What to Expect When You’re {Not} Expecting It (part one)

 

It’s been kindof quiet around here lately.

While some of it can be explained away by the usual busy-ness of life, I know that’s not the whole story. And I know it’s not the whole story because I’m living the whole story, and I haven’t told you the whole story. Some of that’s been due to an effort to protect new things the Lord’s been doing in our lives, some of it’s because there were pieces which weren’t complete yet, and then I’ve also known it’s such a big story that I’ve felt a bit lazy about trying to get it out there, if that makes any sense.

I’ve known what I wanted to title this “coming out” post for a few months. And this morning I knew it was time to share. It’s not until I glanced at the calendar that I realized it’s been exactly three months *today* since it all began. So perhaps this is serendipitous timing. 

Let me just say at the outset that this won’t be a post about mommy-ing, and later installations may mess with your theology a bit. (This story  certainly has messed with my own.) You are more than welcome to move right on and read something else. I promise I won’t be offended if you don’t read, if you’ll promise not to be offended if you do! I do pray if you read on that you’ll be blessed and perhaps even inspired to pull out and take a look at a few of your own secret dreams.

(deep breath)

This post could be subtitled, What’s Going On with Rob and Misty?

Some background is in order.

My husband and I have been married for over twenty years now. He grew up in a Christian home, where he attended church, went to summer church camp, and helped in children’s church. I did not. We went to church on Christmas Eve, which was pretty much the best day of the year to me. The Lord was very gracious, though, and revealed Himself to me when I was very young, inspiring a love for His Word and a knowledge that I absolutely couldn’t live without Him. Much of my young life was spent gathering neighborhood kids in the local park and “teaching the Bible” to them (I can only imagine what I told them when I was 9, 10, and 11 … ha!) When I wasn’t telling someone something about Jesus, I was often staring transfixed at the television, watching scenes of horrific poverty in the third world. Feed the Children, World Vision … didn’t matter which organization it was; I wanted to go do something, and determined early on I wanted to be a missionary. Listening to Elisabeth Elliot every day on the radio for two years in my late teens only cemented that desire.

Now, let me clarify–I’ve NOT been anywhere near a perfect Christian … and that is the understatement of the year. I’ll be forever grateful for all the gross sin the Lord has covered when I’ve repented (“I, even I, am the one who wipes out your transgressions for My own sake, and I will not remember your sins.” Isaiah 43:25) Loving Jesus wasn’t a recipe for a perfect life, and sanctification requires a lifetime or I suppose we’d all have gone straight to heaven when we came to know Him.

When Rob and I started dating, we knew we were headed to the altar. We also assumed we were heading toward a life in ministry, though I’d put my missionary leanings on the back burner for that season. Life, however, intervened, as it has a tendency to do. We were given precious babies, and needed to provide for them–secure housing, diapers, food–you know, all those normal things. Rob worked multiple jobs at a time and was the best dad ever. We tried to fit ministry around the edges of our lives … running children’s church, discipling small groups, working at a Christian school, starting a preschool, even commuting hours to a Bible school for awhile. Occasionally we talked about this dream we had; parenting a big group of kids … probably somewhere in Africa. And when the opportunity came to “try it out,” we jumped. We packed our two children in our little gold Nissan, tearfully waved goodbye to all we knew with our hearts in our throats, and drove halfway across the country to Midland, Texas. There, we’d been hired to became instant group-home foster parents to six children, age six through eighteen.

We were 26 and 22.

God has a sense of humor.

A year later, we were done working for the government. But we’d also been wrecked by our new church, which was run by the most amazing people I’d ever known. They were extreme lovers of God, lovers of people, lovers of church. We’d never seen anything quite like it. We had made fast friends and dug deep relationships based on Jesus. And so when we went to meet with our pastors, who’d become like second parents, to ask advice about what to do, finding ourselves jobless and homeless with our third child on the way, we knew it was a momentous occasion. And I’ll never forget what he said that day …

“Burn your ships.”

He shared the legend of Cortez, who it is said burned his ships after his fleet arrived in the New World, to prevent the men with him from running away from battle with the Aztecs. And we knew he was right; we were growing there and needed to make a full commitment. We couldn’t go back.

Ships were burned. We had our furniture packed and shipped west, found an apartment, and threw ourselves into doing whatever we could to build church and our family. Two more years went by, and then we moved to Jacksonville, Florida when our pastors announced they were heading this way to pastor a fledgling church. What a treat this place was … especially after years on the edge of a desert! Driving over the bridge that led into the heart of downtown, with views of water everywhere … we were hooked.

More years went by, with the ups and downs I suppose are to be expected in a family growing by the minute. We added five more children, went back and forth to Texas for a year, even spent a long season in another church before gratefully coming back “home.” Things were good … and things were not good. Our foundation wasn’t sturdy, and we weren’t exactly sure why…

Read the rest of the story here! What to Expect When You’re {Not} Expecting It (part two)