There will be a much longer essay on the “why” behind all of this to come—but we have been planning to leave our farm for sometime now. It was a decision that we felt a stirring about a long time ago and one that was held with deep grief, yet deep consolation. It’s been a slow process, much slower than we anticipated—but we’re moving into a season of travel and expanding what we’re doing in ministry. Again, more to come later. For now though, let’s take a step back into July—which was supposed to be a month of slowing down a little more amidst the unknowns and impending transitions.
For most of the summer, but specifically throughout the month of July, I read Psalm 130, which talks fervently about watching and waiting on God’s timing. It felt like we needed a miracle this summer. Exhausted from life and the disorientation of our home looking and feeling different, I took most of July off of Substack to just be in the presence of God in my everyday life.
My prayer that was whispered in the quiet of early morning sunrises, afternoons full of children whining, and laughter over evening dinners was, “God, surprise me.”
Honestly, my prayer was mostly coming from a place more out of desperation than of hopeful expectation. When we pray bold prayers to God, do we expect answers? Do we anticipate that He will actually respond in a way that surprises us? I’m not sure what I was expecting.
Even in my most hopeful days, I often simultaneously held the whispered prayers of, “I believe, help my unbelief”.1
But, God surprised me. Sometimes in the past, his surprises have happened in subtle ways—this time it was loud and clear. On a Friday morning later in July, my husband put a load of laundry in the wash before leaving for work and within an hour, our washing machine that has never had a problem in its life, had flooded multiples rooms of our house. The next few days were disorienting and disappointing—within 72 hours we’d moved out of our home.
Today is not me sharing about this to get a little empathy pat on my back about what we’ve been through. It’s to shine a light on some of the most unending times in our lives to show that God is always working and weaving a story so much grander than ours.
I look back on the month of July, and see that God was preparing us for this. We had already been going back and forth from our farm to our new home almost daily, making a small space feel like home—so we had a place to move into. We were struggling with poorly installed flooring from a couple years ago—insurance is going to replace all the flooring at their cost.
Over and over again, God provided.
He didn’t leave us stranded and on our own.
He didn’t drain our bank account and laugh cynically in the corner.
He provided.
He provided.
He provided.
His provision doesn’t minimize the disappointment my whole family has held in what our transition has looked like and how drastic it was.
His provision holds space for the grief we hold in our goodbyes and the hope we have in the story He is writing.
So, dear reader—what looks so flooded in your life today that there seems to be no way out? No ember of hope’s flame? No ounce of joy to be found?
Where might you be pleading with God to surprise you?
The diagnosis received last week.
The child that continues to withdraw.
The friend that holds immense grief.
The aching feeling that you’re never doing enough.
The marriage that seems impossible.
The car you need but can’t afford.
The therapy that has a six-month waitlist.
You fill in the blank.
What is holding you back from inviting the God of our universe to surprise you?
Maybe, it’s the dreaded feeling of disappointment if He doesn’t show up in the way you desire Him to.
Or maybe, it’s the fear that He will and you won’t know what to with with yourself if He does.
Either way—I invite you to boldly ask.
Hold your fear, apathy, hope, anger, and expectancy all out to our friend Jesus—He can hold it all with you.
Then ask.
And ask again.
And again.
Boldly stand before the throne of God and bring your prayers to Him. The answer may not be what you anticipated it to be—I certainly wasn’t expecting that Friday morning on the farm to be our last.
But remember this—your prayers will never be returned void.
They are always and forever filled with Him.
Amen, let it be so today.
Mark 9:24
Your article really spoke. I am in a period of transition -- your words -- a decision, a stiring --held with deep grief, yet deep consolation. So far, the consolution hasn't come, but learning--- release, surrender and trust the slow work of God. Praying for you in your transition
You’re so right, Brianna! Our prayers are heard by a loving God, no prayer is wasted! I’m so grateful we can approach our Heavenly Father with our praises and requests!