Letting go

Today was hard. I let go of more things. Specifically, my car. The car I drove to Maine in, back and forth across upstate New York in for six years. The car I meandered to mountains and lakes and hiking posts and country drives with Duncan riding shotgun. Praying in the Spirit over geographic territories at the top of my lungs and full fervor, while Duncan bobbed his lolling tongue in the breeze, his brown ears flapping wildly. I drove eighty thousand miles of singing, praying, laughing, exploring, most of them with Duncan tagging along Mommie.

Today I took my car for my final ride, to Schenectady to a friend's car lot who will try to sell it for me. I need the money, and I don't expect to need a car in the States anytime soon, as I know I am called by God to the nations. Still, however, it doesn't make it easier to l e t  g o.  Things get a hold of us, our trust, our navigation tool, and the great unknown ahead of me. I know it will be good, wonderful in fact. But I let go of one hand while the other opens toward heaven ready to pick whichever fruit is presented.

Today, I also packed up my apartment. All my cozy things are packed in storage. I'm left with the cold reminder that I can't get too comfortable, and I will have to say goodbye more often than I would like, in this life I've been called to.

I'm sitting in a mostly-empty apartment, with no car waiting for me in the driveway. The reminders and ghosts of the past driven away, swept away with the autumn leaves, as I like them drift forward and await the next season.

Heron

God brought me a tall white heron today, in answer to a prayer for confirmation.

#sohappy

Trusting

This is the end of a very long three weeks. God opened a suddenly door for me to step in as a spanish teacher in a catholic school for twelve days, writing curriculum and teaching grades pre-k through 8th, with hand puppets, songs, videos, textbooks and stories. Students begged fore to tell them bible stories, and I ended classes with rich and colorful bible lessons and testimonies of faith and collective prayers and Holy Spirit encounters. Add to this busy season another suddenly- that of being accepted as a part of a missions organization and also suddenly plans to embark on an international trip in less than a month. So, while teaching ten different levels of spanish full days as the pinch hitter maestra, I was moonlighting by writing and mailing support letters, making calls and setting meetings with ministry partners, running to doctors for travel vaccinations. Plus a brand new laptop to lean fast how to use plus the software programs that continue to be new to me. 

In the most of this, cleaning out storage from a house and rising before roosters for two consecutive garage sales which, though very successful, caused me some heartache as I said goodbye to nearly all my possessions. Add to thy an untimely respiratory infection. 

Enter the seed for a nasty little thing called striving. 

It's easy to see how striving slithers in to throw priorities off and divert our gaze.

Striving is a fragile stronghold like a spiderweb that can hardly be seen but upon which whole foundations can be built or destroyed. My countless tasks, though rooted in good intentions, can be diverted to striving worry anxiety if I'm not careful. I am reminded to keep my eyes on Jesus, lest I sink. I've stepped out of the boat; but now to not look upon the waves. 

Eleven disciples did not step out of the boat. Often we think of Peter and criticize his lack of faith in sinking and crying out Lord, Lord. But we forget that eleven others sat there gawking, frozen in their wooden plank seats, toes fixed firmly on the floor and knuckles grasping oars in the stormy sea, afraid to let go of the oars, let alone rise up and plunge over the side into the black turbulence.

I feel like Peter in the turbulent water. I see Jesus straight ahead. His hand is reaching out to me. Come, daughter. Come. His smile and his bright eyes illuminate the darkness. There is no fear in him.

For all the things that need to still happen shall come to pass. I shall not fear. 

My assignments here have borne great fruit. Ninety-one students surrendered their lives to Jesus and invited him into their hearts during my short stint. They met with the Holy Spirit for the first time and were overtaken by his electrifying power. 

The hurdles will always be there, but the selahs will need to be purposefully made to rest in.  I need to breathe knowing He is in total control and will continue to lead me.

I'm tired. I'm ill. I'm beyond exhausted.  Im elated and super excited for this trip. 

I need only look in his eyes.

All else will fade away. 

He is here.

My Lord, my rabbi, my Friend.