Nine Tips for Holding Steady Through the Crazy Times

I’ve just reached the end of a pretty crazy term. My husband started studying (two courses simultaneously), I picked up a few extra hours at work and, on top of that, had an important deadline to meet for some writing submissions (I have appointments with a couple of publishers at a writer’s conference in a few weeks). And it was the winter term at school, when fatigue was high and illness common. Despite all that, I’ve reached the end of term healthy, happy and (mostly) at peace. Finally, it seems, I’m learning to be more strategic in the hectic times.

Here are my nine top tips. I hope you find them helpful.

  1. Remember Your Creator

Make time to still your heart in God’s presence—daily. Remind yourself He is the only source of life and hope. Worship, give thanks, feed on His Word and listen to His whisper. He knows all your day will hold and wants to show you His way through.

“Whoever dwells in the shelter of the Most High will rest in the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress, my God, in whom I trust.’” Psalm 91:1-2.

  1. Remember Who You Are

You are a child of God, created for a purpose. If you’re putting Him first and seeking His direction, every season you pass through—even the crazy-hectic ones—are being worked together to equip you for what He has ahead. You can be confident He will  work even the hardest of times for your good.

“And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose.” Romans 8:28

  1. Prioritise

Cut back on the extras. Weigh up your options carefully. What are your most important relationships? The crucial activities that can’t be compromised? Consider putting aside surplus involvements for a while, so you don’t run yourself dry. God’s priorities come with firm conviction and peace. ‘Extras’ push us into stress and striving.

“The Lord makes firm the steps of the ones who delight in Him; though they stumble, they will not fall, for the Lord upholds them with His hand.” Psalm 37:23

  1. Nourish Your Body

Eat food that makes you feel well and gives you lasting energy—physical and mental. Do some form of exercise that you enjoy and get those happy endorphins flowing. And put yourself to bed early when you can. A good sleep makes everything look brighter.

“In vain you rise early and stay up late, toiling for food to eat, for while they sleep He provides for those He loves.” Psalm 127:2

5. Slow Your Mind

Put your tasks and technology aside, turn off the background noise, look around you and breathe. Spend time outdoors. Drink in the beauty of nature. Quiet your heart and savour stillness. Just slow down—even for a moment.

“He makes me lie down in green pastures, He leads me beside quiet waters, He restores my soul.” Psalm 23:2-3a

 

  1. Embrace the Sabbath

Right from the beginning God planned weekly rest days for our good. Try to set aside a whole day where you put aside the usual busyness, refocus (see point 1) and do something that refreshes you. As we recreate, we are re-created ready for the week that follows.

“For six days work is to be done, but the seventh day is a day of sabbath rest, holy to the Lord.” Exodus 31:15a

  1. Be Creative

If you have the desire, make something beautiful or purposeful—take some photos, pot a plant, compose some music, transform a piece of furniture. As God’s image-bearers, each of us has some inherent form of creativity. Perhaps the joy we feel when we create something special is because we’re reflecting our creator.

“God created mankind in His own image, in the image of God He created them; male and female He created them.” Genesis 1:27a

  1. Be Spontaneous

Those busy seasons can become very monotonous, as they are for the mouse in the wheel. Try to be a little bit spontaneous and break out when you have opportunity. For my husband and I, that meant a last-minute dash to the cinema to watch a light-hearted movie on a day that was looking very task-focused. Good fun!

“See! The winter is past . . . Flowers appear on the earth . . . Arise, come, my darling; my beautiful one, come with me.” Song of Songs 2:11-13

  1. Communicate

Don’t be afraid to acknowledge your limits and accept help. Even if there are tasks you see as your responsibility, if you’re under the pump and someone is offering a hand, say yes! This doesn’t make you a failure, rather it grows you in humility and gratitude. There are sure to be times when you can pick up the slack for someone else when they’re under pressure. It’s all part of being a body.

“Now you are the body of Christ and each one of you is a part of it.” 1 Corinthians 12:27.

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Photo credit for sunset trio to Laura Eastley.

 

Dying to Live

Do you ever have times where you feel like life’s circumstances are about to overwhelm you?

