Reformation Fire

(Because I’m in haste today, I present you with a poem I wrote six years ago. Hope you enjoy!)

A man from England, John Wycliffe,
A learned man was he.
He taught his students at Oxford
About theology.
He wanted to seek for the truth
And always uphold right;
He studied well the Bible’s words—
And so the fire ignites! 

The clergymen who ruled the church
Were rich and powerful;
They loved their riches more that Christ,
Which made John sorrowful.
The common people did not know
How to find salvation:
Scriptures were writ in Latin and
They had no education.

Now John translated the Bible
So common folks could read
Of sin and wrath and great judgment
And Jesus’ blood we need.
John saw that the priests and bishops
And pope loved pow’r and wealth;
They forgot God, neglected man
And his spiritual health. 

John saw and was indignant, he
Rebuked the clergymen.
The pope said he could teach no more
And thus he silenced him.
But truth can never be suppressed—
The things that John had said,
They traveled to Bohemia.
And so the fire spread! 

‘Twas there a young man named Jan Hus
Heard of John Wycliffe’s words.
And at his university
Soon all the students heard.
The teachings, they were much admired
By Jan especially.
He believed the Bible was the
Only authority. 

He widely proclaimed these teachings:
The common folks were glad.
The church’s teachings were challenged:
The officials were mad!
So they tried Jan for heresy
And burned him at the stake.
He died praying and singing—
A martyr for Christ’s sake. 

But though they might could kill the man,
They could not quench the flame.
The pow’r and truth of the gospel
Will always be the same.
Let us remember John Wycliffe,
Who walked the narrow way,
And Jan Hus for reviving that
Great flame that burns today!

-Miss Darcy

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His Child

Sitting in their favorite coffee shop, Marc stared across the table at his girlfriend. Her words echoed around the vacuum they had created in his brain. “What did you say?”

“I’m pregnant, Marc.” Lily clutched the edge of the table as she leaned forward. “What are we going to do?”

He still couldn’t grasp it. “But, how? I thought you took—”

“Of course I did!” Tears flooded her blue eyes. “And I’m the first girl in the history of contraceptives to have it not work.” She blinked furiously and sniffed. “But the important thing is what are we going to do about it?”

“I don’t know.” He held out his palms to ward off the disaster barreling toward him. “I’m not ready to support a child.”

She drew back. “And you think I am?”

“No, but, Lily, I have three more years of college.”

“So do I.” She looked away, wrapping her arms around herself. “But because I’m the girl, it’s my problem.”

“Lily, no—” He reached for her hand.

She ignored him and grabbed her purse off the floor, slinging its strap over her shoulder. “Fine. If you can’t handle a child, you don’t have to. But get this.” She met his gaze, her eyes star-bright with tears and emotion. “We’re done.”

“Lily.” He stood as she did and grabbed her arm.

She twisted free and hurried between the tables, her boot heels clicking on the tile.

Vaguely aware he didn’t want a huge scene, Marc dropped into his chair. He sipped his latte and found it too sweet. He needed to go home. In the morning he’d call Lily, when she’d had time to calm down.

~

Marc called Lily three times over the course of the morning. He left a voicemail each time. She didn’t answer. At lunch time he sent a text.

“Lily, call me, babe. I’m sorry about last night. I was too shocked. We need to talk. We can handle this. I love you!”

He even paid attention to punctuation. In a minute, she replied.

“Drop it, Marc. You are so close to getting your number blocked. I’ll call you when I’m good and ready.”

Marc dropped the phone in his lap, propped his elbows on his knees, and rested his forehead on his hands. God, what do I do?

Where had that come from? Marc hadn’t done any serious praying since, oh, about the time he and Lily started sleeping together. They’d both known it was wrong—they were good church kids. Even now, no one knew their relationship wasn’t on the straight and narrow.

And now he would come whining to God because his own sin had landed him in more trouble than he could handle? Yeah. He’d always looked down on people who did that.

Now here he was, sorry for his sin, but mostly just because he’d been caught. Well, maybe it was a little genuine. Still, he wouldn’t drag God into this. He’d get himself and Lily straightened out, and then he’d get things right with God.

~

That night he went to the Wednesday night Bible study for young adults at his church. He smiled and greeted his friends like always, taking his usual seat. Except Lily wasn’t beside him.

“Hey, Marc, where’s Lily?” Pastor Dan asked.

“Um.” Lily would kill him if he hinted at the truth, but he hated to lie bold-faced in church. “She’s not feeling too good. Better put her on the prayer list.”

