Comfort Defined
Sometimes I think if I breathe too deeply the bottom on my life is going to fall out, and I'll start plummeting down into a dark abyss, much like Alice and her infamous rabbit hole. I only say that because right now, things are good. Really, really, really good. And I'm not sure how I feel about that or even how to respond.
Recently, we found out we were moving to a new place, like in a new city that is not St. Louis. I think it sent a rippling shock through my extended community, as I'm sure most people thought I'd never leave where I was. Too much here, roots running deep, family, a legacy to leave.
But.
This means a new start for my little family. An amazing job for my husband. A new house for me (no rehab, at least this time). A new community where there are no expectations of who we were in our past life....the widow, the little boys who lost their dad, a Hauser (my family name that runs through the roots of the Christian community in St. Louis).
Blessings have continued.....we sold our house before it went on the market and found a house right away, one that Todd and I can call our own, without his history and my history attached to it. Todd will most likely coach swimming, an unexpected blessing in more ways than one. I have an apple tree and a fig tree at my new house. And a walk-in closet. And a garage. I mean, really, a garage! In all my adult life as a wife, widow and mother--I've never had a garage.
I just have trouble with blessings. It is not that I don't like them or want them; I just don't always know how to respond when they overflow. Since Brian's diagnosis, I've learned that 1. never get comfortable and 2. never have expectations. So when blessings abound, I hesitate, fearing I rest in comfort or worse, become selfish that I deserve them and then my expectations become something rather hideous.
Comfort. I haven't exactly decided what I think that looks like anyway. Maybe it is because comfort is so deeply connected to the spiritual realm. It isn't something physical, except maybe when I'm sipping a rich, dark cup of coffee on a chilly autumn morning.
Comfort is really just the art of resting in Jesus. Resting in His will and His leading. My entire world has morphed into something unexpected and rather undefined at the moment. Thankfully. And though I do find myself having panicked and overwhelmed moments, I'm struck that walking this new adventure is actually a bit restful. Clearly, He has a plan and when I rest in that, the blessings do ebb and flow in such a way that I see and experience the redemptive Hand of God shaping and molding our lives and the lives of those around us.
Recently, we found out we were moving to a new place, like in a new city that is not St. Louis. I think it sent a rippling shock through my extended community, as I'm sure most people thought I'd never leave where I was. Too much here, roots running deep, family, a legacy to leave.
But.
This means a new start for my little family. An amazing job for my husband. A new house for me (no rehab, at least this time). A new community where there are no expectations of who we were in our past life....the widow, the little boys who lost their dad, a Hauser (my family name that runs through the roots of the Christian community in St. Louis).
A community where my name is nothing more than my name. No expectations.
Blessings have continued.....we sold our house before it went on the market and found a house right away, one that Todd and I can call our own, without his history and my history attached to it. Todd will most likely coach swimming, an unexpected blessing in more ways than one. I have an apple tree and a fig tree at my new house. And a walk-in closet. And a garage. I mean, really, a garage! In all my adult life as a wife, widow and mother--I've never had a garage.
I just have trouble with blessings. It is not that I don't like them or want them; I just don't always know how to respond when they overflow. Since Brian's diagnosis, I've learned that 1. never get comfortable and 2. never have expectations. So when blessings abound, I hesitate, fearing I rest in comfort or worse, become selfish that I deserve them and then my expectations become something rather hideous.
Comfort. I haven't exactly decided what I think that looks like anyway. Maybe it is because comfort is so deeply connected to the spiritual realm. It isn't something physical, except maybe when I'm sipping a rich, dark cup of coffee on a chilly autumn morning.
Comfort is really just the art of resting in Jesus. Resting in His will and His leading. My entire world has morphed into something unexpected and rather undefined at the moment. Thankfully. And though I do find myself having panicked and overwhelmed moments, I'm struck that walking this new adventure is actually a bit restful. Clearly, He has a plan and when I rest in that, the blessings do ebb and flow in such a way that I see and experience the redemptive Hand of God shaping and molding our lives and the lives of those around us.
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