We (Tanner and I) arrived at the Missionary Training Center in Missouri relatively early last Saturday evening. To our astonishment, our new home is part of a fourplex - complete with a guest bedroom, one and a half baths, and our very own washer and dryer. After two days of unpacking, and a few more days of settling in, I find myself stumbling around in search of my "sea legs".
Of course, we're nowhere near the sea, but my knees are wobbly and my head is spinning. This isn't the kind of place where people like me get to sit back and observe the social waters before plunging in headfirst. And this isn't the time when I am allowed to put up a convincing veneer in public, while crumbling emotionally and physically in private. In private, I'm learning to navigate the winding river of marriage with Tanner.
This year has been a slew of best-laid plans set aside to make way for God's best. And yet, somehow, I still attempt to convince myself that every new struggle or situation needs to be bullied through my way. Bullying through didn't provide funds for our first year of training. Bullying through didn't plan our perfect wedding. Bullying through didn't get us moved into our new home. Bullying through does, however, lead to more than a couple tears, hurt feelings, and misunderstandings.
And so we set out on yet another chapter of God patiently reminding his boneheaded child to hold his hand and trust.
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