blessed, not busy

I, along with the rest of Northwest Arkansas, have been hiding away under blankets this morning waiting for this predicted winter storm to attack. Denison Witmer croons in the background as my soundtrack for this rainy, sleet-y morning, frequently accompanied by the tea kettle’s whistle.

My rainy-day-Denison-Witmer tradition started freshman year of college when a friend introduced me to his music. Rainy mornings then actually looked a lot like this one — curled up under blankets with blog posts dribbling off my fingertips. I have always found rain slows my mind and focuses my thoughts. I had the bed next to the window both years I lived in on-campus dorms, and the cold marble windowsill would hold my laptop as I propped myself against pillows and daydreamed words into prose.

The tapping on the windows tells me that the rain has transitioned to pellets of ice. Our neighbors’ roof shows signs of those pellets being knit together into a blanket of white over shingles of gray. Traffic slows to an almost non-existence in front of our home, and I am reminded of the power of weather to slow the world around me.

And not just the world, but me, too. It is the instrument God uses to slow my heart, my time, my plans.

I find myself constantly restless when things slow down. I fidget like a child getting her hair cut, knowing to sit still but shifting weight and itching her nose after each snip of the scissors across bangs. The only way I could get my nine year old self to stop fidgeting was to tell myself that I wanted to be the best at sitting still for a haircut. But in the world now, I find myself thinking that being the best means being the busiest. And I wonder if it’s not just me, but our culture that feels that way?

We wear our busyness like a badge, bragging about the various things we fill our time with or the major life change we are in. We give ourselves brownie points for managing to have a 10 minute quiet time because, given how busy we are, that sacrifice of time must mean we are super spiritual. We define ourselves and our worth by the quantity of how we invest our time, not the quality. I wonder if we are so afraid of erring in being lazy that we overcompensate to prove to ourselves and to others that we are valuable in one way or another.

On this slow morning, as the sleet falls outside my window and the world halts, I want to embrace not being busy. I want to notice the crackle of winter and the hum of our heater. I want to pour another cup of tea and savor the smell of spicy cinnamon. I want to intentionally thank God for all of the things that make me busy, learning to communicate less that I am “busy” and more that I am “blessed.”

The sleet has transitioned to quietly flurrying snow, and I pray that my heart embraces this mid-week hush.

Posted on March 4, 2015March 4, 2015 by Samantha Barnes 1

you are known

Have you ever had one of those moments when someone did something for you or said something to you that made you feel known?

I have been given several gifts in my life that may not have been the most expensive or the most practical, but they were some of my favorites because they let me know that the gift giver really knew me. For instance, one of my best friends moved away after freshman year of high school, yet on my birthday sophomore year I received a gift in the mail of daffodil bulbs. Daffodils are my favorite flower, and Liz knew that, so I got to plant those bulbs and watch them come up in the spring as a reminder of her friendship. Senior year, my friend Scott gave me a gigantic jar of pickles because I was always stealing them from friends at lunch. And somehow he fit that thing in my locker to catch me off guard in between classes.

More recently, a friend gave me a very pretty yellow serving bowl because she knows my love of hosting dinners and cooking. Eric, the good man that he is, didn’t get me flowers or chocolates for Valentines Day — he gifted me a new pair of Chacos since mine are starting to wear thin in the soles. (In fact, my previous pair was a college graduation gift from him since the pair I had before that was also wearing out in the soles.)

There is something that just speaks to my heart when I can see that friend has acted in accordance with something they know about me, whether the gesture is large or small. I simply love to feel truly known by those around me.

In college, when I was struggling with singleness one semester, I cried out to God letting Him know how much I just wanted someone to want to know everything about me. Someone to care how I was feeling and to ask how my day was, genuinely wanting the answer. God brought me to Psalm 139 and calmed my anxious heart by reminding me the He, in fact, did:

O LORD, you have searched me and known me! You know when I sit down and when I rise up; you discern my thoughts from afar. You search out my path and my lying down and are acquainted with all my ways. Even before a word is on my tongue, behold, O LORD, you know it altogether. You hem me in, behind and before, and lay your hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high; I cannot attain it. [Psalm 139:1-6 ESV]

Of course, the downside to someone knowing you that well is that they also know all of your faults. I would say that Eric knows me so well that not only does he see my faults, but he is often not surprised when I mess up, because he knows my specific sinful tendencies and can see those woven throughout each mistake I make.

