Silent, but Not Still (part 3... the finale!)

My first thought, after hugging my newly-hired husband, was one of complete, and total panic.

It was Saturday.
We were going to fly back to Indiana Monday morning.
We will be coming back to Philly in 2 short months.

We needed to find a house.

We had (rather audaciously) set up several meetings with realtors prior to our trip out there. Granted, it was at the recommendation of the church leadership, but I still felt a little presumptuous house-shopping before we had even been offered a job.

But on Saturday afternoon, we set off, compliant baby in tow, to look at several houses.

Remember the neighborhood described on our first drive through Philly? Well.... apparently our price range put us just a few blocks over from the terrifying pit-bull fights. As I held my nose in terrifying basements, and wondered if fifteen layers of paint would ever come off the window-sill, I looked in despair at my hubby.

We had talked of living in a rougher neighborhood. And we wanted our home to be a mission. We had prayed that God would give us a house near the people we were wanting to serve. But I couldn't shake the conviction that these houses would probably cave in from mold before we even moved to Philly.

Discouraged, we re-grouped on Sunday (Mother's Day), and looked at four more houses.

They were less terrifying, but Scott was clearly nervous about the home improvement projects, and my Mid-Western heart was screaming for some green space.

We had a simple (we thought) wish-list for our new home.
1. Plenty of parking (so we could have people over).
2. Lots of bedrooms (for all the children and stray grown-ups we are planning on collecting).
3. A little bit of yard.

And then we each had our dream item: I was hoping (after my little, barely-grown-from-a-kitchenette-kitchen) for a real kitchen, and Scott was hopeful that he would find a work-space for his growing collection of tools.

Apparently, houses in Philly don't have yards, parking, or square-footage. Most of the kitchens we looked at hadn't been updated since the '70s. And there were only moldy basements for Scott's future tool bench. I didn't think I was asking a lot. In fact, I was rather proud of my severely tempered expectation. But after finding out that we couldn't afford even the most basic, vinyl mass-produced home, at least, not if we didn't want to majorly blow our budget... I was completely demoralized. Every time I thought of increasing our budget, I would begin to cry... it meant that we couldn't adopt any more babies! I didn't need a kitchen that badly.

Then, Sunday afternoon, I got another feeling. After the success of the "Joshua feeling," I decided to listen to the little internal nudge. If it was foolishness, I would take all the blame. If it was really God working, then He could get all the glory. I turned to Scott,

"Okay... Don't laugh. But... I have a feeling."
He grinned... "I thought you thought "feelings" were kooky."
"Maybe I do," I said, only mildly chagrined, "But I just can't shake this... We need to call the "parking lot house.""

"Parking Lot House" was a listing I had found on zillow.com. The only outside view of the house was of a huge parking lot, with a rather hodgepodge exterior, and an unprepossessing side door. I had fallen in love with parking lot house... its wood floors, pretty kitchen, and big windows. But Scott had called the owner a week earlier, and they had been firm on their price: it was $10,000 more than we could afford.

Scott wasn't in love with "Parking Lot House." So, with that higher price, I dropped it.

But, after my niggling, we went back to zillow.com to see if we could contact the seller. The listing was gone. I was completely undeterred. We had to see that house. I just knew it.

Scott went back through his phone, and called every single Pennsylvania number he had contacted in the past week. Several embarrassing run-ins with realtors (who we had decided not to work with) almost deterred him, but I (seeing as I was not the one making the embarrassing phone calls) was unfazed.

Multiple calls later, he got a hold of the owner! We set up a visit time, bright and early, 8:30 a.m., Monday morning, the day we were flying out.

As we pulled down the street, we saw rows of Victorian "twin homes," an East coast fascination with sharing a wall with your neighbor... Some of the houses were lovely. Some, quite dilapidated. We pulled up to "Parking Lot House" and my heart skipped a beat... it was right next to a massive parking lot, and one of the most gorgeous churches I have ever seen.