Mother’s Day was like that for me. My family came to my bedroom with beautiful gifts and smiling faces, only to find me sitting in bed, weeping. It wasn’t unusual for me to cry on Mother’s Day—I’m often moved by their love. But on this day, the outpouring was one of pain and grief and confusion.

I thought I was doing okay. I had grown accustomed to the long periods of waiting that seem to be part of our new life. I’d learned to lay down my agendas and choose to trust. God was good. He was at work. We would see His answers.

Then came a time when things began to shift. Doors started opening—work for my husband (albeit short-term), an exciting opportunity for one of our children, a potential buyer for our van. Phone calls were made, paperwork completed, arrangements put in place. We felt the momentum of forward movement and our steps became lighter. Finally, we were seeing God’s promises begin to manifest.

Then, just as suddenly, all progress ceased. The company that had offered casual work failed to call —and the job assignment neared its end. The opportunity that shone before our child faded, leaving them confused and questioning God’s purpose. And the anticipated purchase of our van never eventuated.

Something inside me groaned. I knew this was yet another test— another opportunity to die to self. But I found myself wondering, Is there a point a person reaches where they just can’t stretch any further? If there is, God, I think I’ve reached it.  

Within days, I was confronted with another hard reality. A beautiful woman who had fought a brave battle with cancer was falling under its shadow. Vibrant, gracious and full of joy, she was one who brought a smile to all she met. Yet, despite fervent prayer, she had grown so frail that funeral planning was underway. Why, God?  

“Hope deferred makes the heart sick.” Old Solomon described it so well—that hollow, nauseating ache that gnaws at your stomach when the wait is unbearably long or the promise seems void. It’s hard to hold on to hope when you can’t see what lies on the path ahead of you. It’s even harder when you see that hope begin to take shape in reality, only to crumble and fall to the ground.

On Mother’s Day, all the grief that had been building inside me welled up and spilled over. I grieved for a family trying desperately to celebrate their mother, knowing she would be leaving them within days. I grieved over all the disappointments in our own lives—the ‘almosts’ that, for some reason, weren’t coming to pass. Deep down, I knew God was still good. I knew there would be ‘somedays’ where I would see more clearly and, perhaps, understand. But in that moment, I was more aware of questions than hope.

I took my pain to church that morning and poured it out as we sang. God wasn’t surprised by my emotions—He already knew them well. While I wept and sang, He listened, loved, then gently turned my thoughts beyond my despair to a time of far greater devastation.

There was a day when Jesus’ closest friends stood on a hill, watching Him die. Jesus was their hero, the One Who had shown them what real love looked like. He was the One Who had been stronger, wiser, more powerful than anything that challenged Him. Yet there He hung on a cross like a lowly criminal —naked, vulnerable, struggling for every breath.

How was it possible that One so perfect, so full of power and authority, could fall under the schemes of power-hungry men? The whole situation seemed so unfair, so awfully, terribly wrong.

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But Jesus’ death wasn’t the end of the story. God had a plan. Right in the midst of the loss and devastation, He was at work, winning the greatest victory and opening up the way for all people to discover life as it was meant to be.

 

Jesus’ followers couldn’t possibly see His brutal slaughter as a good thing. In their eyes, it was the death of hope—for all of them. How limited was their vision. Rather than the end, it was, in fact, a whole new beginning. That ‘disaster’ was an entry point into life on a new level.

So it is in our hardest, darkest, most confusing seasons. Like a seed pushed deep into the earth, we feel the pressure, are confused by the darkness and fear the splitting of our shell. Yet it is through this yielding, this dying process, that life comes forth—more vibrant, more abundant and richer than what we’ve experienced before. 

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Always, God knows what He’s doing. The question is, are we willing to trust Him and yield? On the other side of death, life awaits.

 

 

 

 

 

“I tell you the truth, unless a kernel of wheat falls to the ground and dies, it remains only a single seed. But if it dies, it produces many seeds.” John 12:24

“If anyone would come after me, they must deny themselves and take up their cross and follow Me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for Me will find it.” Matthew 16:24-25.

Artwork by Esther Brown.

