I have one in the basement, situated on the corner of the hand-me-down couch, watching Paw Patrol, feeling pukey.
I have another one, fur covered, full of energy, running around thinking my whole house is a toilet.
And in all this, I ran out of paper towels.
Thankfully though, I found an unopened pack in the guest bedroom as I rummaged around to find an extra pillow. Disaster avoided. I will buy the bulk package of paper towels next time.
I’m sitting here with you at the dining room table. I don’t usually write here, but this has become one of my favorite rooms of the house. I’ve never had a real dining room before. All these 13 years of marriage, the dining table never got to have its own walls to rest in, so I’m relishing it now.
A lot of discipleship, faith-sharing, and feasting will happen here. Because of that, it feels holy.
In my Monday post, I mentioned to you that I wanted to share a story about the way God had revealed a few sweet truths to me about the way I’m woven. I’m here to punch that out, and I’m praying it increases your faith and speaks to you in some deep and lasting way. Lord let it be.
This story takes place in a tumultuous season of our lives.
My husband was in an all-consuming job, he was counseling couples at our home in the evenings, and doing a myriad of other service-type things that were heavy and steady.
The constant flow of people and responsibility had me worn to the bone. My husband was thriving, finding his calling, making a difference, feeling useful – while I was caving inside. It was difficult.
I wondered why I was so different than my husband. How could he serve and pour out and converse and lead so happily, while I floundered? What was wrong with me? I asked God over and over.
One day going down the road, discussing yet another event we had to participate in, I felt overwhelmed and shaken. And guilty.
So I stared out the window of our gray mini-van and prayed.
God, am I this way because of some miss, or some unfortunate experience, or some flaw, or some weakness? Or am I this way because you made me different? Should I be like my husband in his ability to interact constantly and pour without emptying? Is that how I should be? God! Am I this way by DAMAGE or DESIGN?
Damage or design. Those were my exact words to Him.
In less then a minute, we passed through a busy intersection. I turned my head to the right and saw a large furniture truck stopped at a red light. It said “DIFFERENT BY DESIGN” on it in big black letters.
This sweet spiritual spook crept up in me, and I knew that it was my nod.
Does God always answer in this type of way? Nope.
Are there things that I inhabit that ARE there by damage? Yep.
But needing margin and quiet more often than others isn’t one of them.
I go back to this moment. It carries me. It reminds me, and moves me onward.
The ill one is now sitting on his bean bag chair in the living room, quarantined to a corner to ensure health for the rest of us, but positioned just right to still be able to watch the TV. (A true perk of feeling bad, yes?)
And the furry one is giving us all a break by napping in his crate. Thank you, thank you Lord.
As I step away from the keyboard today, I’m thinking of you. If you’re wondering about your own self – some nuance or bent or leaning that bothers or bewilders you, take this as your cue to ask Him about it. I don’t know when or even if He will send along any kind of response – but you for sure won’t get one if you don’t try.
May the tail end of your week be a revealing one, filled with a few encounters that fill you with faith and speak out your true identity. Praise Him for it all.