"Honey!" I whispered in awe, "Look at all that parking!"

Wish-list number one, answered.

The door was opened by a girl, about my age, who was hip-holding a precious little 12 month-old who looked like he could have been Grant's big brother. She led us through the double french-door entryway and the little, marble-tiled foyer. Although updates were needed, my heart started jumping at the potential. Two sitting rooms, tall windows... and a massive kitchen with granite counter tops and brand new cabinets. My heart probably stopped.

A huge backyard, a two car garage (i.e. future work-room), five bedrooms, an attic master suite, a front stair and back stair, newly redone hard-wood floors, a basement that didn't smell like six different fungi. My wish list with tons and tons and tons of beautiful extras!

But I tried not to fall too hard. It was still outside our budget. It was an amazing deal in Philly. But still outside our budget.

"Do you mind me asking why you took the house off the market? Do you have an offer?"

She smiled, "Well, no... it's not necessary that we move, we would just like to eventually, for my husband's dental practice... It's just..."

She paused.

"We've just been hoping that we could sell this house to people who would have a heart for the neighborhood."

My jaw hit the floor, "No way! We have been praying that we would find a neighborhood that could be a mission field!"

She grinned. "Okay, I totally thought that you guys were Christians. This is awesome! In case you hadn't noticed, the neighborhood around isn't the best. It's not terrible. But it's not the greatest. We've never had anything stolen, but we wanted to move to an area where we could share the gospel."

As we chatted our way back through the house, Scott mentioned that he was finishing seminary in Indiana.

"Where in Indiana?" She asked, "Not Lafayette, Indiana?"
"How do you know about Lafayette, Indiana?"
"Oh," she replied, "One of my best friends from college... her husband is going to seminary there... It's called "Faith Bible Seminary" or something..."

Goosebumps ran up and down my arms.

"That's our seminary!"

There are only 19 guys in the seminary class. And she knew one of them. All the way from Philadelphia. We grinned at each other in delight. I had a feeling that we should be friends. And that we should buy this house.

Because we were willing to work without a realtor, and because I just think they're amazing people who are legitimately interested in sharing the gospel... they lowered the price of the house.

We sent in our purchase agreement and first check two weeks ago.

Tears fill my eyes as I write this. He didn't have to do this. God didn't have to give me all this wonderful goodness. But He gave me my wish list and tens upon thousands of details beyond. We are going to be owning our dream house, Lord willing, by August. In Philadelphia.


Now, tell me that God didn't have a role in that...

Silent, but Not Still (part 2)

I am so excited about our new church family in Philadelphia. They showered blessing upon blessing on us during our brief weekend, and every day was full of countless courtesies that made us feel loved by these brothers and sisters in Christ that we had never met.

We arrived Friday evening.
Had a lovely dinner (with a crying baby, who fell asleep under the table, despite the horrid waiter that kept crashing plates down right above where he was sleeping).
And then Grant and I slept and lounged and dozed in the hotel room all Saturday morning while Scott interviewed.

Scott is amazing. Probably the best husband/pastor/man out there. (He's also a really good kisser, but I doubt they care about that...) So the church offered him the job. Saturday morning.

While Scott was going through the interview process, I was cuddled under a downy comforter, listening to my baby snore, and idly flipping through my Bible, wondering what I should read next...

And I got a feeling.

Now, I must be honest. I was raised by two amazing Christian people. I have gone to one of the best churches on God's good green earth for seventeen years. And through all those years of teaching, I imbibed a skepticism for the "speaking of the Spirit." I believe the Holy Spirit is living and active. I also believe that the Word of God is complete, and that God is not adding to it through direct revelation. So, rather than leave room for the possibility of the Holy Spirit nudging someone along, I, in my black-and-white mind, completely ruled out the possibility that any thought or encouragement could come from the Holy Spirit.

Then I married Scott.

