I don’t give up on life or hope or peace.
I give up on security.
Most of my life, security hasn’t been something that marks my story. I have lived in 4 states, 9 cities and countless homes. I know what it’s like to not be sure you’ll have food the next week and to be the only kid in my class that hasn’t had new clothes all year (although, the clothes I did have — compared to the rest of the world — made me rich). I have also experienced comparable plenty. I have lived the roller coaster of well and unwell most of my life.
In my married life, the struggle hasn’t been as often whether we will eat or not, but more which job is right. Where should we live? What should we do? Who will care for the kids?
Sometimes those decisions have been made for us and sometimes we have followed the magnetic pull of the Holy Spirit into special times that we did not anticipate.
I hate to say there is a lesson I have learned, but . . . there is a lesson I have learned. (SIDENOTE: Just because you have learned something once does not mean you will be free of that lesson in the future . . .)
God will provide. I have such an unwavering trust that God will provide because I have seen it. I have felt it. God does not always provide in the way we want him to, but he ALWAYS PROVIDES.
There was a weekend early in our marriage (when you still try to do everything alone . . .) in which we had just moved to a tiny cottage on the water in Seabeck, WA. We were so excited and spent everything we had on the deposit and getting ourselves moved in. Interestingly enough, we forgot to buy food.
Not that remembering would have helped, because we had exactly $0 and payday wasn’t until Monday. On Friday, we were hungry. This wasn’t one of those, “we have nothing to eat” moments while staring at a full pantry — we literally had cinnamon and vanilla.
Richard and I thought about what to do. We both looked at each other with peace that we would be fine. It was only a weekend.
Throughout that weekend, we were invited to friends houses, parties, events. There were doughnuts at church and someone sent us home with an entire ham. No one knew we didn’t have food, but God uses the people around us to encourage us and meet our needs. That is what I believe the church should be.
My point is this: Even to meet the most basic needs, God has always come through in my life.
I also know this truth: my comfort is not the measure of God’s provision.
There may come a time in my life that I lose everything. There may be a time that I do not have a story of met needs in the face of a potential crisis. But I am sure . . . I am secure . . . in the understanding that how we measure “provided for” and how God does are very different.
Not knowing what is next or experiencing heavy levels of upheaval and change all at once can often produce in me insecurity. The lack of security in my circumstance directs to my insecurity.
And, I act out in that insecurity often. My temper is short, I am exhausted, I am a sorry friend.
I am afraid. In my heart, I am afraid that my security will not return.
I think there is a better way to define these times.
I can be uncertain and not afraid.
Insecurity can only be battled in my heart by my acceptance of uncertainty. Uncertainty of my circumstance, of my success or failure, of how people will react to me, of my life itself.
Uncertainty is a given in this life. We can’t — and shouldn’t try to — be certain of everything that is heading our way in life. It takes away the adventure, and it makes us arrogant.
So, I give up on security being defined as certainty.
Accepting uncertainty is an act of humility and a grand act of trust. I choose to trust in my Provider God.
May my feelings of insecurity lead me to trust in my Redeemer. May I embrace uncertainty and allow it to glue me to my Provider.