Yet he loves me anyway. And that means even more than someone loving me for only the good things they can see.

And, of course, this knowledge of our faults is also found fully in the same God who knows the wonderful things about us.

Because I know that you are obstinate, and your neck is an iron sinew and your forehead brass, I declared them to you from of old, before they came to pass I announced them to you, lest you should say, ‘My idol did them, my carved image and my metal image commanded them.’ [Isaiah 48:4-5]

God knew that His people had a tendency to ignore Him, even taking credit for His power. Yet that did not stop Him from working on their behalf – and one day bringing a Redeemer for that sin.

“For my name’s sake I defer my anger, for the sake of my praise I restrain it for you, that I may not cut you off. Behold, I have refined you, but not as silver; I have tried you in the furnace of affliction. For my own sake, for my own sake, I do it, for how should my name be profaned? My glory I will not give to another.” [Isaiah 48:9-11]

God knows every detail about you, and while He may allow you to walk through a “furnace of affliction” for a season, He does not abandon you due to your sin because He is at work to bring His name glory. You are part of His fame.

That last part – that ultimately it is about His fame – is essential to grasp in the concept of His love and forgiveness. The more you have been forgiven, the more you love the person who forgave you (Luke 7:36-50). As you recognize your need, the person who meets that need is more appreciated.

What needs has God met in your life? Where have you fallen short – and where have you seen God step in to meet you there? Have you given Him the credit?

Posted on March 1, 2015 by Samantha Barnes 0

watching flakes from my window

Snow falls this morning like a whisper, light but dense. Soft piles are forming over muddy patches in the street as if trying to erase the tire tracks from SUVs that are out and about.

Across the street, birds are dive bombing between the trees, swooping themselves back up to land on a branch as if playing a game to see who can be the most daring. I imagine the chirps outside my window being the audience cheering them on. Or maybe egging them on.

Finally, a snow day on a Saturday!

The world seems to stop in our little town when even a light blanket of flakes covers the streets and sidewalks, yet in actuality life is only paused here. This means that we work from home, continually filling up the coffee pot and typing away at new documents or listening in on conference calls. But a weekend snow day is bliss. That coffee pot still brews on, yet more blankets and lazy conversations and late breakfasts take place.

It’s the blue jays against the cardinals now, their brightly colored wings standing out against the backdrop of white flakes as they frolic back and forth, chasing each other and hopping around on high branches.

I confess, I am weary of winter, with bitter wind and the constant danger of moisture turning to ice. The road treatment trucks drove by multiple times again last night, streaming flashing yellow lights into our home and coating our streets with what they hope to be the solution to slick conditions. I am now in the stage where I am annoyed with bundling up in heavy layers, and I often try to get away with wearing a puffy vest instead of my long, heavy coat. I also often regret not wearing that coat, so my frustration simply grows.

Yet it’s only the end of February. Spring takes time to grow, and just like any other good thing, it is worth waiting for.

I’m almost certain the following poem was written just a couple of weeks after this time of year, when I was a senior in college and trying to create final pieces for my honors thesis project. We are close, dear friends. Don’t give up hope, whether your winter struggle is literal or metaphorical.

“You Will Revive Me Again”

“You who have made me see many troubles and calamities will revive me again: from the depths of the earth you will bring me up again.” –Psalm 71:20

My steps crunch dead leaves in early spring.
The sun starts to warm the earth,
but winter’s remnants linger.

The first green shoots break through dirt,
and daffodils raise their trumpets to the sun.

Posted on February 28, 2015 by Samantha Barnes 0

a letter for a discontented heart

Dear Friend,

I know your discontented and weary heart far too well. You are hoping to find peace in the present, yet also longing to find something new. This tension between the now and the not yet seems to be a constant tug — whether related to romance or friendships or family or merely the concept of “moving forward.” Stagnation is a dreaded state, yet the difference between stagnation and simply staying is hard to decipher.

The definition of stagnant – “showing no activity; dull and sluggish.” Of stagnation -“the state of being still, or not moving, like a sitting puddle of water where stagnation attracts mosquitoes.” Ick. While stay‘s definition “to remain in the same place” may seem similar, there comes with the idea of staying an idea of some purpose behind the staying.

