But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong.
2 Corinthians 12:9-11
Too much has happened since my last post to fully catch you up on the transitions. The short of it is that at the same time I launched into homeschooling my children, my family sold our beautiful home in Wake Forest and lived in transition for a while in that beautiful small town. Then we packed up and moved to the most oxymoronic city in the South—Austin, Texas (if you are wondering what I mean by ‘oxymoronic’ then you’ve probably never been to this incredible city).
I now have a better understanding what people mean when they use the verb “to uproot“, as in “What do you mean you’re uprooting your entire life to move to a new and unfamiliar place?“
And even more… “Why would you uproot you’re entire life to plant a church in the South? Isn’t it saturated?”
If the saturation of churches in the South were equivalent to a saturation of the gospel, then—sure—you may be right.
And, yes, there is some gospel here.
Someone once told me that sharing the gospel is like working to clean up a pile of bricks in the middle of the road… the more hands, the better, so I’m not really worried about the logic behind our decision.
The truth is that we don’t know why God moved us to Austin, but we know HE did it. He opened the doors and provided the confirmation through the faithful leadership at our small church in Wake Forest. He cut ties back home for us and propelled us forward onto Highway 40 toward our next life assignment—to live humble lives loving the people God puts around us in Austin by sharing the gospel with them through word and action. He provided a job waiting for my husband, free furniture, and a 3-bedroom apartment in a city where finding anywhere to live is a miracle from Heaven. He did this. We did not choose the details, we just chose to follow Him. We put all of our cards on table and He took them.
So, you can understand what I mean when I say I feel like all of this has been happening to me. I have motion sickness from the massive amount of change and hardship this transition has brought with it. I am ready to settle in, establish routine, and somehow readjust to living in a city that is simple beyond our economic means. I’m ready to see God move—but I am selfishly asking that He steady the boat a bit. I’m not as steadfast and faithful as I believed myself to be, and I desperately need Him to calm the storm. I don’t want to walk on the waves. Steadfastness is not this girl’s strong-suit, but I am repentant and fully reliant on this God of grace who saves us.
Here is a picture of the great contrast between myself and God in this transition:
When I panic, He is constant.
When I am afraid, He is steadfast.
When I can’t sleep, He bids me to rest in Him.
When I am unwise, He offers loving correction and wisdom from His throne.
When I am angry, He wins me with kindness.
When I am intimidated by the beauty, style, and knowledge of the world, He reminds me that He looks at the heart.
When I am sinful, He is just and accepts the blood of His son at the weak offer of my repentance.
When I am scared of what other people think of me, He reminds me that He is to be feared above all.
When I am convinced I can not share the gospel—that my life is too messy and my walk is not straight enough to provide a great witness for Him—He reminds me that if all I am is a life upheld by His mercy and grace for me, that will be enough.
One friend once asked me, “Reagan, what do expect to find at the end?” and my answer is the same now as it was then… “Jesus. Just Jesus.”
And just maybe some good Austin brisket… in the end.