What If You’re Right?
A few months ago, unbeknownst to me, my nine-year-old daughter started keeping a prayer journal. I stumbled across it one afternoon while cleaning her room. Assuming it was another one of her art notebooks filled with drawings, I flipped through it. I was surprised and moved to find pages of sweet, heartfelt prayers written in Providence’s careful hand. I stopped at one page in particular. It simply said, “Dear God, I trust you. -P.J” I marveled at her childlike faith. I tried to remember the last time I’d uttered such surrendered words.
This past month when my worries and fears have taken over my mind, I’ve found myself repeating the words, “Lord, help me to trust you.” Fully surrendering to that trust feels nearly impossible most days, especially when my world is being tipped on its side. You see, my husband has accepted a new job far from the familiarity of the Sonoran desert where we’ve resided for the last seven years. In two weeks we’ll be moving our family to a sweet little beachside town on the Gulf Coast of Mississippi. While it may seem sudden, for us it’s been a long time coming. We’ve known for quite a while that it was only a matter of time before God called my husband out of Tucson. We are excited about the partnership with our new church and the greater impact we’ll have on the community around us. We are confident it’s the right fit for him and his heart for ministry, and it’s that peaceful assurance we need to recenter to whenever our anxieties get the best of us.
Anyone who’s made a move out of state, especially with children, understands the stress of countless decisions to be made, logistics to figure out, and the exorbitant amount of money to be spent, on top of helping your young ones navigate their roller coaster of emotions. Decent sleep has become a thing of the past and I’ve maintained a steady diet of coffee and Pepto Bismol tablets. My muscles have completely forgotten how to relax. I find myself clenching even while laying in bed. I wake up stiff and aching every morning. My mind won’t stop racing no matter how much I write down to-do lists or set reminders on my phone. It’s a constant struggle to take my thoughts captive and keep my palms facing upward and open, relinquishing control to the One who has it all safely in His hands. The enemy would have me live in constant worry, fretting over every step of the process. There are hundreds of things that could go wrong during a move (many of which we experienced last time we did this) and I can run myself ragged and burn a hole in my stomach lining just turning them over in my mind. Fear is a powerful thing. But God is more powerful.
Last month as my husband and I drove around the quaint little town of Ocean Springs, wondering if we could see ourselves trading our “big city” life for the simpler, slower pace of beachside living, my spirit was convicted. I had been mulling about the proximity of the nearest (and the only) Starbucks, wondering if the local Winn-Dixie had an app I could order my groceries on, and how often I’d have to stop and talk to people in this small town while out running errands (I’m used to remaining anonymous in a city of nearly a million people). Would the town lose its charm? Would my husband enjoy his new position as much as he thinks he will? Also, I hate sand. And humidity does ridiculous things to my hair. And good gravy, moving is SO much work. It would be so much easier to stay where we are. And what about my kids? How would uprooting our family impact them? What if all my new friends are OUTDOORSY?! God help me. But I was asking the wrong questions.
My kids have a book called Jonathan James and the What If Monster, about a little boy who has a funny-looking little green monster that follows him around causing him to doubt every new situation. “What if you fall?” the monster asks as Jonathan looks up at a tree. “What if they all laugh at you?” taunts the monster as Jonathan stares nervously down at his friends from the high dive. I most definitely had my own What If Monster following me around those first few days in Mississippi. But then came God’s firm but loving voice. “What if you love it? What if the simpler, slower pace is exactly what your heart needs? What if you need to be stripped down of all your luxuries and options that your current life spoils you with? What if your kids, and what if you are more resilient than you think? What if your husband thrives and grows into his own in a way he’s never been able to do before?” and the biggest kicker of them all, “What if you can reach more people for My Kingdom here, with this church?” Suddenly the “what ifs” didn’t seem so scary. I just had to trust God enough to say, “What if you’re right?”
Recently I wrote about what bravery has looked like in my own life, and quite honestly it was pretty boring. This move though, is a life-altering decision, not just for me but for my husband and children as well. Now I need to be brave for more than just myself. This new job is undoubtedly one my husband can do well, but it will stretch him and push him in big ways. His “What If Monster” will speak loudly in his ear as he adjusts to a new work environment. My children are constantly wavering between excitement and sadness as they try to look into the unknown of our new life. Their insecurities sometimes get the best of them and their “what ifs” ring loud and clear. They need me to help tune their ears to Jesus, to His good and perfect promise to never leave us or forsake us. When He is with us, we have nothing to fear. Every time I speak this truth to my children I am speaking it to myself. They will learn to trust in God by watching me. Some days though, I have to fake it ‘til I make it.
I recently read a line in a novel by Kristin Hannah that said, “Be brave. Or pretend to be. It’s all the same.” I’ve found this to be profoundly true. I have been putting on a brave face, choking back tears, and plowing through the packing and paperwork for weeks now. Over dinner, we talk about what we’re most looking forward to in our new home. We scroll through pictures of our new house, new church, and new town with smiling faces. I’ve ensured my children have spent time with their closest friends, eaten at their favorite restaurants, and visited all their beloved Tucson areas of play. I’ve promised to pack their bedrooms very last to keep things as normal as possible for as long as possible. I’ve managed all the working pieces of our move while my husband finishes his last few weeks at work. I’ve held all their tears and assured them every emotion is valid, but I haven’t allowed myself the luxury of feeling any of my grief. Maybe that’s not courage, it’s just fear ignored.
I know my time of grief will come, if not on this side then on the other. All the emotions I’ve been shoving down to the pit of my stomach (the cause of all my acid reflux, I’m certain) will bubble to the surface and I’ll find myself missing my friendships, Arizona sunsets, the view of the mountains out my upstairs windows, and the kind of authentic Mexican food that can only be found in the most local of Tucson cuisine. I’ll miss the sound of our worship leader drawing us in on a Sunday morning and the familiar smiles that greet me and my children as we walk through our church courtyard. I’ll miss our favorite date night spots and the ominous look of monsoon clouds rolling into the valley. I’ll miss the sound of my kids talking with the next-door neighbor’s children over the wall. I will miss the laughter of our friends in our connection group; dear people that have become our family and rallied around us in every high and every low. More than anything I will miss the comfort and familiarity of the sights, sounds, and people that make up our desert home. It took us years to build it all.
Our ministry here has been both deep and broad. We have gained brothers and sisters, friends and family. What a remarkable season it’s been. I could fill pages and pages speaking of the hardships and blessings we’ve endured over the last seven years. To everyone who has loved our family, encouraged us, supported us, prayed for us, celebrated and grieved with us, we are so very thankful. Did we hope we’d found our forever home in Tucson? Of course, we did. We moved here seven years ago intending to put down solid roots. We didn’t expect our plans to be upended, but we trust God’s ways are perfect. Closing this chapter and starting a new one is so very bittersweet. We are not moving on, only moving forward, and we are doing so with hearts overflowing with gratitude.
“So why should I fear the future? For your goodness and love pursue me all the days of my life.” -Psalm 23:6-7