I fingered the box flap and counted the books inside. My Bibles. All of them have meaning to me. My grandmother’s Living Bible, my multi translation Bible, the Hebrew Interlinear Bible my Hebrew Professor gave me the day I graduated after 8 years of study. Others sat there, once again surrounded by cardboard. I sighed deeply, grabbed my grandma’s Bible and my coffee cup, ascended the stairs and went out on the oversized porch for the last coffee and Bible time I would have in this high mountain paradise.
The snow glistened before me all the way past the pond. Sparkling rainbow ice diamonds winked at me atop the white as though they knew I needed to see them. I looked down at the Bible in my lap and tried not to let what felt like faithless tears brim my eyes. I have served God for 40 years. I love him with every fiber of my being. But at that moment, I just did not get Him. How could we be moving? How could something so seemingly surmountable be the impetus? I left the Bible closed and looked out across the mountains.
Feeling like I was failing, but knowing it was okay to do so, I let the tears fall. More often than not, my heart does not understand the ways of God. My faith, built on decades of experience, was not crushed. It was, and is, confused.
What the heck, Lord? How could two phone calls send us into a completely new journey? I thought we had permanently landed. Things were going well, very well, actually, much better than we expected. We impacted over sixty people in ninety days. That is amazing, astonishing really. We had issues, of course, as all ministries do, but we had faith that God would help us overcome. We never dreamed overcoming would mean moving.
I had no fancy prayer. I only had one word.
“Lord?”
The question held all my disappointment in one hand and hope for direction in the other. The answer floated through my mind like a gentle breeze, as God’s voice so often does.
“I know you feel lost. I am not lost.”
Accepting required another deep breath, closed eyes, and gritted teeth. He knows where we are, and he knows were we are going. This is going to require trust. Trust, though, as so many of the people we care for know, is not as easy as the command to do so. In Christianity, it is often the test we go through to discover our own hearts and to rediscover the great heart of God.
He is not lost.
Will I believe he knows exactly where we are going and the path to get us there? Therein lies the test and testimony. See, testimony is what we get when the test proves the love of God along with His utter wisdom and understanding. When we get to the other side, we can tell the story of how it happened. On this side though, are the what? and how? and why? and no way! Amidst the shock of unexpected circumstances, unfair actions, and disappointing behaviors. How will we respond? That is the test.
Two phone calls ended our time here and set us on a path to another place. One is frustrating. To dissuade insurance companies from gouging people after the multiple disasters that have plagued the state, the governor of California put a cap on insurance costs. The effort may have been valiant, but it dissuaded nothing. The insurance companies did not retain lower rates. Rather, they developed a policy of refusal. The higher the fire danger the higher the rejection rate. This property is in Modoc county, which has the highest fire danger rating in the state. We were cancelled. Dropped. Left completely behind. We tried to get another policy, but 6 agents later, we had to accept that insuring a property bordering nearly a million acres of wildland is an impossibility. It is not going to happen. When we were dropped, the property was blackballed. No one will touch it.
“Lord?”
I sighed and turned to Proverbs 3. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.” I certainly didn’t understand. I can’t lean on something I don’t have.
The other call was from the property owner.
“I believe I have found a buyer for the place…” What? Wait! No! A buyer? How? Why? See above for the answer. He must do what is best for him and his family. He cannot afford to support a ministry that cannot protect itself.
This reality required another deep breath and a long drink of fast cooling coffee.
So, I would pack. Again. I sold most everything I owned to come here so it is a quick process. In five days, I will be in another place, working on helping hurting people in a new way. We will keep the name; the paperwork making us legitimate; the mission and vision. We will continue the teaching, the coaching, the pastoral care, and the loving. But we won’t do it in Adin, at the farmhouse.
I learned 35 years ago to never put stock in a building. Wood and plaster, that is what they are, and all of them are replaceable. I have never been in love with the farmhouse. It is stunningly beautiful, but there are countless homes that can be described the same way. I will not miss it. I will miss the precious people of Adin, though. These are some of the most wonderful souls on earth. Beautiful inside and out, they are a rare breed. Would that the rest of the world be populated with people of such character.
I got up and headed indoors. The landowner had been insistent that the house be clean for the prospective buyer. I shook my head back and forth at the thought of his demand. My house is never dirty. Obsessive people tend to do every dish as it is placed in the sink. Ministry done in a home also requires hyper cleanliness. His order meant no extra work, but moving did. I headed toward the door to my private space, determined to pass the test of trust. God is not lost. As long as I stay with him, I am not lost.
I headed down the steps, but stopped when my phone rang. Spinning around, I headed back up to good Starlink reception. I answered, and then stopped dead in my tracks.
The voice on the other end was Dennis Smith, a ministry focused insurance agent and dear friend made while we ministered here. “Penni. Denise and I think we know where you should move. It’s a huge house, nearly twice the square footage of the one you have up there and two and a half hours closer to the interstate.”
I could not breathe. Really? Twice the size? That is twice the ability to help people. It’s also twice the responsibility. I ignored the second thought and stood there while the bright hope of a better thing poured over the disappointment of loss.
He is not lost.
I finished the conversation with two phone numbers and a pinprick of light illuminating a new, possibly broader reaching facility.
As soon as I get back down the mountain, I am going to sit down with these people and tell them what we do.
“Lord?”
I put my phone in my back pocket. He is not lost. He is leading us to a new adventure. I smiled to myself. God always takes his obedient people to a better place.
********
We at the Vinedresser’s House thank you for your support and prayers. We ask that they continue as this unexpected twist in our ministry is unwound. God is moving us, and we are ready to follow. Check back for more on our journey, our test and our testimony!
We will keep you updated as things unfold!
Comentários