Musings from the Front of the Line.

So I feel like I've punked out on the last few posts. Surveys and videos? What fluff is this? The truth is, I have much on my mind. Things have been topsy-turvy around here -a ship tossing in a stormy ocean! And admittedly, if we're going to keep with the metaphor, I'm spending more time heaving over the side of the ship rather than figuring out where all this rain is coming from.

There was the election last week. My son has decided to ditch his new potty habits and revert to the very worst from his diaper days. I'm suddenly overwhelmed with doubt concerning my husband and I's role as Sunday School teachers (Are we doing okay? Are they learning? Do they hate us?)

And we've been talking deeply about our future. Amid the pandemonium, we've both felt God talking to us about the same things. Frankly, what we're hearing is scary. George Muller is one of our mutual heroes of the faith; His is an amazing story of God's provision, an example of staying the course, striving for the prize, and marveling at all God will do when one is abandoned to Him. I guess, though, in all my mooning over how cool George was, I never really stopped to think about what it could really be like to live a life with a comparable measure of faith. I daydreamed about it, of course, while inspirational worship music played on my mp3 player as I washed dishes. But the daydreams hold no weight when you've been thrust to the front of the line for a big ol' task that's painful just to contemplate.

This season, I enter my eighth year as a Christian and with the anniversary has come the revelation that it's time to grow and mature. I'm a baby, and I'm terrified. It's uncomfortable, to keep circling back to the Word when all I want to do is run away and hide. When I do though, I'm confronted with promise after promise. So I focus on dressing myself with these, my garments of faith, my coat woven with a Father's love.


encouragement