A couple months ago, I shared the big news with you: We’re moving to Hawaii! Woo hoo!
Tim and I had been praying about it for a while, and sometime around February of this year, we felt God make it clear to us that the islands off the west coast of the U.S. would be our destination. Fun, fun, right? Except that we’d never heard a clear answer as far as timeline. Or which island to go to. Or how we were going to exactly get there. Or where Tim would be working. A few things were left in the air, right? Right.
So, we did the only thing a rational person would do: We chose a date ourselves. The time came when we decided we should tell people, and along with it came the most obvious question of all – ‘When are you all moving?’ ‘Late 2015, early 2016′, is what we said. No, there wasn’t a specific reason why we’d chosen that time frame, only that we didn’t want to become complacent and lose focus on the call that God had given us. We wanted to be proactive, to keep moving forward in faith. Like good little Christians.
So we waited for further confirmation.
And we waited.
Fast forward to September and nothing. Nada, zilch. We hadn’t heard anything. It was like God had stopped talking to us, all together. Had we really heard God? Was this all just a test to see if we’d be obedient? Finally, a friend of mine asked me point-blank. ‘Are you still excited about going to HI?’ Wow. I hadn’t thought about it, but actually, I wasn’t really. I mean, yes – excited to go on a brand new adventure. But, no – not when I felt totally alone with zero answers as to how to get there. She told me she knew I would say that, that she could tell the old zing just wasn’t there anymore.
I thought about it and thought about it. Then I got frustrated. What was God doing, anyway? Why would He tell us to do this big, big thing, allow us to tell the whole world about it, but then just clam up and make us look like idiots? Question after question came to mind as to how unjust it was that God had set this mantle around our necks, and then left us out to dry.
And then it hit me: I’m an Israelite.
I’m absolutely identical to the Israelites in the Old Testament. What’s that God? You just freed an entire nation from slavery and asked us to claim the Promised Land but there’s already a few people living there we’re too afraid to face? (Never mind the fact you sent a plague or two or TEN to prove to us you were in control and we should trust you?) Nah, we’d rather wander the desert for forty years. And while we’re at it, we might as well forget the fact that you send food from the sky to take care of us each. and. every. day. and we’ll just complain about it and pray to false gods.
Yuck. I was a total Israelite. I had heard God clearly, complete with confirmation after confirmation after confirmation, yet I still doubted His voice? After only a few measly months, I was about to give up? Ouch.
I wish I could say I heard God give me a direction, and that I fell in step with His plan from day 1, that I never doubted a second, that my heart never wavered once and I felt zero fear for almost the entire past year. But that wouldn’t be true. What’s true is that I’m despicably human, failing and flailing every step of this crazy, illogical journey God has put me on. And that’s ok. So I’m an Israelite. There are worse things I could be. At least I can see it, and I can fall on my face and beg God for forgiveness at my unfaithful heart. I can ask for His guidance once more, and hope that I can hang in there just one day longer.
Because I’m human. And I love Jesus. And that’s what us Christians do, we fail over and over, proving daily that we need the saving grace of a living God. And, I’m ok with that. It makes Jesus my Savior.
Thank you, Jesus, that I’m an Israelite. Thank you that I need you every. single. day.
I am an Israelite.