In his own words, he had his "flakey" days, when he lived in the ditch opposite mine: the "open-your-Bible-and-point" and suddenly God's will is revealed. Although he didn't live there any more (and hasn't for quite a few years!), he brought a certain tolerance and "activeness" to the role of the Holy Spirit into my life.

Which is why I listened to this "feeling".... And flipped to Joshua, chapter one. 

In my head, I began to think it out... "Yes, Scott is a Joshua. He is not Moses. He was not the first leader. He did not have to tackle the wilderness of church-planting. But now, he's going in to "conquer the land." He's got lots of battles ahead of him..."

And then I read... 

I will never leave you nor forsake you. Be strong and courageous, because you will lead these people to inherit the land I swore to their ancestors to give them.

“Be strong and very courageous. Be careful to obey all the law my servant Moses gave you; do not turn from it to the right or to the left, that you may be successful wherever you go. Keep this Book of the Law always on your lips; meditate on it day and night, so that you may be careful to do everything written in it. Then you will be prosperous and successful. Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the Lord your God will be with you wherever you go.”

Why am I strong and courageous... because the Lord will never forsake me. He will be with me wherever I go.

Even Philadelphia.

God is here. He promised. 

May his promises be my meditation.

Scott burst through the door, excited to tell me about his job offer... and I was prepared to excitedly rejoice with him. New city. New church. New people. New place... Same God. Silently working, and sometimes giving me a nudge towards the truth that I need.

(to be continued)

Silent, but Not Still (part 1)

I have a horrible, terrible, no good, very bad habit. It leaches into my soul, and sucks out all my joy and peace. Worse, it causes me to doubt my amazingly good Savior... For although He is often silent, He is never still.

I forget His protection.

I forget all the times He has circled me around, arranged minute details, and marshaled the forces of man, emotions, and circumstances to work everything in my favor. I always forget it. Always.

And so, to remind myself, I'm going to share an amazing, unbelievable, huge blessing that God lavished on us.

One month ago.

In the city of Philadelphia.

We landed in Philly after a 3 hour delay, frazzled, bedraggled, and navigating a mass of interstate in a car that refused to shift higher than third gear.

Philly drivers are not nice.

Welcome to Philly... where they have to have street signs that say, "Don't Go Until Green" so that people remember they can't go on red. No joke. 

But, in little to no time, I stooped to their level, and was honking and waving angrily with the rest of them. Scott, appalled at my complete lack of Christian charity, attempted to navigate us to smoother waters and quieter streets.

To no avail.

Philadelphia, as it turns out, has some pretty seedy areas. As we got lost (on the south side of Philly, which is like the south side of every other city I have ever driven through), we looked in Mid-West horror out our car windows at electrical wires criss-crossing the street, draped with tennis shoes and grocery bags. Random, scantily-clad women walked in front of our car, with little to no concern for whether or not they had the right-of-way. As I drove by one house (a vivid, peeling fuchsia facade), I almost came out of my skin as a little child tumbled out the door, wrestling a pit-bull for some prized possession. The whole block erupted in pandemonium, and the scantily-clad women crossed the street a little more quickly. The neighborhood, crammed tight with houses, was full of trash, debris, and lost people.

Prayer answered.

You see, Scott and I had been praying that we could go to Gary, Indiana. The inner-city, the poorest of the poor, had weighed heavily on our hearts since our introduction, through a failed adoption, to the lifestyle of people who didn't even have the hope of material comfort, let alone the hope of eternal salvation. But attempt after attempt had resulted in door after door being slammed in our faces. Gary didn't want us.

Or rather, God didn't want us in Gary.

Lucky for us, God picked us up, and moved us to another "Gary." So while some people may have seen pit-bull fights, dodgy wiring, and a terrifying car-ride as an example of God forsaking them... we were elated to see God's continued plan for our lives. In Philadelphia.

But that wasn't all He was doing...


(to be continued)

Through the Tears...May You Taste and See

My heart is breaking.

Aching sorrow, tears, and sleeplessness... 

"...weep with those who weep."

