We have been held so tightly the last week. Held and whispered to and loved so gently by Father. I’m a logistics girl. You hand me a problem and I’ll take it to the mattress until I’ve got it nailed. I spring into action. It’s what I do. And so the last week has been a blur of open tabs for each of the three transplant locations that have been mentioned. Tabs for Zillow and Trulia and searches on schools and churches and things to do. I scroll and search and none of them are perfect because none of them are home. But just yesterday, I spoke to a love, telling her that I can’t see a path forward that doesn’t cost more than we have, financially, emotionally, physically and she responded with this: Jesus is the Way Maker. He goes before and he makes paths straight so when your legs are shaking and tired and you think you can’t take another step on this crazy path, he bolsters you with one simple direction: just keep walking. The housing, the schooling, the shifting of family roles and the splitting up, that will all be taken care of. You, Megan, you are not the path maker, you are the path walker. Jesus is all, just stay in your lane, man. Because my natural bent is to try to make the path I’m going to walk upon, but that is not my work. Never was. And thank heavens because I would make a total mess of it. Just a total mess. Because path making is not a sign of my strength, my ability to plan and execute. Path making is a sign of my lack of faith. There it is. My ridiculous lack of faith begs me give it a shot because Jesus might not blaze the path that I asked for. Jesus is going to go rogue, I’m sure of it. He’s going to do something smack nuts like Chinese adoption that leads to heart transplant and maybe moving, oh wait. See? Jesus is crazy like that. He is the path maker but he’s also the energy giver, the blister healer, the water provider, the baggage handler, the bump smoother. He’s all those things if only I’ll be the one thing: path walker. Just go, he says, so gently and softly. Just go and I’ll take care of everything else because whatever path I set for you, I go first.
And so I close tabs and instead sit on couch, tears making silent tracks down my cheeks and offer him my off key worship, “You’re a good, good Father. It’s who you are. It’s who you are. It’s who you are. And I’m loved by you. It’s who I am. It’s who I am. You’re a good, good Father.” And as I sing, I get louder and more boisterous until I’m wearing a camp tee shirt and I’m on the church bus hurtling down some wonky dirt road to who the heck knows but Jesus has made a way and I’m not getting off this path until he shows us a new one and tells us to get walking. So to all you beautiful people who have offered to line our way with prayers…gosh, we are humbled and blessed. Seriously. The village is the best and I would kiss each and every one of your beautiful selves if I could. But maybe a better offering is the promise that where we go, you will too because I will write it all here and I will make it as honest and worshipful as I can because this life is our Isaac and because
this is me being real.