 

 

 

 

Leave Room for Wonder

That first flutter of movement was unforgettable—the delicate sweep of tiny limbs deep inside me. It only lasted a moment. But that moment transformed what had formerly been dreamy imaginings into tangible reality. There really was a new life, a new person, growing inside me. And that little person was depending on me to provide everything it needed for the many months of growth and development to come.

As weeks passed and my baby grew, so did my sense of connection with them. My husband and I discussed potential names. We bought furniture and blankets and prepared our home for their arrival. My heart swelled in anticipation of the day we would meet. We waited. We prayed. Finally came the breathtaking moment when I first gazed upon the precious son my body had been nurturing all that time. Oh, the relief! The joy. The wonder. And the awed awareness of a new sensation . . .

The tender fierceness that blazes in a mother’s heart.

That flame of mother-love is so strong, it burns on through the weeks (or even months) of broken sleep that follow birth, giving us the heart and will to just keep giving. It compels us to throw ourselves in the path of danger (think snarling dogs) to protect our children from harm. It has us applying band-aids to grazes, managing sports teams, helping with homework, planning birthday parties.

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Then comes the season when our children grow older and begin to fend for themselves. That’s when the enduring mother-heart keeps us awake at night, praying—many times wishing we could spare our children the trials that cast shadows on their path.

Such intense love is a powerful force, a mighty strength.

It can also be our greatest weakness.

Sometimes, the sense of connection we have with our children is so strong, we don’t know where their hearts end, and ours begin. Our emotions rise and plummet in sync with their highs and lows. We reach for their burdens and try to add them to our own load. Hours are spent concocting possible solutions to their dilemmas. We might even try to offer grown-up ‘band aids’ in the form of food, gifts and distraction.

Sometimes, I’m guilty of all of these with my adult children. I wake in the middle of the night, fretting over whatever is weighing them down. I carry their burdens through my days, heavy on my heart and mind. I struggle and strive to make everything better, to impart all they need to see breakthrough. In the process, I stifle their growth and leave myself exhausted.

That’s when my Father—the perfect parent—lovingly steps in and sets me straight. His counsel brings a wisdom and perspective that pulls my heart back into a peaceful rhythm. Consider these words He spoke a few weeks back, recorded in my journal:

Daughter, throw off this weight that I never intended you to carry, and walk lighter. Your fretting and dreading and thinking everything will be better once your children’s circumstances are better only show that you’re missing the point.

Life is best for your children when they’re living in connection with Me—regardless of their circumstances. I am working for their good in and through the stressful times. You do nothing to help them when you take on anxiety.

Remember, I’m their parent too—the One Who daily bears their burdens. If you really believe I want to work all things together for their good, then you won’t want to interfere with the process. Rather, you will follow the leading of my Spirit as to when and how I want you to support.

When you take your hands off, when you let go, you make room for wonder. You give yourself opportunity to marvel at what I have done—without your help. And your faith grows. 

God is the Master nurturer, not me. He is the One Who can turn the hardest of times into the richest opportunities for growth. He sees the heart of each of our children, understands His bigger plan for their lives and knows just what each one needs at any point in time. And He knows what part He wants me to play in that process.

When I choose to take a step back and let Him lead the way, I have opportunity to watch Him work, bringing breakthrough and blessing—just as He has in my own life.

When I consider what He’s done for me, why would I expect anything less?

 

“Oh, the depth of the riches of the wisdom and knowledge of God!” Romans 11:33a 

 

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I Am Not Enough . . . and That’s Okay

I have to be honest. I’ve got a bee in my bonnet—a niggling thought that won’t leave me alone until I deal with it. There’s a phrase that’s been popping up in my world more and more often of late and every time I see it I find myself reacting, much as I would if a nasty insect was buzzing around my head.

“You are enough.”

That’s it. Just three little words.

I understand the sentiment behind them, the compassionate heart that motivated their creation. People need hope. Particularly those who are in a dark place. But I’m not sure those words offer the hope we really need.

Because every time I read them, all I see is the reality that I’m not enough.

