When you are passed down the unreasonable, you are being prepared for the impossible.
Seven summers ago, we moved to a new place. We were in fact seeking a new pace in life while grieving the death of our daughter. We moved away from what reminded us of pain and we moved closer to what would bring us healing, or so we thought. I made plans to having times of prolonged hang outs with friends and the excitement of living in a 2 mile radius of friends and family.
I excitedly called a friend and was sharing my passion of being able to see them on a consistent basis when she remarked rather sarcastically, “Its good you are coming, but you know its better to keep away from too much hang outs. Its better for everyone to mange their own business and stay in their own home rather than too much togetherness.”
My heart sank. I had not expected this from someone I looked up to. Not at a time of grief. We were moving to another friend’s brand new home close to our would-be-new home, and they were taking a vacation. It had all worked out well that we would get our keys by the time they returned. In the months that followed I spend my days indoors in that new home of our friend with no furniture, no tv, no internet. It was a brand new home. They had not furnished it but had to return to India for something important. The time I spend there, I was even afraid of turning on the air conditioner because I didn’t want our friends to pay our big electricity bill when they came back, though they would have generously and graciously taken care of it.
In the days that followed, my husband would be gone for 15 hours a day, with the only car we had. What I had was a toddler, triple degree heat and loneliness and some toys, books, pots and pans. Did I say my husband would be gone for 15 hours a day?
So, I came up with a plan. Why not teach my 18 month old to read? I was ready for the impossible because I was passed down the un reasonable. I had too much of life in me to sit around and waste in a 4000 square foot home and 15 hours alone with a baby. Outside was scorching heat making even a stroll impossible.
And I did. In a year, at just 2.5 years, my daughter started to read! She read her bob book readers at just 2 and half years! She is 8 now and her education specialist in school tells me she is amazed at the reading levels of all the children when she marks their standards, that she wants me to write the methods I used so she could use it with other parents.
All three of my children started to read books before they were four. What I learned that summer was not just for me or the 18 month old baby, but it was going to touch the other children that were yet to be born, and still many more.
And the friend who told me not to have too much togetherness? Oh, I get her completely. She was absolutely right, though it took me 4 years to get over the way she said it. She totally helped me focus my God given energy and gifting on the impossible, without ever knowing it.
Every barrenness is a visitation to birth. Every wilderness is a habitation to witness, and every loneliness is an invitation to prepare.
When events in life take a turn beyond acceptability, remember, you are the one who was trusted with the calling to let God birth the inconceivable impossibility.
What I learned that brutal summer became a pattern in me. A pattern to fight and a pattern to live by. A pattern to dare the impossible and hope for the unbelievable. A pattern of seeing afflictions as wrought about in God’s faithfulness. Psalm 119:75
“Every Affliction We Suffer Is an Investment God Is Making in Us!”
An investment that will propel us into the realm of faith, to wait with patience under extreme pressure. To be done with the old ways of handling things. In my infant days in Christianity, I would look at passages like 2 Cor 12:10a and say how can Paul say he is delighting in hardships? How can he say he is delighting in persecution?
Now that I have seen enough summers and enough winters, I have come to know that it is a season of investment by a loving God to prepare for the next assignment.
The ouches of grievance are redeemed into pouches of abundance when endured with grace.