We Get to Stay

We have been living in limbo, in transition, in a valley--the metaphors and analogies abound--for months now. I wouldn't let myself think about the future, because it seemed too ominous. I would have a great conversation with another parent at my boys' school, but then I would think--will we even be here next year? At church, I found myself opening up to other women despite my best efforts to guard what little of myself was left, but when I did, I was received with warmth and grace. And yet even those graces felt poisoned with anxiety. This was a wonderful church, but the chances of being able to stay there were so slim.

Being a pastor is a high calling. My husband feels the weight of it, and I do as well. I have felt no greater joy than seeing him use his gifts in pastoral ministry to shepherd God's people, and yet that is also where we have experienced some of our deepest sorrows. The other difficult part about being married to a pastor is that your job determines your community. If my husband could not pastor at our current church, then we would have to find another church where he could. And so while trying to heal and recover and rest, we have been facing the prospect of having to leave. As an old friend said to me a few days ago, "You have had to leave too many churches."

If the church is the true community of saints that God says it is, then it's not surprising that it feels a bit like death when you have to leave one local community for another. You are still within the "family," but the comfort and familiarity is gone, and in a sense, you have to start over.

I did not want to start over.

If I had ever been tempted to think that God rewards us with good things for our faith, for our perseverance, for our obedience, then the last nine months should be able to provide testimony for the contrary. I have doubted his goodness. I have feared his lack of provision. I have imagined that he looks at me in anger, in displeasure. I have not always grounded myself in the truth of his Word, and instead have frequently let anxiety completely consume me.

And yet he overwhelmingly, abundantly showered blessing on us.

It was a two-word text as I ran on Wednesday morning. I turned off my music, stopped running, and sat on the curb of someone's house as I tried to convince myself it was true. It didn't seem like it could be. Was it a dream? But time and more texts confirmed the truth of it.

In my mind, it wasn't, "Oh, good, now we don't have to worry about how to pay our bills in four months," or even "Oh, good, Christian won't have to work at Chick-fil-a much longer." Mostly it was just "We get to stay. We get to stay. We get to stay."

We get to stay. This gospel-loving community of saints that embraced us and welcomed us when we were broken and raw and reeling from the events of the last half of last year was not just our temporary family. We get to stay.