Pastor Dan wrote Lily’s name on the whiteboard under “Sick.” Lily was sick at heart, no doubt. Marc wished she’d call him.

The lesson was about opening up to brothers and sisters in Christ. Confessing faults. Praying for each other. Accountability. A community to lean on.

Marc kinda wanted to talk to Pastor Dan after class. But he couldn’t yet. Couldn’t shatter Pastor Dan’s image of him. Couldn’t face God the way Pastor Dan would expect him to.

Maybe he’d open up next week, once he and Lily had figured out what to do.

~

Marc woke up late Thursday morning. Call her.

That’s what he wanted to do. Call Lily and promise to do the right thing—provide for his child, even marry Lily if that’s what she wanted. He’d thought it over for hours last night. They could make this work.

Call her.

“I can’t,” he argued aloud. “She said she’d do the calling. Cool your jets, Marc.”

He tossed back his blankets and sat up. He reached for his phone, hoping he’d somehow slept through a call from her last night.

He hadn’t.

Call her.

He pulled up their texting conversation. He wanted to send just three words: I love you.

But she’d told him in no uncertain terms to leave her alone. Marc stood and headed for the shower.

~

It was four in the afternoon when Marc’s phone started playing Lily’s ringtone. Finally. He slammed his textbook shut and swiped his finger across the phone screen. “Babe, I’m so glad you called.”

“Problem solved, Marc.” Her voice held a cheerfulness even he could tell was fake. “I had an abortion this morning.”

Oh, God! An invisible fist socked his chest. He couldn’t breathe. “What?” he choked out.

“I. Had. An. Abortion.” She clipped the words.

“Why?” He finally gulped air into his lungs. “Lily, why’d you do it?”

“Because you said you weren’t ready, and I couldn’t raise a child on my own, idiot.”

Oh, God! Marc’s whole body felt sick. “But—”

“Don’t start, Marc. If you wanted something different, you should have said so before. Not now.”

“You told me not to call you!”

“And you didn’t love me enough to help me even when I said I didn’t want help.”

Female logic. No sense. Yet it doubled his guilt. “I’m sorry, Lily.”

“Sorry? Yeah.” She gave a hard laugh. “If you want to help, you can pay half the bill.”

“Pay for the murder of my own child?”

“So now it’s your child? Now that I’ve had the mortification of an abortion? You weren’t so quick to claim it Tuesday night.”

Oh, God, I’m a fool. An idiot.

“Marc, I never want to see you again. Do you hear me?”

“Lily, please.” He was a wreck. He couldn’t handle this.

“Don’t you dare try to speak to me or contact me. Ever. I hate you, Marc Johnson!”

The phone beeped in his ear. He laid it beside him on the couch. Lily couldn’t hate him more than he hated himself. He had allowed his own child to be killed.

His child.

Why hadn’t he called her this morning? Why hadn’t he supported her when she first told him?

Idiot! Moron! Sorry excuse for a man!

He sank to his knees and slumped forward until he lay prone on the carpet. Tears burned his eyes, scalded his face. A sharp-cornered lump swelled in his throat.

Oh, God! Oh, God, what have I done?

~

Alone in her bedroom, Lily cradled a soft pillow against her body. Her violated, robbed, hurting body. Her soul was so empty. Every heartbeat stabbed her with physical pain.

She had lost Marc, and her baby, and God.

Tucking her face under the corner of the pillow, she sobbed.

-Miss Darcy

P.S. Every day thousands of unplanned pregnancies end in hopelessness. In many–perhaps most–cases, the father of the unborn child is all for the abortion, or at least indifferent. But it ends up hurting him, too. The fathers’ stories are often left untold, but if you’d like to read some true cases, I refer you to Silent No More’s testimonies. Check the “Fathers of Aborted Children” box, and click the search button.

P.P.S. I would be utterly remiss if, after telling of the hopelessness, I did not tell of the hope offered in Jesus Christ. It is indeed wrong to take a baby’s life in the womb, just as it is wrong to kill a grown person in cold blood, but for all sin Jesus offers forgiveness.  “For God did not send His Son into the world to bring condemnation, but that the world through Him might be saved.” (John 3:17)  No matter what the sin, Jesus’ blood can carry it far away from you, “as far as the east is from the west.” (Psalm 103:12)  “But God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.” (Romans 5:8)  If anyone reading this has lost a child to abortion, I pray you will run to Jesus. His love is the kind that never fails. (1 Corinthians 13:8)

Aurora’s Folly, Part 2

Last week, in Part 1, I wrote about Princess Aurora from Disney’s Sleeping Beauty, and how short-sighted she was. When she discovered she was a princess, all she could do was cry over a man she’d only met once. And we are so prone to be like her. When God asks us to follow Him fully, all we can think of are the worldly pleasures we’ll lose instead of the eternal riches we gain.

