like an arrow.
|this girl is learning that walks in the snow are the best|
I'm still praying and mulling over what the Lord wants from Naptime Diaries in 2012.
I know it's February. But I just moved, so I'm giving myself some grace:).
I can't get away from the phrase "a true story" no matter how hard I try.
At the same time I feel burdened to tell an absolutely true story, I feel this new and fresh burden to keep my life safe. And over time I've noticed a completely parallel burden emerging to keep this story safe.
Because it's only my story for a split second of the day.
And then it becomes everyone else's story and how much right do I have to tell that?
So while my favorite blogs to read are those where I can saddle up with a cup of coffee and hear a sister's heart and see her days and learn from her and laugh with her, I realize I've offered none of that myself. I've been the quiet girl at the coffee date which is literally the exact opposite of who I know He's made me to be.
So here it is friend.
Do you have some coffee?
I'll tell you straight up that this HCG diet is making me lose my taste for coffee.
Hence the tea I'd be drinking if we were together.
And that is a heart issue. I'm laughing now, but it's true.
Because if I'm not a coffee drinker, who am I?
Through laughter I'd agree that I'm a daughter of the most High King.
But Oh, I love some coffee.
Anyhow, you wanted an update?
Well, we moved to Fort Wayne two weeks ago and we are living in a sweet and precious limbo. Nick is spending the bulk of his days at the church and figuring out his place there and I'm with the Connolly brood and in the other times we're figuring out how to have a family-run Etsy shop. And we're living with our precious new friends and we're awed by their graciousness and we're in that funny limbo of wanting to stay in a perpetual sleepover and yearning to give them their own space. Yearning to have our own space, you know - just so that we can have THEM over.
|kiddos crafting it up.|
And community is a precious limbo too.
In the quiet moments, I have that heart-burn-in-the-bottom-of-your-stomach ache that screams, "WHY DID YOU LEAVE A PLACE WHERE YOU WERE KNOWN?". A place where you could cry at community group, you could go to breakfast with your best friends with only five minutes prior planning, you could pop in for a playdate, you could drive two hours and cuddle with your sister and your mom or let your kids play with their cousins. And that fleshly voices deceivingly asks, "What if you're never known here? What if you're misunderstood here? What if you don't fit here?". And in an instant, the deeply implanted truth of His Spirit reminds me that I'm known by the One who named me. Argument over.
But the obvious for me would normally be to jump in. In all ways. Volunteer, Serve, Meet, Greet, Play, Talk, Get to know, Build. And yet, sweetly, this time - I feel like the Lord is reminding me of hindsight. And I can look back on other seasons of transition and see myself clambering to make and to build and know and to jump in, and it was just too much for this small-plated-sister. So instead, no matter how many wonderful women I meet or how many playdates I am tempted to set up right now, for the most part - I'm just living. Meeting the needs of our crew, and our business, and looking for a place to settle so we can then, dig into some community.
|precious arrow painting by Hello Hue, a vday gift from my man.|
My friend and discipler, Elizabeth, said something that blessed my heart so much I am claiming it. Begging the Lord for it to be so. When I told her the story of Fort Wayne and moving and Gospel Community, she said - it seemed like an arrow. (which is of course a precious reference for me) But she said it's like when an arrow is being pulled back to be set free and it is pulling and stretching and painful. She compared that to the season we've just walked through. It's not been miserable or tormenting, but it's been stretching and pulling and hard in plenty of ways. And she spoke that it seemed that this next season was the letting go of the arrow - to fly forward.
Is that such a beautiful thing to speak or what?
And I'm saying, Yes Lord - let it be.
I think we've been pulled and stretched and I can almost perceive that the Lord is holding this arrow very still as we settle. As He aims us. Gets us ready. And maybe sloughs off some of the debris left still on our hearts.
And I pray He lets go soon.
And I pray He sends this family out into His world, for His glory.
Fast and gentle, mighty and humbled.
Like an arrow.