I am a dusty Israelite.

I have a confession: I have not often been respectful of the Israelites, especially in their wilderness wanderings.  In fact, during d-group when we have discussed their wandering my comments have bordered on downright disrespectful for slight comedic affect.  It seemed such a simple thing to me: after seeing God's amazing power in the plagues of Egypt, in the miracle of the parting of the Red Sea, of the provision in the manna and the quail, in water coming from a rock, they should have realized that God could overcome the Canaanites and lead them into the Promised Land with smooth sailing, right?  So simple!  Yet they never got it right, and they spent a great deal of time during the Exodus complaining about their lack.  Oh, the irony.

Currently, my husband and I are facing some financial trials.  For someone who grew up feeling safe and secure, this is rather difficult.  I know there were definitely some financial dry spells for my parents when I was growing up, but I never felt the strain myself.  Maybe I was too immature or just didn't care, or maybe my parents were really good at not allowing our finances to diminish our family life; maybe both.  But feeling precarious like this is new to me.  And I don't like it.

It isn't that I haven't seen the Lord provide.  In fact I can name a number of answered prayers.  My daughter is healthy and growing.  I have a good marriage. Once, I saw God quiet the wind after a communal prayer with my camping buddies so that we could have a campfire.  And then He broke our tent and sent us home amidst thunderstorms to avoid sleeping at our campsite which saw a lot of SNOW that next night.  (And yes, we were highly unprepared for that, seeing that it was Memorial Day weekend...)  And yet I am complaining about my lack.

I have a number of prayer requests, all of which I know would ease our financial burdens.  But some have come up with a direct "no" and others we are still waiting upon.  Of course, my timing means NOW.  Immediately.  25 seconds ago.  But God isn't working in that way, and I find myself petulant, worried, stressed, and anything but expecting a miracle.  A few times people have said to me, "The Lord will provide," and I have responded, "I know He can."  But I haven't always had the faith that He will be willing to.  Just as the Lord purposely led the Israelites into the wilderness to avoid a confrontation with the Canaanites that would have sent them screaming back to Egypt, I know that the Lord has directed our steps into this rather scary situation.  He has indeed provided for all our basic needs: we have a car (each, actually), we have a roof over our heads, and we have food.  What more could we want, right?  But I look at the medical bills, doctor visits with (at this time) no insurance, various debts we've been working so hard to pay off (like school loans) and I worry if we'll be able to meet them.  And what this will do to our credit.  And how that will affect us being able to get a home of our own.  And I worry.  And I complain.  Like the Israelites, I don't look back at past miracles of provision (and you can't tell me that the wind quieting in a Colorado-wind-tunnel of a valley just as we say "Amen" is not a miracle!).  I look at the future, where I can't see what's coming next and what the Lord might do, and I get tetchy.  Nervous.  Growly.

The Lord is teaching me a lesson here.  And maybe He's even testing me.  If God conducted His tests the way the schools do, I'd be failing and that just might be the end of it.  But thankfully, He is a Teacher who keeps teaching until you get it.  And will likely review at some future point.  Lord, I'm trying.  Thank You for your patience!

Surrender

Sunday was our first back at church after Eliza's birth. Sadly, I didn't get to hear much of what was apparently a very good sermon as she began to fuss and I left to care for her, only to realize I didn't have everything I needed. (Hey, I'm still learning!) However, I was able to enjoy a time of worship with my local body of believers, and one song in particular really touched Nick and I.

Part of the set this weekend was "Surrender". This is not the "I Surrender All" hymn, though I love that, too. It's a contemporary worship song, who wrote it I don't know. But the chorus repeats this refrain: "And I surrender all to you, all to you." The song talks about letting go of what the world holds dear, our own dreams and rights, everything for God. This song touched me during the long summer I prayed over my feelings for Nick and asked God's will to be done in our lives, because many times I had to surrender my desire for a relationship with him while I waited to see what both God and Nick wanted. It has touched me since, just in recognizing my need to be submissive to God and His will. But yesterday, the words of this prayer took on an even deeper meaning. I found tears coursing down my face as I realized I now also have to surrender my daughter to Him: her well-being, her very life and her eternity. How hard that is! She is just over a week old, so precious, and I love her so much. It's hard to place her into the hands of another, even One who is mighty and good and wise and able to do more for her and care for her so much better than I. It was hard to sing the words and mean them, and I was determined I would not sing that prayer unless I could truly mean it.

I turned my head at one point and discovered Nick was going through a similar experience: tears were on his cheeks, too. We have discussed out intention to take Eliza before the church and dedicate her to the Lord, and how we really need to dedicate her, not go through the motions. But I think we realized that morning, worshipping in church, holding hands, that we could not and should not wait to do it publicly, and also how deeply it goes to actually do it. We needed to be able to surrender our child to the Lord right there and then, and consistently, every day, for the rest of her life. By the end of the song I was able to sing those words and mean them, to surrender her to God, but it wasn't easy.

I thank God for this man I am raising my daughter with, and how seriously he takes his responsibility as a father and a spiritual guide. I thank God for His eternal goodness and how I can truly trust Him with the life and well-being of my daughter. I thank Him for the opportunity to raise her and love her. But I thank Him also for upholding me as I enter into the joys and difficulties of motherhood. I can do no better than surrender all to Him.