On any journey, we must find out where we are before we can plan the first step.
--Kathy Boevink
So... here’s what I said to
Jeff on Sunday about embarking on our journey:
"I feel like my heels
and the balls of my feet are firmly planted here, but my toes are ready to
spring forward."
Some days the toes are what
keep me excited about the possibilities. Some days the rest of my feet are
reminding me of what has been, what is and about what grounds me.
Friends, I have been grounded
here for my whole life. I have never
moved further than to college in Winona and back. Everywhere I have lived since has been within
a 10-mile radius. I am insecure about
the act of moving nearly 600 miles, in trusting a moving company, in making a quick
decision about a new house in a new community.
And yet, I have to trust the
process. I have to let go of my desire
to control the process. Sure, there are
things I can do to help it along the way.
There are plenty of boxes to pack!
But one of my friends who has moved across the country, from state to
state multiple times, told Jeff and I that we need to focus on the people, not
the house.
We know that. But being who we are, we need to find the
balance.
We are on a teeter-totter,
counting on the fulcrum to hold us up while different priorities try to pull
opposite ends of the board, trying to soften the blow as one thing jumps off
and we go crashing to the ground on the other end. Emotions, activities, people, Jeff’s
business, commitments.
The fulcrum is God. The fulcrum is what grounds us wherever we
are. When we are hanging high on one
end, or when we are on the ground, or anywhere in between on this
teeter-totter, God is that triangle of strength that helps us find the balance.
So my feet, my heels and the
balls, are planted in Minnesota because it is where I know, it is where most of
the people who have empowered and supported me are.
But here I am, at this time
in my life, with itchy toes. Toes that
are ready to push off, perhaps to lift me on this teeter-totter, perhaps to
turn a different direction than the familiar path on which I have been walking,
perhaps to leap into the arms of Jesus, into the unfamiliar, embraced by Him.
Maybe next week the balls of
my feet will sense the ground getting a little more mushy, a little less firm,
a little more ready to release me to make the leap a little easier.
Dear God, you are the fulcrum, the center of
all that is happening, and I thank you.
Amen.