I don’t have what’s required to love my family well, to keep my household running smoothly, to juggle the many balls I tend to gather in my enthusiastic moments. I don’t have the patience to work with high school students in all their moods. I lack the skills to write a book, the perseverance to complete it and the courage to place it in other people’s hands. Sometimes I have a strong urge to run from people who need a listening ear, even when I care deeply about them. Often, I find myself feeling overwhelmed.

I am far from enough.

But that’s okay.

Because I know I was never meant to find all life’s answers within myself.

Sure, I have talents and strengths. So do you. But we’re still human. Finite. Limited. No matter how much we talk ourselves up, most of us reach a point where we realise we don’t have what it takes to continue. For some, this happens at the point of death. For others, reality smacks us in the face on a regular basis.

This is not cause for despair, though. In fact, it’s liberating. When we admit we are ‘not enough’ we take the first step towards a life that surpasses anything we could accomplish ourselves.

I used to be one who was terrified of risk. I kept my perfect little world in order and did my best not to divert from the course I had planned. Meanwhile, God had a twinkle in His eye, knowing His dream for me was going to stretch me far beyond my natural limits.

In our modern culture there’s a tendency to think we need to be strong—capable, independent, able to manage whatever we face with confidence. But, in reality, dependence is the place of power.

Not ‘enough-ness’. Dependence.

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Jesus modelled this when He walked the earth. Even though He was the Son of God, He spoke of His complete reliance on His Father. Without that relationship with His dad, He could not fulfil His purpose.

“I and the Father are one,” ( Jn 10:30) He said. “I can only do what I see the Father doing.” (Jn 5:19)  And look what He did! People’s lives were transformed just by being in His presence.

He beckons us to follow Him, to give up our need for control and surrender our limited selves into His hands, His plan. If we’re willing to let go of our self-focus and embed our hope firmly in His ‘enough-ness’, our inadequacies are dealt with and we are imbued with supernatural strength. That’s when life begins to develop new dimensions.

We notice our steps being guided by a divine hand. Words of insight drop into our minds at just the right time. When confronted with a difficult person, we find love and understanding swelling in our chests rather than anxiety and judgement. People find healing and release through our prayers. We go places we’d never dared and do things we never dreamed possible—all because of His presence with us.

The life of dependence is a life of wonder. Challenge, yes. Risk, yes. But wonder just the same.

Sometimes our gaze drifts back onto ourselves and the struggle of life. We lose sight of the hope He offers and find ourselves slipping. Always He’s there, ready to set us back on course as soon as we reach out and fill us with all that we need. His supply, unlike our limited resources, never runs dry. 

Jesus is not only enough. He is more than enough.

I’d rather find hope in Him than in myself any day. How about you?

“But he said to me, ‘My grace is enough for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.’ So then, I will boast most gladly about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may reside in me.”

2 Corinthians 12:9 New English Translation Bible

 

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When God Interrupts Your Plans

A woman lays on her side like one in deep sleep, her petite body curved to fit the narrow space in the toilet cubicle, her back pressed against the door.

“Hello . . .” Another woman, clad in black trousers and navy blouse, kneels outside the cubicle, her hand pressed against the door. “Can you hear me?” Her words echo off the walls of the ladies’ room.

There is no movement, no sound.

She turns to me. We exchange concerned glances. “I know First Aid,” she says.

“Oh.” I nod. “Good.” I see her reach under the door to find the woman’s pulse, all the while praying, God, what do you want me to do? Do I stay? Do I go?

His words from that morning sweep over my heart again. Bask and bless. Receive My love and let it overflow to those around you.

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Bask and bless. I’d almost forgotten that directive in the hustle and busyness of the time since. My well-planned morning has been interrupted by one minor glitch after another. I’d arrived at the shopping centre later and a little wearier than I’d hoped.

But now I see there’s a different plan at play. God’s plan. In that plan I am exactly where I need to be, right on schedule. This is not a time to bustle on with my to-do list. It’s time to overflow.

The woman in blue tries once more. “Hello! Can you hear me?” She feels for a pulse, checks for breath. “She’s not breathing.” Her grim words hang in the space between us.

I step closer. “Do you mind if I pray?”

“No. Go ahead.” She moves aside.

