d like to be because I’m trying to quiet a noisy 2-year-old or respond to his questions or keep him from climbing over the back of the pew into someone else’s lap.

These words I heard crystal clear, and not only did my ears perk, my soul perked.

“This is what the Sovereign Lord says: I will take a branch from the top of a tall cedar, and I will plant it on the top of Israel’s highest mountain. It will become a majestic cedar, sending forth its branches and producing seed. Birds of every sort will nest in it, finding shelter in the shade of its branches. And all the trees will know that it is I, the Lord, who cuts the tall tree down and makes the short tree grow tall. It is I who makes the green tree wither and gives the dead tree new life. I, the Lord, have spoken, and I will do what I said!” – Ezekiel 17:22-24 (emphasis added)

What might look like death can be transformed in the Lord into new life.

It will certainly hurt, for a time, or forever. It won’t be easy. It might be ugly.

But it will not be without hope. Without possibility. Without a future.

Amen.

Praise the Lord.