Yet the staying leads to restlessness. Those of us who enjoy variety don’t want to always be looking at the same scenery. There’s a reluctancy I see to remaining in a waiting room. The waiting room exists because you came for something else. You aren’t there to look at outdated copies of People magazine or to watch mothers soothe fidgety children. Yet once your name is called, your shoes are off, and your weight is checked, you always find yourself in waiting in a new room. The cycle doesn’t end; there’s always something else. Even once you leave the office and wait for results. If you aren’t careful, you will always feel like you are waiting, and that’s no way to walk through this one wild and precious life.

You may not yet know the purpose yet behind this season, but that’s where you are. Jim Elliot wrote, “Wherever you are, be all there! Live to the hilt every situation you believe to be the will of God.” Your focus, restless friend, is to be all there. To figure out what it means to “live to the hilt” in your current circumstances, not daydream how to do so when your circumstances change.

Make small changes. Find newness in the now – things like removing the headboard of your bed to let light stream freely from that window. Use Pinterest for ideas to make what you have work, not to look for new things to buy or plan or long for.

You talk about being content to rent – are you content to live? to be? to wait? We’ve been over this: life is not a waiting room. Adventure is right here. Stop talking so much about the future. Talk more about right now. Wherever you are.

Hold fast.
Hold still.
Hold now.

Because, eventually, things will change. You won’t get these moments back, but will have new moments given to you to savor. Once you get there, be all there. Before you get there, be all here.

Fondly yet sternly,
Yourself.

Posted on February 16, 2015 by Samantha Barnes 0

marriage letters: what you call holy

Dear Eric,

There’s this recurring look you get in the spring and summer – out of breath, gleam in your eye, salt on your cheeks and creases of eyes. The words from your mouth tell of tired legs and hard hills and exhaustion… but that gleam tells of more.

Helmet, wheels, back roads become your own burning bush, the instruments God uses to turn you aside from tasks and meet Him on holy ground. Alone on your bike, you listen for His voice and hold fast to your desire for His Presence. You are the thinker between us, I the rash one, and I am ever thankful for the space you make to process with your Father.

That look of having encountered the holy is similar to the look that caused me to fall in love with you in the first place. That summer before we started dating (when we were both in Alaska and I called you and told you that I had no interest in being anything beyond friends so you should forget it), I secretly checked your Facebook page regularly to find new photos of what you were doing in Anchorage while I was 600 miles away in Juneau, separated by land and water and uncertainty. I felt like we didn’t connect in the way I expected to connect with someone I wanted to date, but I couldn’t stop myself from admitting that you were one hunk of a man. There are a couple of pictures of you with a sort of smirk on your face, I assume towards the photographer, yet the life behind your eyes drew me in. I knew there was something special about that boy with the wind-blown hair and hiking boots, I just didn’t think that something special was for me. You wanted it still. I didn’t. But I wished I wanted it.

What you call holy is wrapped up in wind and air and breath and lack of breath. Your space to meet with God, take off your sandals, and strip bare before Him happens as you ride your bike or hike a mountain or wake up among the trees. It is there that you are honest, available, alive.

And it is there that we now meet God together. I can’t believe He provided a man for me who wants to create holy spaces with me, to linger in the coolness of the morning or to pedal away from the fading sun in hopes of being united together in that which you call holy.

Love,
me.

P.S. Ever thought about growing your hair out again?

_______________________________

On the first Monday of every month, I’ll be writing a letter to participate with Amber Haines in the “Marriage Letters” series on her blog. I love getting to develop this practice of blessing my husband and our marriage. You should also check out Amber’s most recent marriage letter and the others that are linked up to her post.

Posted on February 4, 2015February 4, 2015 by Samantha Barnes 1

marriage letters: on healing and wholeness

Dear Eric,

I have a feeling you will remember this week, though maybe not for happy reasons. Your work was hard – not in the way where I listen and want to tell you to stick it out, but in the way that my heart aches with the stress and the burden you are under. I wish I was in a more lucrative position to give you the chance to up and quit, because I know you thought about it multiple times on Monday and Tuesday.

And your job is not the only sinker pulling you down — after two weekends and somewhere around 20 hours of labor, your 4Runner still won’t start. To avoid sharing a car yesterday, you rode your motorcycle to work in chilly weather, only to have the battery die on you at a gas station up the street. It’s not a fantastic ratio to have two out of three motorized vehicles out of commission.

