I was attempting to videotape this week’s AWANA lesson when He answered our question. There I was, teaching the kids about the Holy Spirit, and the Spirit was instructing me. I pressed play on my iPhone for what I hoped might be my final shoot. This little project, beyond my pay grade, and later I’d tell my coworkers I’d felt like a techie-grandma. And I’d say this, too. How after a week of looking at my face on so many Zoom meetings and video selfies, I’ve had to admit. The gal is showing her age. Yikes.
I’d just discovered I’d accidentally deleted a needed segment of my lesson when Kyle knocked on the bedroom door, bearing burgers. Good man. He’d been to the store, stocked up on this week’s groceries for four, grilled up our dinner besides. I put video on hold, hunger taking precedence over accomplishment, eager to share my good news with my husband.
He looked haggard. Long day of video calls with his own colleagues, working from home, all over the world. Long couple of nights counting the cost of a house to be built. The day before we’d come up with a smaller option, keeping the footprint, but scaling back. We’d talked to our guy, Joel, and he’d assured us—all systems are GO. Stay-at-home not applying to outdoor construction, and a whole industry eager to do their jobs. Of course, it’s our money in the bank and not theirs, and how will we ever know what we should do?
I think the Spirit told me something. I catch Kyle’s eye across the drop-leaf table in his parents’ basement, pick a dill pickle chip off my plate, chew it slowly. “Okay,” he says. “What did He say?”
No matter which option we choose we can trust Him.
I savor the last bite of my burger, grilled to perfection, waiting for response. I watch his expression. He takes a deep breath, exhales, spark of light returning to his eyes. And I know. He knows. I heard correctly.
Of course. Our default, always, foolish people. Thinking it’s up to us. Thinking we’d better make the right decision. And how is that even possible? All things considered and all this uncertainty. We may as well admit it now. The smartest among us are at best guessing. Because whatever we do. Whatever happens. Today. Tomorrow. Next month. Next year. We don’t have a clue.
But we can trust Him.
That simple.
So now it’s Friday, and Kyle is out at the lake with Joel and the excavator and the concrete guy. Preliminary planning, another week before we make our official decision, and we’ll see by then how this whole thing’s unfolding. Or not. Whatever.
We’re holding loosely and it’s amazing how a heart can hold so much peace when you’ve got this assurance. Whatever option. YOU CAN TRUST ME.
My temporary (or not) bedroom window is open to the sun rising and birds singing. Spring arriving, right on schedule. Faithful rhythm of the Father’s world.
This week—for the first time since breaking my wrist, now a month ago—I’m typing. And running. The rhythms of my own life returning. Reassuring. New normal.
True enough. We don’t know what’s going to happen post-virus. Whatever new normal follows this crazy. No way to predict and no way to make a perfect decision. Ever. Not before and not now. And when did we ever? But no matter what, we can trust Him. Like always.
A riot of birds just outside my window sing in agreement. Not one bit worried.
Consider the ravens: They do not sow or reap, they have no storeroom or barn; yet God feeds them. And how much more valuable you are than birds! Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to your life? Since you cannot do this very little thing, why do you worry about the rest? Luke 12:24-26
Just like always.
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