I squat to reach under the door and place my hand on the woman’s back. “Lord, I thank you that you know this woman and you love her. I speak life over her now . . .”

“She’s not breathing.” Security guards have arrived and the first aider explains the woman’s condition. “Her pulse is very faint.”  Her words fall like a wet blanket over my prayer, threatening to smother hope.

Quietly I finish then move into the next cubicle where I kneel. Leaning forward, I press my chest against my legs and hang my head till I can see the woman’s face. She’s wearing jeans, a cotton t-shirt and canvas shoes. Her hair is swept back in a simple ponytail. Her face, lined with the passing of years, is pale. Her eyes are closed.

Compassion fills my heart. I touch her hand, continue praying, and notice the muscles in her jaw beginning to work. “Her mouth is moving!”

Slowly she shifts her legs, tilts her head back and groans.

“She’s breathing!”

The team’s response is immediate. “We need to get her out of there.

A man climbs into the cubicle and helps us move the tiny figure out to an open area on the restroom floor.

“Where am I? What am I doing here?”

“You’re in the ladies’ room at the shopping centre.”

The woman is groggy and disoriented. Carefully we roll her onto her side and explain that help is coming. The guards leave and return later with a clean pillow and blanket. They tell us that, due to a misunderstanding, the ambulance has only just been called.

Time passes and the woman asks the same questions over and over. “Where am I? How did I get here? Who are you?” She seems surprised that strangers have chosen to stay with her, there on the floor.  Her mind drifts back and forth from confusion to resistance, gratitude to fear. Unbidden, she pours out reflections on her life – tales of family tensions, illness, guilt and despair.

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I am compelled to speak. Taking her slender hand in mine, I tell her of love – of Jesus who laid down His life so she can be forgiven – released from the heavy burden of guilt. I stroke wisps of hair back from the face of this one who could be my mother, telling her how precious and beautiful she is. My words are few and inadequacy plagues me as I offer them. Yet I wonder – how long is it since someone treated this dear one with tenderness? How long since she heard she was worth dying for?

Has anyone ever told her?

I don’t know if my words are received; she goes back to her questioning as soon as I finish. But I’m thankful to be there, glad my plan was interrupted. The love God has lavished on me is meant to be shared, not hoarded.

The woman grows tired, her eyes close and her breathing slows once more. The first aider persists determinedly, rousing her again and again until – at last – the ambulance arrives. The medics move in and I embrace the first aider and say goodbye.

I plod through the essential tasks on my list then, my mind drifting back over the events of the previous hour. I pray for the woman – that the love she was offered takes root in heart, bringing hope and security.

And I pray for myself, that my plans are never so rigid they can’t be interrupted.

The best moments in life are the ones my Father orchestrates.

“We can make our plans, but the Lord determines our steps.” Proverbs 16:9 (NLT)

“Always let Him lead you and He will clear the road for you to follow.” Proverbs 3:6 (CEV)

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Lessons in Timing from the Garden

I’m pretty certain it was Pa who sparked my interest in gardening. On every visit to the home he shared with Grandma, I’d venture into their backyard, eyes wide on my little face and heart thumping in anticipation of what I might discover. Delicate ferns and fuchsias grew in the shade of trees so lush that I forgot I was in suburbia. In the centre of the yard stood an enormous grapefruit tree with a koala and kookaburra (fashioned from mesh and concrete) perched in its arching branches.  I’d ride brightly-painted tricycles up and down the path, watch budgies swoop and chatter happily in their aviary and help pick strawberries to eat with Grandma’s cheesecakes. From Pa I learned to relish life in the garden.

My youthful wonder led naturally to a grown-up dream of creating my own outdoor haven. Through the years I’ve gathered trees, fragrant roses, climbers, shrubs and herbs then pressed each one into rich, damp soil, dreaming of the beauty yet to unfold. Faithfully I’ve watered, weeded and watched for signs of growth. Oh, how I’ve watched! Many, many times my husband or children have been pulled outside to endure listening to me ooh and ah over each little progression in my plants, each tiny step towards my dream. Beautiful gardens take time to grow, I know, and rather than try to hurry the process, I’ve chosen to enjoy it.

