For the first time since March of 2020, Christopher is traveling. It’s not been the trip he planned, but it’s so clearly been the one that God planned that there’s no way one can take issue with it. That’s been the message I’ve been stressing to the children here at home each morning when they ask where Daddy is now, and if he’s reached his end destination or not: when you live with open hands, God will fill them. When you step out in faith, He will provide the path. When you hand over your control, He will order your days.
Saying it is, of course, one thing. Living it is quite the other. I’ve been so very conscious of my reactions to circumstances in the past year. When all of this life-altering craziness swept into being last spring, I saw the reflection of my conversations and worries in the eyes of my children. It’s so easy to forget how closely they’re watching, and how what they see shapes so much more than just their mood in the moment. Exposure to constant stress, to ever-present frustration, to anything that sets a tone of alarm in the house for not a circumstance but a whole season… it puts down roots. Those roots take hold, and dig deep, and soak up all the water of faith and all the nutrients of peace we try so hard to rain on the soil of those little hearts.
So I’ve tried to be more measured. Not to deny my emotions, not to be a blank slate, but to default, instead, to the things I ought to, anyhow. Faith, hope, and love. Blessed assurance. And oh, what a difference it has made. We rode out the insanity of 2020 with a sense of comfort in knowing that God’s sovereignty was not shaken no matter what viruses, governments, or society might do. That’s a big thing, clearly. My kids barely noticed after the first few weeks, because we purposefully redirected every bit of information they heard back to the fact that as believers, we have nothing to fear, in life or in death. But you know what? For us, it wasn’t the big things that mattered. Not really. It was the small stuff.
It was the car that didn’t start. The freezer that died. The prolonged wait for this or that, the changes in expectations we all faced due to life in a changing world.
What part of me wanted to do was adopt an attitude of, “What next?!” I won’t lie. I have never been more tempted in my entire life to fully embrace the exasperated “it’s always something” mindset. But the times I felt it creeping over me, I saw and felt five sets of eyes on me, watching. Waiting. Learning.
I don’t want my kids to remember me as being “a worrier.” I don’t want them to think back on any time in their life and picture me gritting my teeth as I endure the day to day. What this past year and a half has done for me is give me ample practice in putting skin on my profession that I trust in Christ.
So yes, the car didn’t start. Guess God didn’t want us to go to that lesson. The freezer died. Praise God for the provision to repair it! Dad’s plans took him to Europe instead of Nepal, then got him to Kathmandu a week late? Sounds like the Lord had something else for him to do.
I’m not into the “keep sweet” movement. I’m not Pollyanna. But I am someone who recognizes that we set the thermostat for our homes. Emotions are real. There’s nothing wrong with admitting them in front of your kids. But letting them control you? Letting them rob you of your peace? Why? If God is in charge, there’s no reason to fret. We are in the best hands possible. Remembering that, and living it out, has given me— and my family— a better grasp of living with purpose.