Dear God

Dear God,

I don't want to be an Israelite.  They mess up so much.  They really come off looking like a big bunch of spoiled children when I study them in the Bible.  Yet, here I am, trudging through this transition period of life, this stage where I've never been before, and I'm really not sure what lies ahead, and I find myself identifying with those Israelites.

You've parted the Red Sea.  You've given us a path we never could have imagined to walk.  Literally, never would have imagined.  You've asked us to leave everything we've known, everything I've known, for my entire life--family, friends, southern culture, ways of living and thinking that have become so second nature, they're like breathing.  You've asked us to leave it all behind, and You've opened a path that is scary, that is frightening, that requires more faith than I think I have on most days.

Not only does this path through the Red Sea just feel strange and uncomfortable, but You keep asking me to give up more and more of me and myself and what feels safe along the way.  With each step in this dry, water-walled valley, I feel the lump rise in my throat.  I think about everything I'm leaving behind, and suddenly it feels like it's too much.  You're asking too much of me!

I suddenly find myself understanding why the Israelites wanted to go back to Egypt (Exodus 14:11-12).  The path ahead of them was frightening and unknown and for me, it FEELS like I'm having to lose so much to gain...what exactly?  It feels like I'm losing safety and comfort and home.  It feels like I'm losing a piece of myself.  It feels like a slow, painful death, and I'm having to die and grieve the loss all at the same time, all while expectantly looking ahead, trusting, hoping, walking by faith into the unknown, the wilderness, the promised land. (What are those?)  That's what transition feels like to me.

And today Lord, I'm tempted to look back like Lot's wife and turn myself into a pillar of salt (Genesis 19:26). But I won't.  Not today.  God, I feel all these things, and yet, the truth is where You are, where Your presence leads me by pillar of cloud during the day and by pillar of fire at night (Exodus 13:21), where You want me to go is where abundance of life will be (John 10:10).  In Your presence is fullness of Joy (Psalm 16:11).  You promise that.

If I am desperate for joy, I cannot turn back, I cannot go back, I cannot stay, I must press forward.  Press forward into You, lean hard into who You are, keep putting one foot in front of the other simply because in Your presence is fullness of Joy, is abundance of Life, is unconditional Love, is passionate Purpose, is pure Freedom.

Geez.  I almost forgot about freedom!  Going back means staying enslaved to old habits, old ways of thinking.  Moving forward means freedom to be with You in Your plan in the way You deem worthy.

So today, God, I may feel like an Israelite, and I may even be tempted to grumble and complain and moan and whine and fear like one as well, but the truth is I am Your child seated in the heavenlies with Christ (Ephesians 2:5-7), which might be the safest place to be, in all of time an history. In Christ, I am more than a conqueror over my thoughts and emotions (Romans 8:37). I am chosen (Ephesians 1:4).  I am wanted, and I am seen by You, the Creator God of the Universe who will provide my every need.  You hear me.  You know my struggles, and You are fully capable of sympathizing with my plight (Hebrews 4:15).  You have been human after all, and my hope rises in the glory of Your resurrection, Your power over life and death!

Father, forgive me for being weak in this flesh.  Forgive me for losing sight of who You are at times.  Forgive me for seeing only the walls of water on either side of me and not the promised land ahead.  Forgive me for taking for granted that you are leading me to freedom, always leading me to freedom, to green pastures, to still waters, to lands of milk and honey.

Please take away the sting of the things I feel like I'm losing, of the things You've asked me to sacrifice. Replace the sting with the joy of Your presence, Lord.  Joy in the waiting.  Joy in the transitioning.  Joy in the unknown.  Joy in the hard.  Joy to persevere.  Your presence fully present in it all.  Because You are worth it all.

Thanks for listening.  Thanks for never giving way when I lean hard into You.  Thanks for having a plan for me that's bigger than me.  Thanks for holding back the sea because I know I will walk dry ground to the other side of this transition.  You are my firm foundation, the rock on which I stand (1 Timothy 6:19).  My enemies will find all other ground to be sinking sand.

To You be all the glory,

Your humbled daughter,

Jennifer