On top of all of this, you have been sick for the past 36 hours (ironic, since this letter is about health). You got home from work last night and immediately curled up on our loveseat (one day, we will have a normal sized couch, I promise) under our favorite green blanket. I got home to a kitchen full of dirty dishes from having dinner guests the night before, frantically sighed, and surrendered to Little Caesar’s offer of a $5 pizza. Those dishes are still sitting there this morning, lounging in the residue of pot roast and cheese grits. This real life stuff is romantic, let me tell ya.

Yet the sun is rising this morning just the same. I can catch glances of wispy clouds between the silhouettes of naked trees out our living room window. Traffic is picking up on our little street, the one people in the east part of town use as a cut-through to College. The neighbors are scraping frost off their windshields, and I am grateful for a janky-yet-functional carport courtesy of our landlords. A verse about mercies being new each morning repeats in my head as I hear you stretch and groan in your barely-conscious state.

Even a year or two ago, this week would have had me in tears. Sharing a car and working in different towns would have provoked daily tensions in our relationship and in our home. The emotional burden you carry back from work would have once pushed us apart, a distance I couldn’t quite grasp. Lies of loneliness used to drag me down when we didn’t get quality time in the evenings, like last night when you fell asleep so early. We may not have fully figured out adulthood yet (does anyone ever?), but I see progress on our journey. That trailhead from three years ago is in the distance, and even when it feels like we are climbing up rocks by hands and feet, the view keeps getting better.

And that’s how I feel about healing and wholeness. We aren’t there yet, and I still see wounds in you, in us, from the parts of the journey that still don’t make sense – but we are healthier than we were a year ago, and I think that means we are walking in the right direction.

Feel better, babe. I love you.

Love,
me.

_______________________________

Amber at The Runamuck is starting up a marriage letters series again! This month wasn’t an official link-up, but you should check out her recent marriage letter. Starting in February, I will be linking up with others at the start of the month who are also practicing the habit of blessing their husbands and their marriages.

Posted on January 30, 2015January 30, 2015 by Samantha Barnes 0

responding out of belief, not fear

What is your first instinct when you hear bad news or encounter a difficult situation?

I still very clearly remember getting home from work one April afternoon after being married for about five months and finding that Eric had gotten there before me. I joined him on the hammock on our porch, not necessarily surprised that he seemed to be a little down. Work had been difficult for him for the previous few months, and he typically felt pretty discouraged at the end of the day. I cuddled up next to him and gently asked how his day was.

And he told me that he no longer had a job.
That the company had come into financial difficulty.
That they needed to make some cuts.
And that he had been that cut.

I knew this would be one of the most defining moments of our marriage, and my response would be critical to how we moved forward.

King Hezekiah knew his response to bad news would be critical, as well.

Sennacherib king of Assyria had invaded Judah and conquered all of their fortified cities. He sent one of his officers to meet Hezekiah’s officers with a message for Hezekiah. His words, described in both Isaiah 36 and 2 Kings 18, taunt the God of Israel, the One True God, and make a mockery out of both Israel and the God they serve. He even laughingly claims that their God told him to destroy their nation! The messenger chooses to not speak Aramaic, a language typically used for this situation and not understood by the common people, but he chooses to speak in the Jewish langauge so that he strikes fear not only into Hezekiah’s messengers’ hearts, but also in the hearts of the people listening.

Beware lest Hezekiah mislead you by saying, “The LORD will deliver us.” Has any of the gods of the nations delivered his land out of the hand of the king of Assyria? Where are the gods of Hamath and Arpad? Where are the gods of Sepharvaim? Have they delivered Samaria out of my hand? Who among all the gods of these lands have delivered their lands out of my hand, that the LORD should deliver Jerusalem out of my hand? (Isaiah 36:18-20)

When his messengers came back with the news, it obviously distressed Hezekiah. Then Sennacherib sent messengers with more ammo against the God of Israel, essentially calling Him a liar and untrustworthy.

Do not let your God in whom you trust deceive you by promising that Jerusalem will not be given into the hand of the king of Assyria. Behold, you have heard what the kings of Assyria have done to all lands, devoting them to destruction. And shall you be delivered? (Isaiah 37:10-11)

Talk about a bad day! Yet Hezekiah’s response showed who he believed God was and what God was capable of.