A friend is grieving. The heaviness of grief makes my breath stop. I want to wrap her in a hug that will never stop. To rage, question, sob, and mourn as she walks through this dark, terrifying, and often debilitating forest of grief. I want to be there... to make cups of tea, to take care of necessary chores, to encourage or to quiet the sobs.

But most of all, I want to hold her hand. 

And pray.

Silently.

To myself.

A painful prayer.

I will not pray this prayer out loud. I will not speak my request to her. For now, she must cry. Now she needs to mourn. "For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven...a time to weep... a time to mourn." Tears help. Tears are good. 

But I will pray.

I pray that she will see... that she will taste and see the goodness of the Lord. That the beauty and glory of this truth is not spoken from a place of safety, goodness, and blessing, but that it is shouted in a moment of fear and desperation.

This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him

    and saved him out of all his troubles...

Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good!

    Blessed is the man who takes refuge in him!

He is here. In this moment. In this trial. In this loss. I have no idea why.  But I know that he is still good. I don't see it. I don't understand. I know that this only happened because He allowed it. And I don't know why He allowed it. I can't see. I've tried. Tears streaming down my face... I've asked. I just don't know.

But he's good. You can taste it. You can see it.

"The eyes of the Lord are toward the righteous and his ears toward their cry." He weeps with our grief, and that one of the first things he will do, in a perfected world is to "wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away." Before the Hero of the universe proclaims His own glory, even before He announces that He has made "all things new," He stops to tell us, "you will not cry. I will erase this pain. I will make you whole."

But tonight, the tears come. And as my heart aches to reach across the miles with a long, never-ending hug, I cling to this promise, 

"Oh, taste and see that the Lord is good... [for] The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit."*

Oh, Lord, please.... let it be so.

*Psalm 34

Breathing Space and Pumpkin Bread

There are three loaves of pumpkin bread baking. A fan is whirring in the background, and I can hear the neighbor mowing. I just pulled a dinner of salmon and brussel sprouts off the grill. I bought the summer's first watermelon today.

This is idyllic.

And I can breathe.

It's time to tell you what has been happening. Such a crazy life, we lead! Full of sundry smallness, but still so overwhelmingly busy to us finite, weak humans.

Two weeks ago, we got a final offer on our house.

Last Thursday, we closed on our house. We had packed up our lives, our baby, and our memories in 8 short days, and moved in with my parents.

Less than twenty-four hours later, Scott Grant, and I flew out to Philadelphia. Scott was interviewing for a position at a Harvest Bible Chapel as Pastor of Ministry Development. We were blown away by the generosity of the church, the wonderful people, and the need in Philly. (More on this later.) So, when they offered him the job on Saturday, we said "yes." And we met our new church family on Sunday (which was also my first mother's day... more on that later). Then we went on a whirlwind housing expedition (and I will talk about this... later! There's just too much fun in the loving details our God showered on us). And left Philly at noon on Monday.

Now we are living at my parents... Moving back in with the parentals isn't necessarily anyone's idea of fun, but I'm so thankful for this time.

I'm thankful that Grant is getting to spend so much time with his wonderful grandparents, before we move 9 hours away. I'm so thankful that I have a loving mama and dad who would be willing to share their home. I'm so thankful that we're all "friends." And although I'm sure there will come a day when we will all be tired of each other, I'm thankful that day is a long time in coming.

So, I'm popping bread in the oven, doing laundry, and enjoying a slight return to normalcy... And I'm just so delightfully glad that we have a God who provides rest. Not just during nap time and on Sunday, but on a Thursday night, after a long day at work, and an evening with many household chores. Because I'm learning that rest is not based on the length of your "to-do" list, but rather in the recognition of peace and joy in the daily graces given by our wonderful Heavenly Father.



*****
Rustic Pumpkin Bread
1 box yellow cake mix
1 can of pumpkin pie filling.

Preheat oven to 350.

