I cannot count how many times I have settled down with my journal to pour out my frustrations and dashed dreams, and within a span of a few pages, find my writing shift into something like praise. It’s not because I’m holy or somehow divinely inspired. It’s because God shows up, time and time again, and speaks truth to my heart as I write. I recognize God’s voice by the sense of peace that comes along with it. It’s the sense that I am moving towards joy. It was October 8, 2016 and our small business was slowly failing. The
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I woke up in the middle of the night, and as I rolled over, I marveled over something unusual. For the past several years, it became common for me to jolt awake at some odd hour, and have adrenaline begin to course through me as I thought about the day before; or the day behind; or the never-ending list of tasks I needed to do. But that night, I realized that I wasn’t feeling the adrenaline surge. Instead, I felt something much more pleasant…a sense of contentment, and a place of peace. Somehow, waking up in the middle of the
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I am waiting for the certainty. I am longing for the guarantee. It’s been well over a year since we’ve had a predictable paycheck, and in that time, we watched the business we spent 19 years building, be systematically disassembled. In the face of starting over mid-life, we moved across the country. We placed our homeschooled children into public school. With more changes on the horizon, I continue to wait for some semblance of normal to return to my life. Instead, all I see is the open space of time…and the frustration of not being able to see beyond the
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