Three days. I didn’t expect it to take that long.

H and Harrison flew to London on Thursday. I made goals for myself to avoid over-thinking in their absence. I would drive myself to the beach and walk daily, write toward the book deadline in the morning and pack boxes at night.

The first evening, I smiled in deep satisfaction standing beside several full garbage bags and taped boxes with UK imprinted in bold black letters. Two rooms nearly finished. And then I moved into my office. I’ve been stuck there ever since.

Oh, I can hear you in my head. “So, what is the big deal? Sometimes these things take time.”

My office is the spare bedroom with the closet converted into my writing space. The only items I have to make decisions about reside in two small-ish file boxes. It’s the contents in those boxes that have become an obstacle to finishing with swiftness.

Excavating pages of notes in my handwriting from twenty-five+ years ago, I’m revisiting a season when idealism fueled hope toward the future. I wasn’t prepared to read my younger self hanging on to every thread of spiritual conviction like a rip cord, ready to jump into whatever God had for me while at the same time afraid of falling into the unknowns without a parachute.

And then realize things haven’t changed that much.

When you find a historical archive revealing the ways in which God has shaped you, how do you decide what is worth keeping? What if I throw away a piece of truth that is the revelation I’m seeking? That one hint toward ultimate purpose may now be mingling with a melon rind rotting next to an egg carton soaked with coffee grounds at the dump.

I’m depleted; attempting to piece my life together in a way that makes sense when puzzle pieces I haven’t lived yet are still missing.

And this is the dissonance between faith that is static and faith that is moving. We sort through the clutter of our lives, keep priceless trinkets from significant seasons and trust God with the mystery of the not yet.

In the end, all those notes I wrote to myself were love letters to God asking the same question. Do you love me?

And every single time he answered. Yes, I love you.

He is near even when we are immersed in the minutiae.

The common theme in our humanity is the longing to see the complete picture of our purpose in high definition – before we live it. But it is only in brave surrender that we can look in the rear view mirror and comprehend the words of Jeremiah 29:11.

I’ll show up and take care of you as I promised and bring you back home. I know what I’m doing. I have it all planned out—plans to take care of you, not abandon you, plans to give you the future you hope for. (MSG)

Most of those notes are in the trash bin. I don’t need them because they’re already written in the Book of Life.

It took me three days to figure that out.

Three days for resurrection.

Three days to hear Jesus say, Yes, I love you.


As we sort, pack, consign, discard and entertain potential buyers for our cars and house, I’ll be posting less frequently here this month. Did I mention a writing deadline for my book? However, I will continue communicating through my weekly epistle to the Sabbath Societycommunity, which has turned into a beautiful conversation, a co-mingling of faith, life and resting in His goodness. Sign up here if you are interested, you are always welcome.


Linking with Laura, Jennifer, Kelli, Holley and Emily.