Mix together these two (very easy!) ingredients. (There will still be some lumps.) Scrape into a greased bread pan. **optional: sprinkle with raw sugar for a crusty, sugary top.**

Bake at 350 for approximately an hour. Finish time dependent on pan/oven/altitude. Bread is done when knife inserted in the center comes out clean. This is probably the yummiest smelling bread I've ever made.... My hubby requested that we not give it to the neighbors, but eat all 9 loaves ourselves.

Enjoy with chai tea, of course

This Has Been A Happy House

Tonight, as my living room fills up with boxes, as I empty another closet, as I pull packing tape across another bubble-wrapped picture frame, my throat is very tight.

We sold our house.

I am so incredibly, unbelievably relieved. As Scott interviews for jobs, and finishes up seminary, we needed to sell our house. We are leaving Lafayette. We don't know for sure where the next job is, but we do know it's not here...

But I'm also incredibly, unbelievably heart-broken. As I dug through the entry-way closet, and pulled yet another picture frame off the wall, I started to cry.

I love this house.

I loved living here with my brother during graduate school. I loved my beginning in young professionalism with my dear roomie, Jessica. I loved the excited exasperation when my hubby moved in, as I made room for all of his things alongside mine. We lost a baby here. We brought a baby home here. We cuddle a little three-year old who was destined never to be ours. We had Christmases, birthdays, and fights about how to do home improvement projects. There have been countless movie nights, dinner parties, early morning accountability meetings, and fire-side chats.

I love this house. But I love it because it is more than a house.

It is my life. These people, my families, this town... this is where I've lived.

And it's never easy to leave a place where you've truly lived. A part of your soul rips when you do. This is not just my house. This is the place where I've been loved and happy. It's a place where I've learned more about my flaws, and been given the safety to grow.

I do love adventure, but all really big adventures start with leaving comfort. Grad school, marriage, adoption... they were all very big adventures. And now, I'm about to embark on another adventure. And the scary thing is, I don't know where I'm going, or what I'm doing... But I guess that's the way it is with all really good adventures. No one ever wrote a book about a heroine who sat at home in the safety of predictability.

But I think that that's what heaven is going to be like... a huge adventure and absolutely no fear. Imagine what you could do if you weren't crippled by heart-breaking nostalgia and over-active homesickness...

I'm getting ready for my next adventure... and dreaming of the thousands of adventures I will enjoy in that delightful place where there is no fear, as I sift through hundreds of happy memories at "Trace Two."

My favorite ladies... "The Cardigans." I'm blessed to have been surrounded all through college with wonderful friends.

I have a weakness, an addiction, really, for Christmas decorations... And if you had this fireplace, wouldn't you?

Mid-bathroom re-model. This was my 23rd birthday present from my hard-working brother, Bax.

PARTY!!! There's no doubt... cram a bunch of people into an under-sized condo, and they're bound to have fun.

Sunset in summer 2010

Patio parties, complete with colorful lighting, of course.

My delightful early morning accountability ladies... 6:00 a.m. isn't early at all--when you have coffee, chit-chat, and tender hearts. 

First anniversary present... an oil painting for the mantle.

Walking through our neighborhood. For whatever reason, I decided to see if I could make my shadow look like Winnie-the-Pooh. It's a little depressing how close I came...

Our first Christmas! (And the beginning of Scott's love for crazy socks.)

Our little "cherished" treasure...  the adoption that never happened. We only had her for three short days. But she still holds a piece of our hearts. 

Bringing Grant home! 

Christmas 2012... Celebrating with my Michigan loves.

Daddy and Grant. Both thoroughly exhausted from the ordeal of bottle feedings.

Yes, this has been a happy house.

Quietly Racing, Fiercely Resting

I fell into the classic "woman trap."

Last night, actually.

It was ten o'clock, the lights were out, and the monsoon-like rainstorm had stilled to a dull roar. I had just had a wonderful text-versation with my brother in NYC, I had eaten a bowl of ice cream for dinner (perks of the honey being gone), and my house was spotless (thanks to a recent showing).

