God bless the broken road...

People that know me really well know that this has been a challenging year for me. It's been about a year since I left my job working for a church ministry. During the last few months of my tenure there, my world was rocked in ways I had never experienced before. Attacks came at me and my family, from people and places I never would have expected. I knew when I finally made the decision to leave that it was the right choice...did not make it any easier to do, though. It was one of the hardest decisions I've ever made. People often say that the right thing isn't always the easy thing--it's true, I can attest. When I left the office on that last day, I thought I was turning over a new leaf, embarking on the path to healing and discovering God's true path for me.

Well, that is what He's doing right now, I'm convinced...but He never said that new path would be a direct route. God is taking me on the scenic route, the country road, the long way home. He's had me at a complete stop at several points, which is agonizing to me. I am always on the go, and it is so hard for me to slow down. But, He knows that.

He's had me stop to look around at the walls I've put up around myself, now crumbling because they are not from him. Walls to protect myself from failure, from being hurt, from truly succeeding at my dreams because I've not considered myself good enough to achieve them. These walls are falling apart, brick by brick. They need to come down.

He's had me stand on a hillside to see the gorgeous terrain that lies behind these walls--the plans He's got for me as a singer, as a teacher, as a mother, as a wife, as a person. And these plans are big and grand and far outweigh anything I could come up with. I just need to take down the walls first. I need to trust, let go, and know he's got it under control.

He's had me stop to look at the beautiful flowers planted on the journey: the tree of my marriage slowly growing stronger and higher. A beautiful rose-flowered bush for my daughter, dancing in the breeze. A strong, leafy, deep green plant for my son.

Of course, any time you plant things, you're going to get some weeds that pop up, no matter how you try to prevent them. They are pesky, prickly, inevitable. These plants need to be pruned and weeded so they can continue to grow strong and healthy. They need me to care for them, cultivate them, love them.

He's closed windows where the breeze was too drafty, many of them to my great disappointment. He's flung some wide open for me to enjoy the breeze, when I remember to slow down and really appreciate it. He's left a few doors, hidden along the path, cracked just a bit so I may choose to sneak in when I find them.

And he's shown me a beautiful lilac tree, set apart just a bit from the other elements. The tree had kind of a rough start-dealt with some bugs or weeds or rough weather at different points in its lifetime. But there it stands, still blooming and beautiful, the amazing scent drifting through the air. Overcoming its past and rising up towards the sunshine.

The tree, the plants, the walls: they all reveal some things I've needed to learn about myself. Having a rough past does not mean that I cannot bloom and grow and be beautiful. The closing of a window does not mean that I've failed God, or anyone else. My dreams and God's plans for me are not out of reach just because they're not in front of me yet. My worth does not come from me, or my peers, or even my family. It comes from God, who loved me so much that he gave his son for me.

Because of his love, I can keep dreaming. I can sing, and teach, and care for my family, and care for myself. He's given me these gifts, and if I remember to stand still long enough to listen, He will guide me. I do not have to hide. I can take down these walls. I can heal. I can find my heart. I can follow the path He's got set for me: straight, broken, or detour-filled.

I'm trying to work on our family's summer and fall schedules--Moms run the household! Summer is slowly coming together, but Fall seems to be a mystery, and I feel like it's being obscured from me for some reason. Now I think I understand why.