I told myself I wasn’t going to write publicly about our recent cross-country move until I had made it to “the other side,” not just physically but situationally as well. You see, I’ve written all the chapters leading up to the move, but haven’t been able to write the ending yet because, well, it hasn’t happened.

We took a giant, God-sized leap of faith in relocating from one of the least expensive places to live in the US to one of the most expensive. We did it after months of prayerful consideration and personal devotions with God. Many people thought we were crazy. [Newsflash: we are.] But we’ve done this before. We’ve followed God to far-away places and along the road-less-traveled. We’ve made unpopular decisions to obey an all-knowing God.

And every time, he provides for us.

It usually doesn’t look like what I expect it to, but sometimes is does. Sometimes he gives us a glimpse, ahead of time, of what he’s got in store for us… like the time he gave me a vision of my daughter leading worship in a language she had never studied, playing an instrument she’d never touched. That vision came 12 hours before we’d find ourselves in an emergency room with that same child, reeling from shattered dreams and a distinct struggle for hope.

He knew what was coming—and my tendency toward epic fear—and threw me a lifeline completely from left field that seemed completely impossible. Of course, at the time I figured I was daydreaming or hallucinating. But deep down I knew it was neither. I knew it was a clear gift, telling me to hold on.

Three years later, shortly before Christmas, my eyes leaked praises as I watched my daughter up on stage. She was living out that vision, playing a guitar built just for her, and singing in the language of our adopted home.

I have plenty of other stories of God’s repeated and prolific provision for our family. I hang on to those each time he asks us to step out in faith again, to do something scary. I remind myself, again and again, that he’s got this. He’s got it all taken care of and there’s no need to worry.

But I do. 

Especially when
he thinks I can handle it
without
one of those amazing signs
of what’s to come,
and the doubt
creeps in.

Why can’t I find work here? Did we make a mistake? Did we hear wrong?

Oh it’ll all be fine, you’re thinking. That’s the normal response. We humans do a pretty good job of sharing platitudes. [Hi. How are you? Good. How are you?] The thing is: I know God will not abandon us. I know he’s with us for the long haul.

But I also know he sometimes allows pain and suffering and stuff that’s not fine.

Is this one of those times? I don’t know. I didn’t exactly get the memo yet. But I know he sent us here, for now. Maybe he’ll resolve our employment issues so we can stay. Maybe he won’t. While I don’t understand any of it—yet—I trust him, I really do. I just have to keep reminding myself of all those times before…