Bafflement of Blessing

Backyard view of the "River House" where we will (God willing) be moving this month.

I live in the bafflement of blessing. 

Here’s the thing. I have never consciously gravitated toward a theology of prosperity. While there may certainly be seedlings of the stuff, buried somewhere in my naiveté, the more blatant expressions make me feel a little nauseas. 

You’re getting a jewel in your crown. 

God will reward your efforts. 

You deserve blessings. 

Yuck. 

I just can’t see how this way of thinking lines up with what I read in the New Testament, starting with the four Gospels. And yet, sometimes—often even—we find ourselves swimming in God’s abundant provision. His blessing. Which, if you ask me, is the greater mystery. I’m never quite sure how to respond to it. 

A few weeks ago my husband and I found ourselves blindsided by doors slamming all around. Doors of houses, that is. Perhaps you’ve been following our unfolding story. Buyers of our lake house cancelling their contract. The house we’d thought to buy also falling through. And in response, well-meaning friends and family would reassure us, “God has something better for you.” 

It’s not that I doubted the truth of the sentiment. I always believe God has something better, more than we can ask or imagine. I’ve lived in the beautiful collision of brokenness and love. I’ve seen joy erupt in the middle of suffering. And I have known firsthand a bounty of peace in the heart-cracking surrender at altar. 

I just don’t assume BETTER needs to be of a material nature. And when it is, I tend to be surprised. 

Baffled. 

All of this to say… God has opened a new door for us, and it does indeed seem better. In fact, looking back on this whole journey we have to laugh out loud. It’s as if God is making sure the story we tell will only and ever be HIS. 

Only God…

It was a week at most, after all those slamming doors, that we were invited to consider “The River House.” Friends of our son heard our story. Their own next-door-neighbors were getting ready to sell. “Would your parents be interested…?” And it’s déjà vu all over again. 

Same general neighborhood. Same four blocks, but in a different direction. Four blocks, also, from a second son, who’s recently moved with his family, from California. 

We shake our heads, incredulous. 

If we hadn’t lost the first house, we would have never known about this one. We wouldn’t have even thought of moving, right?! 

Do you see what I mean? Only God. 

Water for water, and it faces the sunset. Sunsets on the lake and now sunsets on the river, and a whole wall of windows to take it in. A balcony and patio. Architectural design that’s exactly what we’d have chosen—if it had been us doing the choosing, but it wasn’t. Do you see what I mean? Baffled. 

There’s even a piano. 

I am humbled and awed and I hardly know what to say. Torn between theology and giving glory. Telling this story the best I can. Giving God the praise He’s due. 

OH GOD…

Let us be humble and generous and surrendered. Let our new home be a sanctuary of sorts. A place set apart. Filled with your Spirit. A place of welcome and prayer, Scripture and healing. A place where my neighbors—my grandkids—might fall deeply in love with Jesus. 

Amen.