It shouldn’t have surprised me that God chose to use a garden analogy to teach me an important life lesson – one that has lingered with me ever since.

It was one of those mornings where I was taking extra time just to be still with Him, to get past the everyday cycle of pray-read-journal. I sat on my bed, quietly waiting, a sense of weariness weighing heavy on me. There were challenges our family was facing, answers we needed – about purpose, employment and friendships – and the seeming lack of breakthrough was testing my endurance.

In the silence that morning, the word ‘watch’ came to mind. I was reminded of God’s promise to watch over His people. Concordance in hand, I flicked to Psalm 121. When I read verse 3 the words leapt straight from the page to my heart.

“He will not let your foot slip –

He who watches over you will not slumber;

Indeed, He who watches over Israel will neither slumber nor sleep . . .” (Psalm 121:3-4)

With fresh hope I copied the words into my journal. God was not sleeping on the job! He knew our needs.

I moved on to Psalm 145 and read,

“The Lord is near to all who call on Him,

To all who call on Him in truth.

He fulfils the desires of those who fear Him;

He hears their cry and saves them.

The Lord watches over all who love Him. . .” (Psalm 145: 18-20a, emphasis mine)

I sensed my Father speaking to my heart, bringing gracious encouragement and startling clarity.

Daughter, My watching is not from afar – it is close.

Close enough not only to know your struggles and your desires but close enough to intervene. I am well able to fulfil your desires and work out My purposes.

But often it is all about timing.

The fruit of My work in your life, just like the abundance of a harvest, is all dependent on things happening at the right time.

What good is an abundance of rain when it’s time to reap?

Or long, hot days when the plants are tiny, fragile shoots?

I know just what is needed – when – for your life to be fruitful, as I have promised.

Peace settled over my heart and mind. God has abundant provision prepared for us. It just isn’t the right time for it to be poured out – yet. He is watching over us the way I watch over my plants, delighting in every sign of growth, and He knows exactly what is needed – when – for us to flourish.

A few days after this revelation I realised my new herb seedlings had been scorched by the searing summer sun. They died before they had a chance to mature. All that remained in their pots were shriveled brown stalks.

I was disappointed my plants died. They had too much sun, too soon.

But I nodded as I was reminded of God’s promise.

The next week, billowing rain clouds darkened the sun and sent drenching arrows shooting diagonally to earth. A newly potted hydrangea, one of a pair, copped the full force of the downpour. Its pot became so water-logged that its roots began to rot. Within days the leaves shrivelled and dropped. The other plant, which was sheltered from the rain, continues to thrive.

Once again, I saw the object lesson. It’s just like you said, God.

Plants need sun. They need rain. But the time at which they are provided can make the difference between life and death.

Many things are vital for us to live the full lives God has promised. But they’re only able to help us if they’re supplied at the right time. So often we try to hurry the process, thinking we need them now.

But we are not the Master gardener.

Only He sees the whole process clearly. And when the time is right, He’ll open His hand and pour out all He has promised. When that happens – in His timing – we’ll be ready to soak up every drop He provides . . . and flourish.

 

Hemmed In

The wording in the email was very matter-of-fact. “Please be aware that the average time for interstate deliveries is ten to fourteen days.”

“Oh.” We hadn’t expected that. I’d figured our gear would leave Tassie one day and arrive in Sydney within the week. We’d have a few days to unwind at my parents’ home before it was time to start setting up our own. Perfect.

That wasn’t to be. First of all, the house we were going to rent wouldn’t be available for five days after our arrival. Then there was the delivery setback. My husband and I talked through our options and came up with a brilliant solution. “We’ll buy a van, load up our essentials, stay at Mum and Dad’s for a few extra days then ‘camp’ at the house for a couple of weeks. It’ll be fine. We’ll live simply – a bit like being on holidays.”

So that’s what we did. We bought a van, loaded as much as we could squeeze into it and made our merry way up to Sydney, confident all would be well. Five days later we moved into our rental house, ready to make do with our limited supplies.