All was right in my world.

And I couldn't sleep.

I lay there, eyes peeled open, staring at the ceiling. Would our house sell? Does this guy want to buy? How soon would he want to move in? We could borrow my dad's trailer... we'd need  a storage unit... what clothes did I want to pack, which do I need... packing the kitchen would be a bear... baby isn't going to like this...

Courtney. For crying out loud, go to sleep.

I flipped to the side, cuddled down in my pillow, and... what if Scott doesn't get a job? What if I'm the reason that he doesn't get a job? Name one other profession where they care what your wife is like... I've never been good at pastor-wifey stuff... I don't like mauve and ladies' teas... what if they want me to do the flower arrangements for the women's bathroom? Is that something that pastor's wives do? I guess I could learn to like mauve...

Courtney. Stop it.

I rolled over. Face down. Would I need to find a new job? I will miss my current patients and coworkers so much... but could we afford to buy a house on Scott's salary? Where would we buy it? Where will we be? We want 7 to 9 children... how many houses can accommodate that kind of lunacy?

I turned over the Scott, "I can't sleep."

"Me either. Stop worrying."

"I'm not worrying. I'm just thinking about lots of different things."

"Honey... that is the very definition of worry."

He was right. The word "worry" in the Greek actually means (roughly) "to divide."

In reality, there was nothing that I needed to do right now. There was nothing that I needed to plan in order to be a good steward of tomorrow. Instead, I was splitting my mind up into a million tiny pieces. I put a little bit of my mind on selling the house, a little on where we will move, a little in Scott's job... and why stop there? Why don't I start thinking about my baby's development, my job, how much laundry there is, whether or not I paid the credit card bill... And my mind gets divided again, and again, and again...

Yes. I was worrying. Don't pretend you haven't.

My perfect worry time is after everything is done for the day, the lights click off, I climb under my fluffy comforter, cuddle down for sleep, and then... BAM. Suddenly, my life is devolving into total disarray and it all requires that I immediately have plans for every possible scenario.

The problem with worry is two-fold. The first is that it is literally like slapping God in the face. You would never dream of saying, "God, I'm sorry, I'm just better at this than you, so I'm going to take over the details and organization of my life. 'Kay, thanks, bye." But when you worry, that is what you're saying.

The second problem with worry is our finite humanness... Unlike the God of the universe (who, incidentally, you just assumed was incompetent by deciding to worry), you do not have limitless brain power and resources to throw at a million different problems. Your energy and emotional capacity are limited. When you burn up all your reserves worrying about things that may never happen, and/or, things that you cannot control, you are robbing yourself of one of your most precious resources.

You have a finite time on this earth. You only have a short number of days in which to live. And when you spend those days, wrapping your mind into knots, and dividing it into a myriad of small, unimportant boxes, you are distracting yourself from what you need to be doing.

Paul writes: Every athlete exercises self-control in all things. They do it to receive a perishable wreath, but we an imperishable. So I do not run aimlessly; I do not box as one beating the air. But I discipline my body and keep it under control, lest after preaching to others I myself should be disqualified.

Worrying is beating the air. Your mind is out of control when you worry. And you only have a little time to run this race...

In Psalm 37 it says, 

Do not fret—it leads only to evil.
For those who are evil will be destroyed,

    but those who hope in the Lord will inherit the land.

I will not worry... not only is my God in perfect, sovereign control... but I only have a short time here. And if I worry, I lose my effectiveness in many, much more important matters.

Who cares if we don't have a house, or can't sell our current house? What does it matter in eternity if we have no jobs, or are unable to have a future plan? Worse things have happened to Christians, and if that happens when I am seeking to please the Lord, then I can only assume it is for my good and His glory.

But I do care, regardless if I'm homeless, jobless, and plan-less, about sharing the hope that I have in Christ... Because apart from his gracious goodness, my life would be nothing but beating the air.