I almost drowned 16 years ago. Carl, little Hanna, little Maggie, and I had walked up to the beach in New Jersey on a hot summer evening, and I went for a swim while they played in the sand. I love swimming in open water, had been a lifeguard, swim instructor, and still swim a mile and half twice a week now. So I feel fairly competent in water. But this particular evening, a sand bar had formed. The waves were way above my head. Getting out past the break was not terribly difficult, but when I was done swimming, I could not get back in. The waves kept coming, kept breaking on me, I couldn’t stand, I was tired, I couldn’t get in. Huge wave after wave. They kept coming.
I was thinking of this feeling of perpetual exhaustion and constant waves while swimming this morning, because that’s what our life is like right now. People comment, “You guys just can’t catch a break!” when they hear about the exhausting and continual process of trying to rebuild a house to live in after the fire destroyed our neighborhood. This is how it is. The painters didn’t finish the job, and months later the house is still partially painted. There was a mixup in the flooring, lots of delay, and a month later a corner of flooring is still missing. A lamp was hung upside down, or the wrong direction, and the one is still not hung because rods are missing. The drawers all had 2 knobs on them for months, until they finally got pulls. The water meter isn’t hooked up, because someone came and said it hadn’t been done right, but they weren’t looking at ours, they were looking at our neighbor’s, who haven’t even done anything yet. The road is torn up and we drive through 8 huge dips and around debris to get to the house. We’ve had multiple flat tires. Some days we can’t get there at all and need to walk a few blocks to get to the house. There is no dirt anymore after our lot was scraped, only clay. It’s hardening into cement. The trees that we planted a couple weeks ago were planted without mixing in the clay because when the holes were dug, the piles of clay were removed and we didn’t have extra and didn’t know differently. We also have no water to water the trees, and can’t plant anything else yet. There is cement poured to support a telephone pole where our mailbox used to be out front. We don’t know when we’ll have water, or flooring, or lamps, or inspections, a mailbox, or be able to do anything about anything or even move. We have felt like this whole process has been like hearing good news, but then immediately “never mind, it’s not going to happen and it’s actually a lot worse than that.” All of this amidst carrying on a “normal” life with schooling, appointments, activities…has been pretty tough. It’s a perpetual state of chaos. The constant mental stain is definitely wearing on us…hence the drowning analogy.
I get that it is a total drag for those who have not lost their homes to hear these accounts. I’m sure. And I do not want to come across as negative and grumbling. But if you’ve read this far, thank you! Thank you for caring to hear, and thank you for praying for us. In these months I have had to consider on so many occasions what do I actually believe about life here on earth? And what am I really living for?
We’ve been waiting. Someone reminded me that we often need to wait during life. God has people wait a great deal in the Bible (Abraham and Sarah, Joseph, Job, Israel…). I was reading in Deuteronomy 29:5 how God led the Israelites “forty years in the wilderness.” That’s a long wait for a place to settle. And what does this waiting accomplish in these instances? Well, there is always a demonstration of God’s character, His ability, His sufficiency, His unsearchable and beyond-my-vision plan. The Israelites found out that “Your clothes have not worn out on you, and your sandals have not worn off your feet.” Step by step, God provided. I have found that I absolutely believe He is who He says He is in His word, the Bible. He is able. He is sufficient. No matter what.
We are all wandering, aren’t we? We are all waiting. This life is so transient. We want hope, and peace, and security. I personally want it right now. Comfort too. My feelings are often not in line with my faith. But our Creator is after our hearts. He grants eternal hope, peace, security, and comfort in Him. As our home fellowship group has been reading in 1 Peter, I can live a changed life in spite of my present suffering knowing what Christ has suffered and looking to His glorious return. My salvation is secure and valuable, my inheritance is “imperishable, undefiled, and unfading, kept in heaven” (1 Peter 1:4). Anchored souls…anchored to God in Christ.
I keep coming back to these truths upon which my faith is secure. Life here on earth is hard. It just is and will be. Scripture acknowledges it repeatedly (Romans 8, 2 Corinthians 4-5, 1 Peter 1). But Hebrews 6:18-19 promises that “we who have fled for refuge might have strong encouragement to hold fast to the hope set before us. We have this as a sure and steadfast anchor of the soul, a hope that enters into the inner place behind the curtain, where Jesus has gone as a forerunner on our behalf.” I am fleeing to Him for refuge. I have strong encouragement to hold fast to hope. The hope is not separated from God but ushers me into the inner holy place.
I get to live this life, wander, and yes…even wait, because God is good. Every disappointment, frustration, anxiety, each tear, horrible situation, joy, surprise, and fear…He knows about them all with His inscrutable wisdom that I will never fathom. I know everyone has their stuff, and there are many going through incredibly hard things. He promises that He will never, ever let anything separate us from the deepest love imaginable which He lavishes on us in Christ Jesus our Lord.
This is what I’m living for. With every breath I am given. Diving under every wave coming my way, whether in the ocean or in this strange journey. Waiting for now, but sure to make it. Secure and safe for all eternity.