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Two weeks passed without any word from the movers. On phoning, we discovered our boxes wouldn’t leave Tasmania until the company had another consignment destined for the same location. In other words they needed someone else’s gear to fill the remaining space in the container before sending it across Bass Strait.

At that point they had no such order.

We’d been savouring the chance to relax before the major unpack but doing without was becoming difficult. What about the games we liked to play in the holidays? The books we were planning to read? Our important documents? And what about the everyday items – the cake tins, sewing supplies, the furnishings that make a place feel like home? I’ve lost count of the number of times someone has asked where a particular item is, only to be told, “Sorry, it’s packed.”

That wasn’t all.

There was also the issue of the car – or lack of it. We’d sold our sedans before moving and planned to buy a new one in our first few days in Sydney. It sounded so simple. But nothing we tried seemed to work. My husband trawled the internet for hours, searching for the perfect family sedan. Some sellers responded to his initial questions then failed to follow through. Others never replied. Finally he found a good deal and keen seller. It took a while to settle on a date to meet. Then the day before our planned meeting the car’s windscreen was hit by a stone . . . and cracked. On meeting day the engine started making strange, grinding noises.

“I’ll get it sorted as quickly as I can and let you know how it goes,” the owner said.

“Okay.” We agreed to wait. The car was just right for us and would be fine once those repairs were done. Surely that wouldn’t take long. Surely. We hadn’t considered that it was December 26th, midway through the prime week that Aussie tradesmen lay down their tools and head for the beach.

One week stretched into two and we battled on using our two-seater van and borrowing our son’s car when we could. For a little while we had the use of a kind relative’s dual cab ute. Many days were spent bored and restless at home, longing for the freedom to come and go as we pleased. But we were powerless to change the situation.

Challenging? Yes.

And there was more.

The night before we left Tasmania I developed a cough, an irritation which grew deeper and more aggressive despite my efforts to fight it. Right in the midst of our other battles, that cough had me wafting, dazed, between choking fits through the day, avoiding close contact with people and waking every hour through the night. I struggled through three weeks without relief before we discovered it was a serious illness that could keep me coughing for up to three months. Thankfully, I’m no longer contagious and have managed to reduce the symptoms a little. Still it’s cast a shadow over my days, making me cautious about what I eat, where I go and how much I do – yet another challenge to endure.

Sometimes it’s been almost funny to reflect on all the obstacles we’ve been facing. Almost. It seems absurd that we have to wade through the same kind of waiting process in so many areas. Didn’t we do enough waiting last year as we sought God’s direction for this move? Wasn’t it time for everything to fall into place now? We’d followed His instructions and left our former lives behind. Didn’t He know we needed these things – our boxes, a car, my health – to be able to enter into the new life He has for us here?

Many times as I sat quiet with God, those questions echoed from my heart to His.

Why God? Why does it have to be so hard?

Every time, His response was the same.

Trust Me. I’ve got you. I’m working for your good – in the waiting.

He’s got us firmly in His grip. He’s working for our good – right now. In the waiting. Not in spite of it, but through it.

One particularly difficult day he whispered the words of Job 23:10 to my heart.

“But He knows the way that I take;

when He has tested me,

I will come forth as gold.”

God knows what we’re going through. He knows. He is fully aware there is testing in the waiting. He knows how painful it is, the intensity of the fire, how much we wish this process would just end! But He loves us – too much to let us escape the flame early. Like a master craftsman patiently watching over the precious metal He’s refining, He is purifying our hearts, sifting our motives, shaping us into the people He knows we need to be for what’s ahead.

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His word brought comfort. He would bring us through.

He also gave me a promise:

As you choose to wait and trust and yield and endure, you will know Me bringing you forth – purified, quiet of heart, confident in My sufficiency. So sit tight, continue to fix your hope on My goodness and watch for My release and provision…

Wait. Trust. Yield. Endure.

And you will be pure. Quiet. Confident.

Hmm. It’s not easy to ‘sit tight’ when we’re in the fire. We wriggle and squirm, trying frantically to figure out a way of escape. But if we’ll just stop fighting and fix our eyes on the Master craftsman then at the right time – His time – release will come.

And the end result – the purity and strength He produces in us – will make us thankful for the process, despite the pain.