I pulled on my boots and stuffed my things into my suitcase.
Four days away and I can’t wait to see my babies.
I want to wear sweats all day tomorrow, I want to read a million pages to them, and I want to bake them cookies, give them gifts, and kiss them again and again.
But I don’t know if I want to go home.
I don’t know if I want to go back to meetings and curricula, to laundry and dishes, to people and problems, to life and all of its chaos.
I say this as if I have a choice.
As of I didn’t already choose long ago to bear the responsibilities that I do.
I say I don’t want to go back, but I also say I want to be who God made me to be.
And He made me to to go back.
I tell my kids that it’s good to be scared. Because we all want to be brave, and courage only comes in roaring answer to the fear we are willing to face.
Maybe it’s also good to feel week and a little overwhelmed.
After all, His power is perfected in our weakness.
And believe me, when I stare at four growing and complex children, an empty screen that I am praying will be filled with a book-full of words, and a church that is swelling with a miraculous, glorious kingdom work, I know that I am too weak to do it all.
But He isn’t. He is mighty to save, awesome in power, and the embodiment of truth and grace.
I’m rolling my bag to the elevator, the edges of my mouth turned upward in joyful expectation.
I’ve been choosing Him for over eighteen years because God is worthy of my life. Today, I choose Him again. It’s never been easy, but it’s always been worth it.
I think of all He has yet to do and I can’t wait to get home.
