Today is the last day of school, and my blonde boy says in wonder,
“Mama, can you believe we’ve been to the same school for THREE years?”
It’s a big thing for this son who attended five schools in five years before moving to Colorado.
When I look in our family’s rear view mirror, transition has been our faithful companion. And wonder of wonders, I’m on good terms with it. Quite the lesson God had me learn, baptizing me in what I feared most so I could have my comfort zone stretched not just seasonly or yearly, but daily.
Here’s the thing about change and transition: We’re generally more comfortable with it when we know it’s coming. Or rather, when it’s our idea. But what about when it falls from the sky and drops the bottom out of our stomachs? When we’re thrown into it in spite of wanting nothing to do with it?
Recently I reacquainted myself with the story of Joshua leading the Israelites towards the promised land. Because they were entering new territory, Joshua and his officers told the people they would know which way to go by following the ark of the covenant of the Lord.
“Then you will know which way to go, since you have never been this way before. But keep a distance of about a thousand yards between you and the ark, do not go near it.” ~Joshua 3:4
With a million Israelites all together, they needed to keep a certain distance from the ark so everyone could see it and therefore know which way to go. And in that lies a good formula for handling transition:
Always keep in mind the big picture of what God is trying to work out in you and for you while never losing sight of Him in the process.
When radical change knocks on our door, the only thing that brings steady comfort is remembering God is using it to bring you to your own promised land.
When we don’t know which way to go, may we go to the One who knows just the right time to move.
And may we remember promised lands sit just beyond new territory.
I’ve hinted a little here and there about a special project I’m working on. Well, the project will be revealed this Monday, Memorial Day. It definitely marks a bit of a transition in my writing as I’ve never written something this extensive before. .
Come back Monday to find what it is and how *you* can have it!
If you are sharing your own stories of an unexpected lesson learned through transition, read this first.
Next prompt: Let’s have a little out of the blue for the red, white, and blue, shall we? Monday is Memorial Day and the unofficial kick-off to summer, but on next Thursday, let’s share stories of what we love about this country. If you’d like, it can be patriotic in nature or a thank-you to our military (i.e. if you wrote a Memorial Day post, feel free to link that). BUT it can also be something you love about summer, vacations, sports, or whatever you wish. Just think about why you feel blessed to live in the United States and give words to it. Can’t wait to read your glorious words!
I’m sightseeing at Panera’s glass covered bakery when I see her out of the corner of my eye. She turns from her laptop to the window as she gracefully swipes tears from her face.
I turn back to my panoramic view of desserts and order a cinnamon roll.
My thoughts roll back to the girl and her tears. I enjoy people watching (especially at places like airports and restaurants) and hypothesizing about the lives of others. I’ve seen Spanish royalty, Hollywood actors, CIA operatives, and mini-van driving mamas like me.
Or at least, I might have.
I find myself doing the same with this darling woman as she stares out the window. I don’t know what’s bothering her, but whatever it is, her heavy heart leaks tears.
Did she have a fight with her husband?
Did she get a rejection letter from a hopeful employer?
Did she take a pregnancy test and it read negative? Or positive?
Did she see a news story she just can’t forget?
Whatever causes her tears, does she know they’re seen?
Do you know it? Because this is true: Your pain matters because your heart matters.
For in Christ all the fullness of the Deity lives in bodily form, and you have been given fullness in Christ (Colossians 2:9-10). We never cry alone because God is a part of us, so He can’t help but care.
And like a dusty, forgotten gift card found in a drawer, I find a gift that proves my pain matters because I matter, and it’s all seen by the One who never leaves my side.
Your tears are meaningful because your worth is undeniable.
Your identity is unshakeable.
Because His love for you is unfathomable.
May you hold these sweet truths close to your heart today.