Hezekiah received the letter from the hand of the messengers, and read it; and Hezekiah went up to the house of the LORD, and spread it before the LORD. And Hezekiah prayed to the LORD: “O LORD of hosts, God of Israel, enthroned above the cherubim, you are the God, you alone, of all the kingdoms of the earth; you have made heaven and earth. Incline your ear, O LORD, and hear; open your eyes, O LORD, and see; and hear all the words of Sennacherib, which he has sent to mock the living God. Truly, O LORD, the kings of Assyria have laid waste all the nations and their lands, and have cast their gods into the fire. For they were no gods, but the work of men’s hands, wood and stone. Therefore they were destroyed. So now, O LORD our God, save us from his hand, that all the kingdoms of the earth may know that you alone are the LORD.” (Isaiah 37:14-20)

Hezekiah responded by affirming what he knew to be true of God and therefore what he knew God could do: bring salvation. Hezekiah affirmed that the God he served was the living God, not a god made by man’s hands and able to be burned by fire. He focused on the truth in the situation, not the fear that Sennacherib wanted him to cave in to.

I love the picture of Hezekiah spreading all of these threats before the Lord and praying. He gave it all to God, trusting that God was able to do something about it. He knew that if God was the God of all kingdoms of the earth, then He was the God over Assyria. He knew that if God made heaven and earth, then God made Sennacherib. The threats of a man meant nothing in light of the God who had ultimate power.

While I know there have been times I have given in to fear and despair, the moment on the hammock that April afternoon was not one of them. My response was to kiss my husband, affirm my love for him, then just start praying. Together, we affirmed that God knew our financial needs and that God was able to take care of us. We laid it all before Him and trusted Him to move us forward.

What truths about God do you need to not only recognize, but believe in as you walk through your own present circumstances? What uncertain situation is before you, waiting for you to spread before the Lord and acknowledge where you are but also acknowledge Who He is? How do you respond to what is trying to produce fear in your life?

Your response to the difficult places in life shows who you believe God is and what you believe He is capable of. We serve a God who is the Creator, Sustainer, and Ruler of All. He can handle it when we spread it all out before Him and acknowledge the scariness of our situation, but He doesn’t want us to stop there. He wants us to choose to believe the truth of Who He is, and our focus on that truth will make all the difference.

Posted on January 26, 2015January 26, 2015 by Samantha Barnes 0

seeing growth in grayscale days

Unexpected spring in January definitely makes it on my list of favorite things – it’s right up there with camping at White Rock, new wool socks, baking bread, and the smell of dirt.

Today it’s 65 degrees and sunny and perfect. Ridley Dog and I went to Gulley Park and I prayer-walked while he made friends with each dog we encountered. I prayed for friends and for ministry and for the people who financially make my ministry possible. Then we sat on a bench to rest in the warm sun and soak in gratitude.

I needed this day.

Not just a day to focus on my relationship with the Lord, but a day of warmth and light and promise. A day to turn off the heat and throw open the french doors leading to the porch. Despite the brown grass and bare trees around me, today is a reminder that spring is coming. The gray skies and cold winds will not last forever, and in just a couple of months, life will be revealing itself all around us. Life that is right now being kept in the ground to form roots and hide from winter. That life is beginning to grow right now, though to look around the yard you might not see it.

I forget about that aspect of growth, sometimes – that it’s not always visible. Eric and I planted tulips in our yard last October, and I had practically forgotten about them until today, when I started daydreaming about spring’s arrival. Right now, there’s nothing to be said for those bulbs except that there are patches of dirt where grass has not quite grown back over the holes we dug. I wouldn’t want those flowers to sprout today; knowing Arkansas weather, we will have a chance of snow in the forecast within the next week. The flowers would last for a day or two, then be killed by the winter we still have left before they fully bloomed. I want those bulbs to continue rooting themselves into the dirt, shoots holding fast to soil and bulbs beginning to unfurl in preparation for March. I trust that they are growing, but I won’t know for sure until green shoots emerge from the dirt.

Growth isn’t always something we can know. We can’t capture the moment it moves from nothing to something or stagnant to active. It usually starts out in ways invisible to us, yet growth is happening nonetheless. In the midst of a dark winter, I need that reminder. I need to know that something is sprouting. This taste of spring, however short it may be, will keep me looking ahead to the time when we can peel off coats and dust off bicycles and see the fruit of what was happening in the dirt all this time. It gives me hope even while looking through the grayscale that often filters the world during this time of the year.