Yes, such behavior is foolish.

It’s also dangerous.

See, after Aurora cried her first storm, her aunts took her to the palace where she would be presented to her parents that evening. They sneak her in carefully, lest the witch Maleficent spy them. Aurora is still miserable. Her aunts give her a gold crown, symbolic of her royal rights and royal duties. She looks at herself in the mirror, puts her head down on the table, and bursts into tears again, poor thing.

So her aunts kindly give her a moment to herself before she actually has to meet her parents and the man she’s betrothed to.

And it’s then, when Aurora is weak, sad, and not herself, that Maleficent comes. She comes invisibly with a bizarre, mesmerizing ball of green fire. Aurora sits up, entranced. Then she stands and follows the dancing green ball through hidden passages in the castle up to a tower where the ball becomes the fateful spinning wheel whose spindle is to prick Aurora’s finger.

By now, her fairy aunts are looking for her, calling to her. But Maleficent’s voice bidding her to touch the spindle is more powerful, aided by the enchantment. Aurora touches it and is instantly cast into a magical, ageless sleep.

You see, Satan is a huge proponent of hitting a fellow when he’s down.

Bad guys in stories sometimes have a sliver of conscience left. Satan doesn’t.

In fact, the devil’s absolute favorite time to strike is when his victim is already weak.

Aurora was weakened because of her grief. But it was self-imposed grief. Sorrow because she couldn’t have what she wanted exactly when she wanted it.

Following God requires us to give up the things of this world. And when we pout about it, or downright refuse to do it, we put a wedge between ourselves and the God who loves us so much.

What starts as slight discontentment can fester into self-pity, depression, frustration, even resentment or rebellion towards God. All of those things can quickly distance us from our Lord.

When we are not walking close to Jesus, we are dangerously weak.

And Satan is only too happy to attack when we have drifted away from our Source of power.

It’s easy, and tempting, to think that a little complaining or a little rebellion won’t hurt anything. After all, it’s such a little bit.

But little things grow. Ever watched a bruise on a peach consume the whole fruit with rot? Ick.

But with Jesus, there is always hope.

Even if the devil has come in our weakness and cast us into a horrid pit from which we have no energy to rise, Jesus can pull us out. We need only to call to Him in repentance, and He will come and rescue us. He won’t leave us even if we have to endure certain inevitable consequences.

Still, don’t you think prevention is more desirable?

-Miss Darcy

P.S. Here are the clips of Aurora’s arrival home and Aurora’s enchantment, in case you wish to see them. It’s a mercy I never saw the latter as a young child–would have creeped me out to no end.

Aurora’s Folly, Part 1

I’ve mentioned before that I love the Disney animation of Sleeping Beauty. Today I’m going to pick on Princess Aurora.

In case you’re not familiar with the tale, Princess Aurora was cursed at birth by the witch Maleficent. Before her sixteenth birthday ended, Aurora would prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and die. The good fairies changed the curse so that Aurora would only fall into a deep sleep until she was awakened by true love’s kiss.

So, being extra cautious, the good fairies take on their human forms and hide Aurora in a peasant’s cottage where no one knows who they really are. Then on her sixteenth birthday, the fairies send Aurora into the woods while they prepare a celebration.

And there Aurora meets a handsome young man and falls in love. (Which is actually a funny scene, but I digress.) Aurora finally has to hurry home, but she tells the young man to come to her cottage that night, meet her aunts and all that.

Aurora arrives home and her aunts kinda pop the news on her that she’s a princess betrothed to Prince Phillip.

Now if someone told me all of a sudden that I was a princess in hiding, I think I’d be shocked first and then wildly curious about the details. I think I might be excited about meeting parents I’d always thought were dead. I think I’d be apprehensive, but very intrigued to see what life for royalty is like.

But Aurora seems to miss all that. She bursts into tears because she’s told she can’t meet her handsome young man again. (Here’s the clip of the announcement if you care to watch it.)

Because she’s only sixteen and she’s lived in extreme seclusion, I give Aurora a break when I’m watching the movie. Today, I’m cutting her no slack: if ever a girl acted like a besotted, infatuated goose, it was Princess Aurora.

