Do the First Works

For the first time in a long time, I’ve been feeling like a wanderer in foreign territory.

Sounds odd, right?  I mean, doesn’t serving in this overseas life kind of make you that by default?

It does. But I’m not talking about wandering just in the physical sense of a foreign territory (though there are days where that struggle is still very real). No, the foreign territory I’ve been wandering in of late is handling, or maybe not handling so graciously, the ebbs and flows of life. Except ebb and flow sounds way too sedated for what feels like a perpetual season of interruption and uncertainty. Eek and whoa, now that’s more like it.   

See, I’ve always been a fan of structure and schedules. I’ve always been adamant to have all my i‘s dotted and my t’s crossed. I have always found joy in putting others first and delight in going the extra mile to help them fulfill their dreams. I am your “yes” girl, sure to get the job done—eventually. I don’t like arguments, so I try quelling them to promote peace. And no matter how many times I’ve been let down or hurt, I cannot help but be an optimist, always wanting to believe the very best in others and in outcomes.

But let me just be honest, it’s much easier to embody these personality traits when everything is flowing to the tune of my structure and my schedule. But what happens when a series of natural disturbances—things completely out of your control—uproot your job and wreck your agenda? How exactly can you dot every i and cross every t when you are in the waiting room of uncertainty and the way forward is filled with fog?

A wanderer in foreign territory.

What happens when your firstborn moves from being chauffeured to being the chauffeur and is on the cusp of graduating into a world that is simultaneously beautiful and cruel? How do you guide your momma-heart to navigate between the joy of having a front row seat to the man he is becoming and the treasure of days gone by?

A wanderer in foreign territory.

What happens when you have been going through the motions of this overseas life for so long that you feel numb? When most of the time it feels as if your best days are behind you? When you look in the mirror and no longer see the vibrant, optimistic, can-do woman staring back at you? Where, oh where, has she gone?

A wanderer in foreign territory.

What happens when you can’t seem to “get your act together” anymore? When all the involuntary meandering causes you to doubt your why and leaves you disheartened? How do you pick up the pieces and let go of the supposed-to-be’s that the window of time and circumstance now says can never be?

A wanderer in foreign territory.

Truth be told, it’s really uncomfortable here. Where the only thing I can govern is how well I wait upon the Lord. Here, where the fleshly façade of perfectionism and self-reliance are being unmasked—and it’s not been pretty. Where God is working to depose the bitterness, jealousy, and resentment that have resided inside my heart for far too long. Here, a territory where I have no sovereignty, no authority, and absolutely no control.

The vulnerability of it all scares me.

But the more I sojourn through this unfamiliar terrain, the more I’m realizing it’s not aimless. Rather, by God’s sovereignty, it is by design. It is good for me to be here. To be where it’s okay that I don’t know what’s next or how the i will be dotted or the t crossed. To be where I am reminded that dependence on him brings freedom, admission of weakness yields strength, and the simple act of abiding in him bears much fruit. To be where, despite my diligence in duty outwardly, Jesus is soberly calling me to change direction and return to the works I did at first.

To zealously meet with him in his word.

To earnestly commune with him in prayer.

To joyously fellowship with other believers.

To passionately tell others about him.

To love him.

Revere him.

Follow him wherever he leads.

To put him ahead of everything and everyone else.

To remember from where I have fallen.

Yes, it’s not just good for me to be wandering in this place of awakening, my friends—it’s grace. His grace. For it’s here that I’m learning what Jesus means when he says I must lose my life for his sake to find it. It’s here that I’m learning that my old self that has been clothed in my need to control must be completely shed for the new self that is being adorned in his righteousness and holiness. Yes, it’s right here in the wilds of this warfare that God is removing my heart of stone for a new heart and a new spirit, transforming me in his image from one degree of glory to another.

I am wandering while he is remaking.

And for the first time in a long time, the fog that fills the ebbs and flows is lifting.

What ebbs and flows in life have you wandering in a foreign territory?  How has the Lord met you there?