Beau woke me up around four a.m. He never barks, rarely makes noise at all, but there was a gentle, nearly imperceptible whine, emanating from his kennel.
I got up, sleepily wandered to his kennel, let him out, Sassy out of hers, snapped on their leashes, snapped one on Dennis the Cat, and out we all traipsed for Beau to do his business. It was FREEZING out there. I had, in my stupor, not bothered to grab my coat. I was wearing my cute little penguin pajamas, which are awesome if you are inside, and not so awesome outside in North Georgia at four in the morning in November. And, to add insult to injury, my normally quick-to-go Beau wasn't so ...quick...to...go.... this morning. He took his time. Wandered around the yard. Did a bit of business, squatted for a long time, got up, walked a step, squatted again to do more. This went on for five different "squats" in our yard.
By this time, I was feeling the chill from the tips of my bare feet (yes, I forgot shoes too) to my adorable nose (it is the only part of me that I am happy to say I have never not liked), and I was slowly turning into a Frozen character. I felt the wind whipping through me, my body felt exposed to the elements even in my pajamas, and I was truly vulnerable to the frigid weather that I am SO not used to. What saved me was the knowledge that the front door was only a few steps away, and I knew that we would be back inside, cozy and warming from the chill, in no time. A small comfort, but a comfort, nonetheless.
I shook my head, urged Beau to hurry, and set about pondering how in the world this is where I am.
A cold place that's about to get even colder. There might even be...dare I say it?...SNOW.
And I am woefully unprepared, although I am making preparations.
I haven't worn a coat in five years, but I found a servicable one at the Valley Rescue Mission for eleven bucks. I just bought three pairs of gloves at the Dollar Tree. I retrieved my black Nine West boots from
Zoe's apartment, the ones I loaned her and the ones I now need more
than she does.
I haven't worn those boots since I bought them in snowy Tennessee for my father's funeral but I am back in winterland, and the flip flops aren't cutting it anymore.
I don't understand God's ways, most of the time. I don't get how I ended up in a town in North Georgia, when my heart is for the sunshine. When my desire is to be in some tropical country ministering to tiny dark-eyed orphans. When my two oldest daughters are eleven hours away from me, living in a city that we loved, with gorgeous vivid tropical flowers bringing awe to me every single time I walked our dogs. Why is it that, surrounded by the sense of wonder that I could live there, be there in the midst of such heart-stopping beauty, I managed to end up HERE? In a town that, while friendly and decent, is not South Florida. A town that is going to challenge every bit of strength I have once the winter blows in.
All I can do is put my trust in God, trust that He drew us here for a reason. That we are meant to be here, and that there is a work for us to accomplish.
All I can do is surrender. Believe He is in this.
Back inside our cozy little house, I grabbed fluffy socks (my favorite lime green and blue ones), and I jumped on my sofa, buried myself under three blankets, and commenced to thawing the chill. That's when a disturbing thought came to me.
"Some folks don't have the option of coming in from the cold."
The thought blindsided me, took my breath for a very long moment.
There are folks, right here in Gainesville, who live under a bridge. Folks who wander the streets at night. Folks who don't have coats or gloves or warm socks or boots. Folks who are hungry all day and cold all night.
Folks who would love to have my life, even if only for the few months of winter.
I felt like crying, all of a sudden. God put it in my face, and I didn't like what I was seeing.
Let me be honest. I don't get God, most of the time. I don't get why He does what He does, or leads the way He leads. And recently, I haven't been all that happy with His guidance for me. Like I said, this is not my mojo. I like sunshine, waves, hot sand beneath my feet. I like being with my girls. I like tailoring my ministry so that it fits who I think I am, and what I think I am about.
But God has, at least for now, stopped me in my tracks. He put me here, and even though it rankles, I can feel the rightness of His choice.
There is a ministry here. There is a ministry wherever we are planted.
I know I will go to missions. I know that one day I will uproot and transplant myself out of the United States. But that time for me is apparently not yet.
I am here. And here is where I should be.
Where are you? Are you in a no-man's-land? Are you in a holding pattern, waiting for all the circumstances to feel right before you really step out in faith to live for Him?
Don't wait. There is a work for you right where you are, with the people you are around, and in the place where you are settled.
Trust is hard. It's even harder when you feel naked, exposed to the elements, unprepared, unready, out of your comfort zone.
But that's the best kind of trust there is. That's the kind that absolutely cannot make it without His help. And when He steps in, well, that's all you need to make it through.
Wherever you are today, right now whatever is happening in your world, there's a place for you to serve your God. There's a place for you to be used for His kingdom.
It may not be pretty and it may not be warm. There may not be flowers. But there will be Jesus, beckoning you in, and that, my friends, is MORE than enough.
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