One Pair of Hands

I wake up in the morning, often to the sprinklers outside my window, and realize I'm not in Minnesota anymore.

22 years of life, and here is this HUGE transition. So many facets of life that will never be the same.

So many losses in these past years, past months, past weeks...so many changes in family dynamics. So many things that will never be the same. Heartbreaking, heartwrenching, painful.... An emotional earthquake with aftershock after aftershock...I guess these past few years, you could say, have been very tectonically active? [I just read an article which related loss to an earthquake, and the geologist in me really took hold of that metaphor.]

I said farewell to friends, to family, and all things familiar and safe. 

And here I am, in Ellensburg, Washington...trying to rediscover who I am, and who I am being transformed and molded to. 

It's been absolutely terrifying, to be perfectly honest. It's been tearful and painful and confusing in many, many ways. 

I never even knew Ellensburg existed before 6 months ago. 

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I found a church. It's called Mercer Creek. Before this past Sunday, I honestly hadn't been to a church service for months. And this year, it has honestly been few and far between. I really missed it. I missed the community. I missed the pure-hearted adoration of Jesus. I missed the fellowship and the Word.

This is hard to write about, but I know I want to eventually. I may state it briefly for now, and elaborate later when I am ready. It's not easy, by any means.

I was really, really hurt within a ministry, early this year. It resulted in a lot of painful questioning, including how I related to the Lord and to other Christians. It included how I related to worship and to prayer. It had me deeply questioning what was real and what was not, and it resulted in a lot of research and introspection.

Elitism does not belong in a Christian ministry. And when it becomes the focus and the underlying tone of a ministry, no matter how veiled it is, you are going to see some very bad fruit.

I've been really broken over this, for a long time. But, as I've grappled with and sorted through everything, and as I continue to, God continues to show His Faithfulness. He continues to show who He really is. How He can use even those broken, twisted, false things for His Glory in the end. His overarching sovereignty in this world and His Eternal Steadfastness in all things and throughout time, has been becoming a bigger and bigger reality to me. It has been beautiful. Painful and beautiful.

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As I look up, to my left, I look upon a pair of praying hands. It is a plaque that was my great-grandparent's, and for many years, hung in my grandparent's home.

It now hangs in my own home, in dear Ellensburg,Washington.

It is a tender reminder for me to continually pray. A tender reminder to continually trust in He whose Hands hold me, carry me, lead me and guide me. He whose Hands were nailed to a cross for me...

I may be scared. I may be broken. I might just wake up in the morning and have absolutely no clue how I got to this time and to this place. 

But I will embrace this new adventure. This Pilgrimage. This painful, beautiful, wonderful journey with my Savior and my King.