Life abounds, even in the midst of winter. Even when all looks brown and dead, life can be found.

Not only do I need to know that for the world around me, but I need to know that for the heart in me.

Posted on January 19, 2015January 19, 2015 by Samantha Barnes 0

finding adventure right here

The best word to describe that summer was adventure. And I feel like, ever since then, I have been chasing that same idea of adventure, aching to seek it out and make it a part of my daily life.

But maybe my original concept of adventure is wrong.

The summer after my junior year of college, I took a road trip (and a ferry ride) to Juneau, Alaska with a group of college students from Fayetteville and other campuses around the US. After spending 5.5 days on the road together, we obviously became very close friends. I then spent 11 weeks with these friends in Juneau on a Cru Summer Mission trip, learning how to start spiritual conversations and share my faith within a work environment, volunteering within the local community, being developed individually and with the community of women, and of course hiking and camping and fishing and crabbing and kayaking and every other thing you would dream about doing while in Alaska. Every week, we were exploring different trails and learning new things and growing in our friendships. I grew personally and spiritually that summer more than any other period in my life up to that point, so this adventure showed me quick progress and a steep but short climb to a place where I could see the view from above of where I had once been.

DSCN0446 — {girls + leaders before our first overnight hike}

The very first trail our group hiked in Alaska led up to a rustic cabin and fire pit. By rustic, I mean it was four walls and a roof… and that’s it. We rolled out our sleeping bags on the unfinished wood floor and used a portapotty about 100 yards away. Honestly, I preferred nature itself to that portapotty.

The hike leading up to the cabin was unlike any other hike I had previously been on. As we started the hike, I noticed that the “trail” was made up of flat boards which had been secured just slightly above the ground. I kept expecting them to end, leading us to an actual dirt trail, but the boards went on for a significant portion of the hike. Juneau has a very moist climate, and it rained probably 75% of the summer we were there, so these boards allowed us to hike on the trail without getting stuck in mud. As we got closer to the top, the ground dried out more and the trail continued on solid ground. The view changed from soggy woods to a sunny meadow, and I remember feeling like we were finally making progress.

Not that we weren’t making progress on the boards. It just felt discouraging after awhile, maybe less exciting since we were walking on man-made planks instead of a rural path. Mud and damp is rarely as fun on a hike as sun and grass and wildflowers and space to see the view.

But it made a difference that we knew where we were going and had confidence that the trail would bring us to a place where we could take off our packs, build a fire, and start roasting our hobo dinner packets.

I think I am now seeing that adventure in life often looks more like the time I spent board trail rather than the more daring sections of our other experiences. There have definitely been times when, calves burning and lungs heaving, I find myself crawling uphill, hoping for relief and a chance to take in the view. There are also moments of descent and moments of sliding down on my rear end. Right now, though, I feel like I am walking through the boggy section of a trail. The planks help me stay out of the muck, but the view isn’t too exciting. The destination seems a little uncertain, and I am not sure how adventurous it feels to be walking along boards over mud. I can see glimmers of sunshine and green growing things here and there, but overall this part of the trail is shaded and monotonous.

My friend Kaitlin recently wrote about a journal she received which boasted “Adventure is Right Here” on the cover, and she described how she is trying to live with that in mind. Her words prompted for me the realization that adventure isn’t ahead of us, like the hope of change in scenery or getting off the boards and onto the dirt. It’s not only found in something new happening or in taking a step of faith. Each day is part of the adventure. Instead of living by the phrase “Adventure is out there!” (via Disney’s “Up”), I want to daily soak in that adventure is right here. I want to change my approach to the boggy seasons of life, which to me are a necessary evil to take me to the adventure. I want to see this section as its own great journey.

I am not someone who enjoys consistency and predictability. I have told Eric that I am willing to move if he gets a job elsewhere simply because something new sounds more exciting than a season of monotony. I am finding myself chasing change. But if I live like adventure is right here, right now, then my mindset will be focused on each step of the journey instead of always waiting for the next big thing because each day is the next big thing. Each day, even if it feels very much like the day before, holds its own new discoveries and challenges and details. Maybe it’s only something seemingly small, like a different species of trees shading the path, but there is something new to explore and something else to be grateful for.

