By faith Abraham,
when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and
went, even though he did not know where he was going.
(Hebrews 11:8)
Going a little farther,
he fell with his face to the ground and prayed, “My
Father, if it is possible, may this cup be taken from me. Yet not as I
will, but as you will.” Then he returned to his
disciples and found them sleeping. “Couldn’t you men keep
watch with me for one hour?” he asked Peter. “Watch and pray
so that you will not fall into temptation. The spirit is willing, but the
flesh is weak.”
He went
away a second time and prayed, “My Father, if it is not
possible for this cup to be taken away unless I drink it, may your will be
done.” (Matthew 26:39-32)
Therefore
God exalted him to the highest place and gave him the name that is
above every name, that at the name of Jesus
every knee should bow, in heaven and on earth and under the earth, and every
tongue acknowledge that Jesus Christ is Lord, to the
glory of God the Father. (Philippians 2:9-11)
Six years ago, I found
myself focused on Hebrew 11:8 (above) as I prepared to move away from my home.
It was only for six months, but I had no idea where we were going or what was
going to happen. Every six months since then, I’ve found myself in the same
predicament. I know far better where I’m going, but it always feels like a huge
deal.
Last night, I shared a song
based on “not my will, but Thine be done.” I still tend to think of these words
in the King James translation. Regardless of your preferences with regard to
the translation, it comes down to the same thing. This is the second passage
that seems to mark my annual migrations.
The third passage above is not really the passage on which the third idea that comes to mind when I begin to think about moving. The actual phrase is “bow the
knee.” But, no doubt, you can see the connection between the ideas.
Two
things my migrations are teaching me are releasing and following. I tend to
make plans. I’m going to go to Zephyrhills (or Erie) and find a job and…. And somehow, the plans never happen. The
first trip to Florida, I just didn’t have a clue. When I came home in March
2016, instead of getting a job, I had the bones in one toe reattached to my
food. Eight weeks of recovery. No job there. Over the next years, dealing with
Dad’s dementia required that I be around more. Last spring, there were all the estate
details to deal with. This spring, there was COVID-19. I tended to have plans,
but they didn’t work out. But here I am,
eight weeks from my planned return to Florida and wondering what I’m supposed
to do, who I am supposed to be, how I am supposed to live. It’s a semi-annual
anxiety attack.
I have
lists of things to do in my computer. They’re going to come up. I’m doing all
the things I know I’m supposed to do, but while for most of my life I saw now
extending out indefinitely, now now changes regularly.
I’m not
looking for pity. In fact, there are things about this unsettled lifestyle that
are a huge blessing. It requires that I exercise faith. In a very controlled
way, it requires that I release control twice a year. This morning, one of the
things I prayed about was how weak my faith seems to be. The problem is, praying
for faith is like praying for patience. In order to get it, you have to use is
and that involves troubles, trials, and tribulations (oh my!) As I walked
today, I had to come back to that place I’ve had to face so many times before. Am
I willing to trust God to do the work in my life that will make me a better
person, using whatever means He deems suitable, and believing that He won’t use
difficulties that are worse than are necessary? Am I willing to go where I don’t
know? Am I willing to say, “not my will, but thine”? Am I willing to bow the
knee? Can I keep my eyes on the prize of greater faith?
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