Securely Uprooted

Well, we made it. We arrived in Europe with all of our luggage AND all of our children, without losing even one. ;) (I consider this in and of itself a great success, by the way.) We are here, re-learning the culture and the language, walking (a lot!) and exploring our German village, romping around on old castle grounds, trying out sweet treats at the local bakeries, traveling cross country by train, and trying to adjust to the cold, rainy weather that seems to want to hang on indefinitely. Almost daily I hear envious comments about how exciting our lives must be.

I mean, we are a "military family," and moving is what we do. It's all part of the job description. Traveling, seeing the world, having friends all over the globe, experiencing new cultures, and learning to acclimate to change. We're used to that. Right?

Part of me would say, "Yes! Of course we are!", because that is just what we do. We pull it together, talk it up to the kids, expound on how wonderful it is that we get to experience all of these amazing things. We are strong and brave and adventurous. We have to be. Right?

Maybe?

Kind of.

Not really.

Let me share the not so glamorous side, the side where your heart crumbles its way through each goodbye because after pouring so much into these relationships, you have to leave them. Again. Where you physically ache watching your kids uprooted, torn from what they know and love, crying over their losses, insecure over all the unknowns awaiting. Where you plan and clean and obsess organize and think you're good to go only to find that the movers packed a toilet brush in your kitchen supplies and somehow forgot to bubble wrap your picture frames, so they're all shattered. Where you show up at a new place knowing no one, getting lost every time you go out, feeling lost inside even when you stay in. Where you lay in bed at night and think about the life you loved that you just left, silent tears streaming from your eyes, an ache in your heart, feeling alone, insecure, emotionally exhausted.

I'm sure there are some very strong and mature ways to respond to this, but let me tell you what happened this time. I sort of unconsciously, inwardly dug my heels in and went on strike. I was done. I was not pasting on a fake smile and acting like I was fine. I refused. Nor would I pretend to be excited about this new place. I was not. In my mind there was no bright side.

I am a miserable person when I do this. If you don't believe me, ask Brandon. ;) And because he knows me so well and loves me regardless, he called me out on my horrid attitude and then sent me out for a run. ;)

And as my feet pounded the pavement, the mental assault began:

"I'm too tired to do this again. I don't even want to try...."

"I hate this."

"I would not have chosen this."

"I'm tired of being the newbie all the time.  I want some roots. Is that too much to ask?"

"I just want a place to call home."

"If I hear another word in German, I'm gonna...I'm gonna...ugh, I don't know what I'll do."

"I feel so insecure."

Finally. I was being honest. I've found that in that broken, raw, real place, God shows up. He doesn't value my pretense, and He's big enough to handle my erratic, vacillating emotions. And when I move my eyes past myself suddenly, I see Him again. In reality He's never moved. And with the reminder of His Presence comes reinforcements against the assault. Thoughts like this:

"Rest is the result of faith. Do you TRUST Me?"

"Choose to believe I am who I say I am, that I can do what I say I can do. I am enough. Resist the temptation to believe the lie that you need more."

"It's not about YOU."

"Everything changed, but NOTHING changed. Your eternal constants remain secure - always."

"We rejoice in sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces HOPE, a hope that will not disappoint..." (Rom 5)

Perspective.

It's amazing what God can communicate to me while I run. I'm fairly certain I would be clinically insane if I gave it up. :)

And so the beauty of being uprooted in this way is that with God, nothing is haphazard. He is not surprised, overwhelmed, stressed, or challenged by such things, nor is He taken off guard by my reaction to them. He patiently brings me back to Himself and reminds me that He is faithfully weaving together our story, a story that starts and ends with Him. He uses these moments to remind me to anchor my life in Him, to press into Him, to cling to my Constant in the midst of the upheaval. He reminds me that He always accomplishes His Purposes. He reminds me that He is worth it, worth everything. He reminds me that the Gospel is worth my life and utter devotion. He reminds me that life is far too short to hold anything back, that I will never stand before Him one day and wish I had given less.

He reminds me that while we are uprooted, we are secure.

Securely uprooted.