Because the journey itself is what makes reaching the destination so much sweeter.

Posted on January 15, 2015January 19, 2015 by Samantha Barnes 2

illogical, inefficient, but incredibly sovereign

The journey God has each of us on does not always make sense logistically. His plan does not typically seem like the most efficient way to get us from point A to point B, but for some reason, it’s the right way.

Two years ago, Eric and I began to pray and fast and seek God’s voice on a major decision: whether or not to join staff with Cru, a college ministry organization. Not only would this mean a job change, but it would also entail raising support for all of our expenses. It meant a major lifestyle change, from the 8-5 world to the more fluid world of a college student’s schedule. A change from the world of work’s measurable success in goals completed and numbers achieved to the world of all results of life change and Gospel acceptance being in God’s hands and not necessarily related to the hours put in each week.

So for five months we prayed and asked the Lord if this was where He was leading us, if we were supposed to turn off our current path of marketplace jobs and follow a new trail through the woods. And, very clearly, He told us to take this new course for our lives.

I quit my job. Eric worked 50+ hours each week in his marketing position, then came home to work his second job of raising support with me. We spent our evenings in meetings with various people, traveled out of town some, and prayed a lot. We continually found ourselves taking steps of faith and trusting God with the results. And He was continually faithful, in one way or another. Sometimes financially as relating to support. Sometimes financially as relating to our now decreased income. Sometimes relationally as restoring old friendships and providing new ones. Always spiritually as His presence daily being our sufficiency.

Yet the story doesn’t end with both of us being on staff with Cru. It took an unexpected turn when we felt like we needed to step away from that path to stop raising full support, allowing me to start on campus not-quite-full-time with Cru but Eric to stay at his corporate job.

Why didn’t God tell us that in the first place? Why did we walk through so many sacrifices and stressful days and dreams to end up somewhere other than where we originally saw God taking us?

I feel like the Israelites had to be asking themselves similar questions in Exodus 1, as Pharaoh begins to oppress them and force them into slavery in Egypt. But to really understand their story – and mine, and maybe even your own – allow me to briefly recap their story and how they ended up in Egypt.

Scene One: God’s covenant with Abram, specifically the promise that He will give Abram’s descendants a land of their own

Now the LORD said to Abram, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the land that I will show you. And I will make of you a great nation, and I will bless you and make your name great, so that you will be a blessing. I will bless those who bless you, and him who dishonors you I will curse, and in you all the families of the earth shall be blessed.” (Genesis 12:1-3, ESV)

Scene Two: God specifically tells Abram what land He will give them

On that day the LORD made a covenant with Abram, saying, “To your offspring I give this land, from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates, the land of the Kenites, the Kenizzites, the Kadmonites, the Hittites, the Perizzites, the Rephaim, the Amorites, the Canaanites, the Girgashites and the Jebusites.” (Genesis 15:18-21, ESV)

Scene Three: Jacob, Abram’s grandson, was living in Canaan, the future Promised Land, with his family – but it was not theirs yet. Joseph is sold by his brothers into slavery and taken to Egypt.

Jacob lived in the land of his father’s sojournings, in the land of Canaan… Then Judah said to his brothers, “What profit is it if we kill our brother and conceal his blood? Come, let us sell him to the Ishmaelites, and let not our hand be upon him, for he is our brother, our own flesh.” And his brothers listened to him. Then Midianite traders passed by. And they drew Joseph up and lifted him out of the pit, and sold him to the Ishmaelites for twenty shekels of silver. They took Joseph to Egypt. (Genesis 37:1, 26-28, ESV)

Scene Four: Joseph forgives his brothers for what they did to him and invites them to come live in Egypt, under his care, so that they may not be wiped out by the famine

So Joseph said to his brothers, “Come near to me, please.” And they came near. And he said, “I am your brother, Joseph, whom you sold into Egypt. And now do not be distressed or angry with yourselves because you sold me here, for God sent me before you to preserve life. For the famine has been in the land these two years, and there are yet five years in which there will be neither plowing nor harvest. And God sent me before you to preserve for you a remnant on earth, and to keep alive for you many survivors. So it was not you who sent me here, but God. He has made me a father to Pharaoh, and lord of all his house and ruler over all the land of Egypt. Hurry and go up to my father and say to him, ‘Thus says your son Joseph, God has made me lord of all Egypt. Come down to me; do not tarry. You shall dwell in the land of Goshen, and you shall be near me, you and your children and your children’s children, and your flocks, your herds, and all that you have. There I will provide for you, for there are yet five years of famine to come, so that you and your household, and all that you have, do not come to poverty.’ ” (Genesis 45:4-11, ESV)

Egypt became God’s source of provision for His people, a means of survival in the midst of a famine. Living in Goshen was a result of His sovereign hand. He led (through Joseph’s rise to a powerful position), and they followed.

