Sojourner

My husband lost his job in January. Our house has been on the market since March. We have a buyer, and a purchase process which is scheduled to end in 3 1/2 weeks. We're grateful for this.

We know we can't stay in the area where we now live, and continuing to maintain a home here just doesn't make sense. We've prayed for a buyer, and it appears that our prayers have been answered. For that, we thank God.

We've tried to make something of the future, too. We have created some possible scenarios, along with research for the practical aspects. My husband has applied for jobs near the place where we think we should relocate. He has even had an interview. In spite of all this effort, we do not have anything definite and concrete in our immediate future.

Not knowing where we will live makes the packing very tricky. Mostly, I have put it off until now in hopes that I would have more information. This morning I had a revelation: I will have to pack without knowing anything. My future is a blank wall. Nothing is going to appear on it right now. And I am out of time.

This is harder than you might think.

It reminds me of Abraham in the Bible. It amazes me how he set out on faith, knowing so little of what was ahead. His instructions were to leave and " go to the land I will show you." (Genesis 12:1) How many of us could do that?

Now I have to do it. I am not noble or brave or excited about my character development. I will probably feel annoyed at well-meaning friends and relatives who try to encourage me with suggestions that this is for my good and that this is God setting us up for the future.

I am just ordinary. And I am in a hard place.

I need every single lesson I learned in homeschooling. I have used them all in the last five months, and it isn't over, yet. I'm grateful for what I have learned, grateful for God's provision, grateful for His ever-present strength and help. But all of these things do not change the simple fact that I must now take apart my home and have none, with no definite prospects for the future. I must do the very hard thing. I must do it.

Stay with me, and we will find joy in the journey, even in the midst of doing hard things. I know the joy is there, somewhere, probably where I least expect it. I know that "goodness and mercy will follow me, all the days of my life." (Psalm 25) I also know that the goodness and mercy and joy will be given to me as I go forward into the blankness, into the fog that obscures my vision.

It will not be given to me before I begin; it will become mine once I am on the path that stretches out in front of me.

So today, I will start packing. I promise.