When Your Faith is at Its Limit

It’s been pouring rain.  Buckets.  A deluge. 

The wind blew last night at over sixty miles per hour.  Water fell out of the sky in the pasture  but landed on the porch. The dogs would not go outside without a good hard push out the door.  Then it was right to business and back inside.  No one wants to be out in that kind of misery. 

By no one, I mean me. Well, me and the dogs.

I am all moved into my new place.  The decorations are up and the bed is made.  My clothes are hung and my jewelry box is waiting for me to dig through my favorite pretty things and decorate myself.  The dog bowls are set and the water dishes full.  The kitchen gadgets are organized and my office is put together. I am now a part of this home, complete with wonderful smells coming out of my kitchen.

I have settled into a personal semi routine as I watch and learn how to serve my roommate and her little one.  Coffee is ready at 5:00 am, as always.  My Bible and books are accessible and my study time back to normal. 

I whispered the prayer I have prayed at every stage of this thing.

What now, Lord?

The wind suddenly died down. I listened a minute to see if it was going to stay quiet or renew its rage. It remained solemn so I thought to take immediate advantage. A moment of reprieve is a moment for the dogs.

I shuffled them toward the back door to get out for a bit.  The sun had momentarily split the clouds, but I did not know for how long.  Better run while the running could be done free of thunder and lightening.  They resisted until the sunlight poured though the opening, assuring them that they would be warmed and not wetted out there.  They suddenly picked up speed and bolted out across the deck and down the stairs.  Grass squished beneath their feet as they stretched their legs and spent pent up energy. 

I stood on the deck and watched as they darted around the yard, running to the edge and looking back to see if I was watching.  They wanted to run out to the back acreage.  They knew I would say no.  The water down there was 3 inches deep.  But still, at the edge of the yard they stepped over the boundary, testing my limits to the nth degree.  Stinkers.  All of them. 

I sipped smooth coffee, laden with hazelnut cream, while I gave them the evil eye that emphatically said, DO NOT GO DOWN THAT HILL.  Three inches of water meant only one thing.  Mud.  If they disobeyed, I would not happily wipe the muck off them and invite them back inside.  Oh no.  It would be a bad scene.  Best they obey and wait for that water to recede. 

I called them up to the deck and handed out treats.  They have all learned to sit at my feet when I ask, and they wait for me to give them what I know they want.  Treats are life to canines.  I am that source of life.  I chuckled as they plopped their butts down.  I handed out the goodies and gave a one word command.  “House.”  They trotted to the door and though slightly begrudged, went through. 

I followed them, doorman that I am, and refilled my cup before grabbing my computer.  I needed to do some research on chaplaincy training.  We had a request that we would consider providing a set of classes and a certification for those who want to serve in emergency situations.  I  was a chaplain for years and I love that work.  Yes, we can do chaplaincy training. Not a problem.  However, we have to develop the curriculum first. 

I set my cup down and raised the screen from the keyboard. 

It hit me just as I was about to click on Google. 

Girl. 

Your faith is at its limit.

You know it is.

I fought back unexpected tears and chided myself.  Yes.  It is hard to keep believing.  This is utterly the opposite of what we expected.  It is hard.  We have only one guarantee:  God has this under control. 

I set my jaw and took a stuttered breath.  I will no longer give in to tears. It’s time to move forward.  It’s time to prepare for the new classes we have been asked to teach.

This week I meet with the people who are considering financing the property so we can get back to helping people in more than classroom situations.  I am praying for it to all come together.  I am trusting that  God is moving here and we are simply riding out the change as we cling to what we know to be true about Him. 

But I admit, my faith is stretched so thin I am not sure it will not rip.  My chest hurts sometimes, and my gut gets tight.  I close my eyes often and breathe near desperate prayers for help.  I wonder how it will all turn out, and I find myself, if I let myself, scared out of my wits.  This is no small action, this necessary move.  It is so much bigger than us that it will have to have God’s fingerprints all over it.  There is utterly no way we could do this without Him making things happen for us. 

Yes, sometimes it is hard to stay the course.  Ridiculously hard.  The kind of hard that makes people give up.  It is a testing of every resolve of trust and an absolute test of character. Will we hang in there and keep trusting, praying and working at the dream or will we abandon it and walk away?

With gritted teeth I slowly released all my lung tension through puffed cheeks. Then I opened Google and typed International Conference of Police Chaplains.  Then I opened a second page and typed Emergency Services Chaplains, and then another with Crisis Management Chaplains. 

I took a drink of my coffee, set down my cup and started the curriculum list.

Give up? No. The price is too high. The investment too deep. We will see it completely through. Then, we will celebrate what happens and the God who made it so.