Yet what once was a place of blessing was now a place of persecution.

Now there arose a new king over Egypt, who did not know Joseph. And he said to his people, “Behold, the people of Israel are too many and too mighty for us. Come, let us deal shrewdly with them, lest they multiply, and, if war breaks out, they join our enemies and fight against us and escape from the land.” Therefore they set taskmasters over them to afflict them with heavy burdens. They built for Pharaoh store cities, Pithom and Raamses. But the more they were oppressed, the more they multiplied and the more they spread abroad. And the Egyptians were in dread of the people of Israel. So they ruthlessly made the people of Israel work as slaves and made their lives bitter with hard service, in mortar and brick, and in all kinds of work in the field. In all their work they ruthlessly made them work as slaves. (Exodus 1:8-14, ESV)

I often assume that Egypt was a place of disobedience, and slavery must have been a consequence to something or another. The mention of Egypt often relates to the concept of “sin” in the Bible, and Israel was often in bondage as a result of not trusting God. But their distance from the Promised Land here wasn’t a result of them not following God. God had planned for them to go to Egypt. He blessed that move out of Canaan during Joseph’s season of power. Yet it wasn’t where they were supposed to stay. They were still destined to possess the land of Canaan, and God must wanted them to desire to move on to where He has promised them.

Now, geographically, this doesn’t quite make sense. (These maps were not drawn by me…)

Notice, Jericho and the entrance to the Promised Land looks to be just north of Hebron. Yet God brought his people west to Egypt for a season before taking them southeast and north to return to the land He had chosen for them.

God’s provision for us on the journey to Cru was not necessarily to take us to the destination we believed we were traveling towards. We are still walking through this journey, so I don’t know that I have all of the answers yet, but I can see ways that God used that season for our good. It challenged us in our view of God and what He was capable of. It challenged me in my identity and my willingness to release it all to God for His purposes, not my security. It brought new friendships and deeper conversations with others, which we are still enjoying today. We saw prayers answered in the ways we hoped and in ways we didn’t expect. God was so present during that time, but it wasn’t where we were meant to stay – at least not at this time.

God’s provision in your location right now (literally or metaphorically) is not necessarily your destination. It could be, but more often than not, we find ourselves getting comfortable and settling in just as God is planning a new transition. Our decisions up to that point haven’t necessarily been wrong – I don’t think we were wrong to take a step of faith, join staff with Cru, and start raising support – but it can very easily become wrong when our security and our identity is wrapped up in a self-confidence in our trail instead of a God-confidence no matter what new paths He asks us to follow.

Maybe you will be forced to move out of your situation because of a change in circumstances. Israel no longer found Egypt a place of refuge; it became a place of bondage. Or maybe it will simply be a heart conviction, telling you it’s time to move on.

But in the midst of the pain that eventually seems to come, no matter how great a change is, God is in it. I love how it is expressed at the end of Exodus 2: “And God heard their groaning, and God remember his covenant with Abraham, with Isaac, and with Jacob. God saw the people of Israel –– and God knew.” (Exodus 2:24-25, ESV)

God sees you, no matter where you are on your journey, and He knows. He is sovereign over our journey and faithful to care for us, even when our rest turns to ruthless oppression, or our provision turns to pressure to make a change. God sees, and God knows.

In case you want to make this more personal for you…

Where in your life have you seen a similar story – what seemed like God changing the plans He originally had, or where His provision seemed to turn sour? {key word: seemed}
What part of the journey are you on right now?
How can you make a habit of taking a perspective above your current circumstances to examine what God could be doing, even if things don’t logistically make sense?
What truth about God do you need to cling to as you continue on your current path? What Scripture passage clearly states this?
What securities do you need to surrender to allow Him to be your one sufficiency?

Posted on January 11, 2015March 4, 2015 by Samantha Barnes 1

samantha c. barnes