Last week I was giving Elianna her bottle in her room before putting her down for her nap. Out of the blue, I remembered that I once kept a writing notebook several years ago, and I had placed it out of sight on the bottom shelf of a coffee table in the corner of Elianna’s room, which used to be my office. One of the suggestions from my “Writing Boot Camp” that week was to start an official “Writer’s Notebook,” so I thought I might pull it out and see what was in it. So after I laid Elianna in her crib, I dragged it through a thick layer of dust, blew off the notebook’s share, and took it back to my room.
As I sat on my bed, I opened up the three-subject spiral notebook and saw several stapled groups of papers in its pockets. I then realized that I had actually written several chapter drafts for the book God called me to write the first year Alex and I were married. While I have always kept in mind the calling to write this book (its title firmly implanted in my mind, having repeated it to myself so many times over the years), I had completely forgotten about the first drafts. I was truly surprised as I read through them. I asked Alex if he remembered; he said, “Oh yeah, you gave yourself some pretty rigid deadlines too.”
So I started to wonder what happened that made me stop writing. Not only stop the drafts, but stop writing in the notebook altogether. My last entry was dated February 1, 2006. It didn’t take me long to recall what was happening in our lives at the time, or what happened just two months later. What first came to mind was a conversation with a fellow writer, Kecia, with whom I had solely shared my book chapter drafts. The conversation, however, had nothing to do with the book but instead regarded a situation I was facing. We were at a sporting event with a few other friends. After I explained the situation, I confessed to her, “I feel stuck, like there’s no way out.”
Turning her head to look me square in the eye, Kecia said, “There’s always a way out.”
She was right. I just didn’t want to admit that the only way out was to literally walk out. The next day, exactly seven years ago April 1st, that’s what Alex and I decided to do. We decided to walk out of the church we were attending and not look back. It was time.
We had our reasons, both sorrowful and irresolvable. (Another story, another time.) We knew it would cause serious upheaval in our lives, but we felt that upheaval was necessary, no matter the tears we would cry or the loneliness we would face. We believed God was in the decision and our constant comfort and guide through every step.
Just a few weeks later, God called us to move to Peru as missionaries. We immediately entered a period of preparation for the mission field. Then we packed our bags and headed to Lima in September 2007. We did not intentionally set a timeframe for that season; we even considered staying permanently. But the Lord had other plans, and various circumstances caused our lives as missionaries abroad to end in December of 2008. (Also another story for another time.) We returned to Atlanta, and in 2009 we bought our first home. We had our first daughter in 2010 and our second in 2012.
On April 1st, 2013, I began another new season—one of transformation, one of transcendence. With the “70 in 7” Project, I began to trust Father to take me beyond my “ordinary range of perception,” to “excel or surpass or go beyond” my “usual limits” in order to accomplish something extraordinary, something I could not do on my own (def. “transcendence”). Something that only God could bring about at the right time. In Ecclesiastes 3:11 (AMP), it says:
He has made everything beautiful in its time. He also has planted eternity in men’s hearts and minds [a divinely implanted sense of a purpose working through the ages which nothing under the sun but God alone can satisfy], yet so that men cannot find out what God has done from the beginning to the end.
When we decided to leave our church seven years ago, I had no idea what God had planned for us—in going to Peru, in returning from Peru, or in the great joys we’ve celebrated since then, including settling into a home, starting a family, and joining the truly amazing church family we have now. Even now, I have no idea what may come next for us. All I know is that we trust in His purposes working themselves out in our daily lives, that only God can satisfy us and lead our hearts and minds as we are transformed in beauty.
Perhaps I will finish my book in these next seven years (since “7” is God’s number for perfection and completion). Perhaps I had to experience the last seven in order to complete it—because it’s a book about transformation, about transcendence. About choosing to trust God, even when you can’t see where you’re going.
More than ten years ago, I packed up my car and drove down to Georgia. I didn’t have a place to live. I didn’t have a job. I didn’t know anyone who lived here. I just knew it was time to leave home. And one of the few things I brought with me was this framed poem by Larry S. Clark (©1999), called “The Timing”:
I have heard it said, that now and again
To know where we are, is to know where we’ve been
Remembering each time that God brought us through
When we in ourselves know not what to doToday I remembered those places I’ve known
When I was so tempted to choose on my own
Things had not happened, as I thought they should
I cried, “God, please, help me” believing He wouldMy spirit was moved as a vision appeared
In silence I watched as God’s message came clear
I saw myself wandering on dry, barren ground
Searching for beauty, with none to be foundI searched for someone to be my best friend
Someone to love and be true to the end
I searched through the wilderness to no avail
Broken in spirit, asking, “God, have I failed?”Then in an instant God whispered to me
“It’s not in yourself, but in Me you believe”
As God spoke these words, the wilderness changed
Beauty appeared in the time God arrangedI thank God for the vision He gave me today
Assured by His spirit, knowing this is His way
As we face life’s mountains, we won’t fear the climb
For all things become beautiful, when God says, “It’s time.”
The Art of Choosing True Life 