NOT KNOWING

Pat and I have come to the family lakehouse for a few days. We love the winter months here when we keep a fire lit in the fireplace and can look out the giant picture window at Lake D'Arbonne. It's a "thin place" for us. Heaven and earth are close here. But there is a sadness today. Today, I hear the rumblings of machines nearby clear cutting much of the surrounding forest. The trees have completed a growth cycle and are being harvested. The landscape looks so very different and unfamiliar. I miss the trees and walking the road that winds among them.

Let me say though, the harvesting of the trees was simply the impetuous for my thoughts and writings this morning. It has prompted reminders of times in the past when letting go of something loved was needful. We've all experienced these times.... a death, a move, a job change. The list is long and the longer one lives, the longer the list. Letting go of our home in Ruston stands out as a season of great change. I even wrote an earlier blog post about it. I was amazed at the grace God covered us with. I was amazed that I could love and appreciate something on such a deep level and yet be able to say good-bye. There is so much more I could write about change and grief and letting go. We all have our personal stories. As I ponder all this today, God brought some new perspective to my mind. I recalled Abraham's story. God called him and said leave what you've known. In Hebrews, Chapter 12, it says, " He went out, not knowing where he was going." That same chapter defines faith partly as, "the assurance of what we do not see." Here's what God was revealing to me today and what refreshed my hope in what's next for me and for all of us. It's okay that I don't know what "next" looks like. In fact, that is a good thing. I can be at peace not knowing exactly what lies ahead, and that it is not laid out clearly for me to see. We can be like Abraham, "not knowing." Somehow, I believe God began a stirring inside Abraham, a gentle nudge, a "maybe", a "what if". I don't believe he saw a sudden light from heaven and heard a command to go. Perhaps he began to have a subtle inner awareness that change was coming. He probably had dreams and quiet moments to ponder what the future was going to look like. I suppose that is what God has done for me today. The fire, the lake and the changing landscape around me are His way of helping me listen to His inner stirrings. It's easy to see and know what has come before. That part is clear. I've known the walks here among the trees. I've known life living in Ruston and living with people and beloved animals that aren't here now. Our lives change. The landscape changes. But we, like Abraham, "look forward to a city with foundations, whose architect and builder is God."

We don't have to know "next" because we know who is building it. I'll try to listen and to feel His nudging, to loosen my grip on what has been in the past so that my hands can be open to receive what's next.

In Springtime

Harvesting