In other news . . .
God is a sneaky little bugger, isn’t He? Without any warning He somehow managed to slip under my internal radar and He started to roll my heart around in His hands, carefully reshaping it. He has gently disturbed the roots that were once stubbornly planted in my idea of “home,” and has since been quietly preparing me for a life that I never expected. Only now am I realizing the magnitude of what this means.
In short, home is no longer my home. It is just a house in the two-stoplight town where I grew up. But this is not new news. I have known this since Uganda. The really scary realization that is so unnerving to me now is the fact that home is not even where my family is. Please, don’t misunderstand me. I love my family.
I love that my mom can sing a song that is applicable to anything (and I mean anything). I love that Dan and I can go weeks without seeing each other and still pick up right where we left off (probably involving me, pinned to the floor while he renders me defenseless with the dreaded “fish hook” move that he spent years practicing). I love that my dad can always make me laugh, no matter how angry he may make me. I love that my step-dad has only two volume levels: inaudible mumbling and richter scale-worthy booming. I love that Brad has a capacity to love that is topped only by Christ Himself. I love them so much, and I think this is why it has taken me so long to see the truth.
Home is still where the heart is, but while my family is held dear and irreplaceable in a private and intimate chamber of my heart, God has other plans for the heart itself. If home is where the heart is, then my heart is where God plants it, and the only thing left for me to do is to sit back and wait as he continues to roll my heart in His hands and prepare for the break that will inevitably follow. I am afraid that my heart must shatter beyond all recognition before the roots can take hold in fresh and fertile soil,
Home is still where the heart is, but while my family is held dear and irreplaceable in a private and intimate chamber of my heart, God has other plans for the heart itself. If home is where the heart is, then my heart is where God plants it, and the only thing left for me to do is to sit back and wait as he continues to roll my heart in His hands and prepare for the break that will inevitably follow. I am afraid that my heart must shatter beyond all recognition before the roots can take hold in fresh and fertile soil,
How much more pain must I bear witness to before it breaks into something ready to be of use to Him? I only know that my idea of “home” has forever changed. My heart and home are being detached from everything they have ever known, and it terrifies me. It exhilarates me. It sets me free to go where I must.
Is this a soul that stirs in me?
Is it breaking free, wanting to come alive?
Because my comfort would prefer for me to be numb
And avoid the impending birth of who I was born to become.
[brooke fraser’s ‘c.s. lewis song’].
2 comments:
yes.
this reminds me of the chorus of a david crowder song...
"break my heart with the things that break Yours; break my heart and make it purer."
(as an almost random side-note (but stemming from the first line of this post), i don't think i have a personality type anymore... i keep getting different myers-briggs results. i hope this doesn't mean that i no longer have a personality.)
how exciting! it must help to have a deeper sense of home than just "where your rump rests" (thank you, Pumbaa). but seriously, where could home possibly be, if anywhere?
and how this will this pad your footsteps with patience and passion wherever you go-- pretty sure that's in the Bible somewhere.
(p.s.- I left "foots" as the unfinished portion of "footsteps" as I was editing this, and Firefox's spell check didn't catch it. madness.)
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