I mean, she was a princess!

Her father ruled the country. She could have anything money could buy. She had a mother and father after always believing herself an orphan.

And all she could think about was never seeing this man again, a man she’d met only once. (And, yes, I believe true love is one of the strongest things on earth. I even believe in love beginning at first sight. But I don’t believe you can know it’s true love after only a few hours. Maybe I’m wrong.)

Aurora had just been handed the splendor of royalty, yet she’s upstairs weeping on her bed because she cannot have a man she met only that day. Short-sighted lassie.

But, after condemning the poor girl thus, let me add that we can be just like her.

A Christian is a child of the King of Kings. The King who holds the stars. The One who created us. The One who shed His own blood to free us from sin, its power, and its punishment.

And yet we are reluctant to live sold-out to this King, our Father.

If I follow His laws to the letter…

…I won’t be able to watch all the entertainment of this world because it glorifies wickedness–wickedness which put Jesus on the cross.

…I won’t be able to do all the things my worldly friends do at parties because they pollute my body, which is the Lord’s temple (see 1 Corinthians 6:19-20).

…I won’t be able to dress in all the faddish clothing because it places superficial value on the body and devalues the soul, thereby causing me and others to stumble.

…I must forgive everyone who wrongs me, no matter what they’ve done.

…I won’t be able to spend all my time on myself because the Lord will ask me to use it for His eternal kingdom, or simply to serve others.

…I will have to speak what people don’t want to hear because I must spread Jesus’ gospel and warn them of sin’s punishment.

…I’ll have to give up this or that because it isn’t edifying or it squanders time or it flat-out honors wickedness.

…I won’t be able to stay up late because I’ll get up too late to meet with Jesus the next morning. (Confession: staying up late can actually become an idol in my life. I spend the latest hours with novels or something for my own pleasure, then I can’t rise early enough the next day to read my Bible. I say I’ll do it later in the day, but I don’t always do it, and if I do, it tends to be rushed or even half-hearted.)

…I will have to reshape my entire way of thinking to align my life with the King’s laws.

We complain about all we have to give up.

But we somehow forget about all we gain.

We gain forgiveness of sin and a home in heaven.

We gain incredible power in our daily lives to overcome all the snares, temptations, and attacks of the enemy.

We gain incomprehensible peace in the midst of turmoil.

We gain joy we can’t explain.

We gain love for others that cannot be matched.

We gain a Father who cares for us and takes our worries upon Himself.

We gain a purpose we can never outlive.

We gain a Provider, Defender, Friend, and Savior.

And, yes, we gain pure pleasures that He gives us simply because He loves us.

How can we complain about what we must sacrifice when there is so much more to gain?

Are we as short-sighted as Aurora weeping over her royal birth?

All those things we’re giving up are only temporary anyway. The things we gain are eternal.

-Miss Darcy

P.S. Yes, I realize that the law of irony dictates that, after berating poor Aurora so, I’m destined to fall like a ton of bricks off the Eiffel Tower for a man someday. May God grant me grace. 🙂

Writing Is a Gift

A lot of writers feel insecure calling themselves writers. Can’t say I haven’t been there. After all, it’s hard to make a living as a writer–always has been. You can’t say, “I’m a writer,” and command the same respect as saying, “I’m a nurse,” because people have a lot of preconceived notions about writers. (Some of which are quite accurate, some of which are true for certain writers, and some of which aren’t true at all.)

But, when it comes down to it, all of that is beside the point. I’m a writer because I write.

And writing is a gift.

I don’t mean that the way we say, “He’s a gifted painter,” or “She’s a talented musician.” I mean, writing is a gift from God, wrapped in the plain brown paper of education and tied with a gorgeous colorful bow of creativity.

This is a gift partly for my enjoyment. Stringing words together in sentences, putting thoughts into coherent text, painting pictures with black marks on white paper, gives me a great deal of joy. (Why do you think I’m so apt to get long-winded, hmm?)

And if I never wrote for anyone except me and God to see, it would still be a precious, delightful gift that never grows dull.

But I do get to write for others to see. I get to try to amuse people, challenge people, encourage people, and bless people. That is a lovely gift. (Granted, I don’t always succeed, and that’s one difficulty of being a writer–we are never perfect, much as we’d like to be. And because we put our imperfections into the semi-permanence of written words, they can sometimes haunt us more strongly.)

Yet when I succeed in writing something people are glad to read, I’m delighted all over again with this gift.

