Drawing a line next to my lashes while looking into the magnifying mirror in the bathroom, I move my mouth letting words out slowly and carefully so as not to inhibit preciseness. “You know,” I say to H, only moving the muscles at the bottom of my face, “we’re bouncing back much faster this time.”
“I know, you’re right,” H says after spitting toothpaste into the sink.
We got some disappointing news on the day that marks the halfway point in this 31 Day series. On October 15th I found out that I will not be ending this series in London but on the shores of the Atlantic in my hometown. I didn’t want to tell you until I wrestled with God about it.
Peace doesn’t come with more opinions.
Through the news coverage about Ebola, I’ve watched the ramifications when people respond too quickly. The way one person of influence can make a wrong decision and create a whole hurricane of fear, people hanging onto trees when the wind isn’t blowing yet.
Sometimes bad news doesn’t need shoulders to lean on or status updates but to settle quietly in your soul for a spell so you can hear the still small voice whispering direction.
Our emotions lead us astray, wandering down a dark path of imagination. We’re all storytellers. But some of us just aren’t attentive enough to know the difference between fiction and non-fiction when we’re busy coming up with best case scenarios for our problems.
Today, we picked out colors from Pinterest boards for the walls of our new house in London. H asked me if I wanted to go collect paint chips but I told him I couldn’t. It all seems like too much somehow. Like I’ll pick the perfect grey, allow my heart to swoon over the way the furniture looks up against it only to find it translates to some horrible shade of green on the painter’s brush I’ll have to live with.
With every delay in the fulfillment of hope comes a new sturdiness to my faith after I’ve done the hard work of surrender. He is wiping away cobwebs of thinking I couldn’t see for looking at the rooms of my life through the same window.
And with that, a lack of tolerance for what is meaningless and trivial. An absence of vulnerability from others when it is appropriate is the death of every good intention.
I know, this could prove to be difficult in England. The British have a hard time expressing emotion if you didn’t already know that. Watch Downton Abbey.
We are now looking at the New Year for departure ( I know, I gave my Christmas tree and decorations to Habitat for Humanity) and it comes down to this. I have no other choice but to trust Jesus. I have surrendered my possessions, reputation, preferred future and all the pennies in my bank account.
I’ll keep drawing lines next to my lashes, looking at transformation staring back and wonder what my children see now when they look at me. On the inside I feel like a different human being.
Ira Glass says, “Great stories happen to those who can tell them.” I’ll let you be the judge of that.
I won’t be sharing my posts on social networking channels daily because who wants to see that much of me, really? If you want to follow our adventure to London subscribe to the blog in the side bar and posts will slide quietly into you inbox. Start from the beginning of the series here.