Best of all, I have the opportunity to glorify God with my words. To unveil Him to this world. To capture a tiny facet of His glory. To point others, and myself, to the God who created language in the first place.

Hard to describe how I feel when I think about that. Kind of overwhelmed and kind of disbelieving.

Writing isn’t always a rose-garden gift.

Some days what I write wrings me out and I feel physically tired. Some days the words refuse to come–they feel clunky, they won’t fit, and I erase almost as much as I write.

But the Lord never said our gifts wouldn’t mean work. Contrary to popular belief, work is a good thing.

Then some days this gift feels like a burden.

“I’m not reaching my word-count goals.”

“I can’t say this the way I want to.”

“I can’t find the passion to write this.”

“I can’t get into this character’s head.”

But for me, and I can’t speak for any other writer, I’ve discovered writing becomes a burden when I’m focusing more on the gift than the Giver.

“God, I want to write for you. Why can’t I find the words? Why can’t I write better? How am I going to write all the stories You’ve given me?”

But it’s not about the words. It’s not about perfection. It’s not about what I can do.

It’s really about Him. He gave me a gift, just as surely as if I found it under the Christmas tree one year.

This gift is to push me to Him. To give me joy as I use it under His direction. To challenge me. To serve others. To glorify Him.

God gives us many gifts.

Family. Friends. Pets. Jobs. Possessions. Food. Land. Beauty. Feelings. Knowledge. Music. Skills.

But these are all to point us to Him, to inspire gratitude toward Him, to bring us joy in Him.

The gifts must never be more important than the Giver.

It doesn’t help me to pressure myself, saying, “You must write such and such for God. You must write more words for God’s glory.” But when my relationship with Jesus is in the right place, when there is nothing coming between Him and me, then I can write freely. And even if it’s hard work, it’s satisfying and good.

You can’t brag about a gift. (Well, you can, but it’s silly because you didn’t acquire it through any merit of your own.) But you can make use of a gift. You can revel in it. And you can talk about the goodness of the Giver whenever you get the chance.

-Miss Darcy

It’s All About Souls

The devil has many talents. He’s a great liar–Jesus called him the father of lies, in fact. (see John 8:44) Which means he can cook up the best ones. The ones we’ll be dead-sure are the truth unless we’re submerged in the Word of God daily.

He’s a great accuser. He can heap guilt like nobody’s business.

And he’s a top-notch master of distraction.

Oh, yeah. He knows that for some of us Christians, the lures that ensnare the world won’t necessarily work on us.

“Alcohol? Are you kidding? Drunkenness is strictly condemned in the Bible, and besides, it’s bad for your health.”

“Cheat on my husband? Are you out of your mind? I’d sooner die.”

“Try drugs? Well, I guess that would let you take me to hell in a hand-basket.”

Oh, no, we’re too spiritual to fall for such tricks. (Okay, we think we are. You and I both know we see that kind of junk happening in the church so often it’s terrifying. But you know what I mean. Most of us think we’re above that.)

So Satan distracts us from the most important things by consuming us with good things.

Yeah, things that are in themselves good.

Such as a sound knowledge of good doctrine. We can get so caught up in pursuing theological excellence that we miss who Jesus came to save.

Or we get so consumed by Bible prophecy that we forget our lives are here, now. And we are supposed to be about Jesus’ business.

Or we get so concerned about the best plan to grow our church, that we forget what the Church–Jesus Bride–is comprised of.

Take note that all of these distractions (and these are only a measly three examples) are good things. Good doctrine, studying Bible prophecy, and growing our church fellowships are all worthy pursuits–if, and only if, we never allow them to override our main concern.

In the end, it’s all about souls.

“for the Son of Man has come to seek and to save that which was lost.”

-Luke 19:10 (NKJV)

When Jesus heard that, He said to them, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. But go and learn what this means: ‘I desire mercy and not sacrifice.’ For I did not come to call the righteous, but sinners, to repentance.”

-Matthew 9:12-13 NKJV (emphasis mine)

 

We forget, in our pursuits of so many good things, that Jesus’ main purpose in coming to earth was to atone for the sins of all the souls who ever lived.

We get so caught in our own agendas that we divide our forces and cripple our ability to reach this world. We even shoot bitter words at our own brothers and sisters, wounding their souls, making ourselves the enemy. (see Psalm 64:3)

Brothers and sisters, what are we doing? What are we doing?

How have we missed that our Redeemer’s main concern is souls?

Bringing souls to Jesus for salvation from sin. For healing of the deepest wounds. For strength to overcome any bondage from Satan.

All we can do is quibble over predestination or freewill; post-Trib or pre-Trib rapture; hymns or contemporary music to draw in new church members.

When all around us souls are dying, going to spend eternity in hell. Souls are bleeding in secret because this world and the enemy have struck them so many times. Souls are drowning in addictions and destructive behaviors.

God have mercy. What are we doing?

I’ve seen so many older brothers and sisters whom I respect. I should be able to look up to them. But somehow they seem to have missed this principle. Or at least, they haven’t managed to pass it on with any passion.

It’s all about souls.

We can be so quick to judge one another.

So focused on our own convictions, our own ideas, we can’t accept our brothers’ and sisters’ differences. Without taking the time to know our brethren, we write them off as the problem.

Granted, sometimes our fellow churchgoers are a problem. I firmly believe that Christians have a responsibility to hold one another accountable. (I mean, would you rather hear your faults pointed out by God when you stand before His throne? I think I’d rather hear it now from a sister in Christ who loves me.)

But we forget to speak in love. We go blundering in and pierce the souls of our own brethren. What are we doing?

I have friends I love deeply. I see areas in their lives which I think need growth. But I know them, so I’ve gotten a glimpse of their hearts. I see hearts that love God fiercely. That desire passionately to follow Christ and grow more like him. That long to see souls saved and thriving in grace.

I see a mirror of my own heart. Flawed as only each individual and God can know. But striving to follow our King and join His work.

How can I speak condemning words to them when they are just like me? How can I refuse to work alongside them?

I’m not a person easily brought to tears. But I could cry when I see a church so distracted that it cannot fulfill its main purpose–to join Christ in winning souls.

What are we doing?

How have we let ourselves become so distracted?

-Miss Darcy

Moving … Again

From all appearances, my family is going to move. Again. From Huntsville, AL, to a rural area of Tennessee. Of course, the Lord could work a miracle and we wouldn’t have to. But Dad’s taken a new job, and we’re going.

See, we’ve moved a lot over the years. I have to stop and count on my fingers how many places I’ve lived in … eight. Maybe not so very many, but we’re not a military family. Oh, and did I ever mention that one of the houses we lived in had to be remodeled and we lived in four different places during that year? Well, that’s a long story for another time.

When we moved to Huntsville a year and a half ago, we said, “This is it. Last move. We’re staying here for always.”

Even at the time I had a dry little voice laughing in the back of my head. Sure, sure, you won’t move again. You won’t leave this house until you get married. Right.

So when I first learned there was a real possibility we’d move again, my immediate reaction was to laugh. It was so ironic.

Then I started pouting. I didn’t want to leave our beautiful house, in a beautiful neighborhood, in the ideal location, outside my favorite city (which is saying a lot because I don’t care for cities).

I didn’t want to leave the church we’ve only attended for a little over a year. I love the people; I wanted that to be my church for, well, forever.

I didn’t want to move away from some of my dearest friends. I wanted us to raise families together, let our kids play together.

But the Lord had other plans.

If the Lord wants me to move to Tennessee, then there’s no way in the world I want to do anything else. I want to go where He wants me.

And I don’t want to dig in my heels and make Him drag me. I don’t want to be whining and complaining as if I think He made a mistake. As if I think His gifts aren’t good.

Good things have always happened when we move.

God lets us meet wonderful new people and experience beautiful places. It’s not like He’s even called us to a particularly difficult place. Sure, we’re moving to a new state, but we’re still in the same affluent country. I’m grateful that God has given me gladness about our move.

I’m glad to move to Tennessee.

Am I glad to leave all the people I love in Alabama?

Um, no.

I’m happy to go, but sad to leave. (Don’t look at me like that. It is possible to feel both things at the same time. Mom says the word for such a feeling is ambivalence.)

I’m not saying I won’t cry when we leave. I’m not saying I won’t miss my home and friends dreadfully. I’m not saying I won’t have some difficulty settling into my new home, especially when it comes to finding a new church.

But God is good to me. Has always been good to me. (Even if I had nothing in this world, He would still be good to me because He sent Jesus. But I digress.)

Maybe this move is a gift straight from Him. In which case, it sounds pretty bad to say, “Lord, I don’t want this gift. It wasn’t on my wish list.”

With all my heart, I want to be willing to do whatever He wants.

It might not be easy. But with God it’s never impossible.

-Miss Darcy