On unknown roads and new beginnings

This morning I read in the book of Exodus, of the Israelites who finally find freedom from slavery.

I read of how they cried to return to the old familiar ways of life —chains and all, because now they find themselves in an unpredictable world. A world without the comfort of knowing what comes next is suddenly gone.

I think of where I am today.

I stand now on the brink of a tremendous change. Our family of six will become a family of four, and children aren’t supposed to be subtracted, but rather, added.

It is unnatural and I will no longer know what our mornings will be like. I do not know how the toddler will respond. I do not know how I will carry everything out to the car each day. I do not know what life is like without family games of cards in the living room after dinner.

The toddler doesn’t play cards, except to lay them down and declare, “nine and four”.

I want a familiar life. I want to know what to expect when I wake up in the morning.

But this is not the way of a believer.

Our road is one of continuously being called out of the past onto new roads - roads that require trust.

Our world is about to be turned upside down and I do not know what will break in the transition.

I am, in a way, like the Israelites —longing to stay in the predictable life.

They were freed from slavery and yet they yearn to turn back, because maybe it’s easier to live in predictable bondage than to step out onto the path of unknown freedom.

Perhaps we all would rather stay in the ruts we’ve grown accustomed to rather than experience God’s wonders in the uncharted wilderness.

We are terrified of losing control. I am terrified of what I will find on the other side of this chasm.

But we are called to the uncharted wilderness where there’s little else to hold to but the hand of our very present Guide.

We are not made for familiar ruts because ruts are what keep us from experiencing lavish mercy and miracles in everyday, ordinary lives.

We are not meant to cry out and plead to return to the hard things of the past, simply because they are familiar when God wants to give us a brand new experience of His goodness in tangible ways—like creating a way through the deepest of seas and raining down bread from the heavens.

We will miss it —I will miss it —if I claim to believe that the past pleasures are better than the new roads ahead.

Our God still stands like a blazing, burning pillar, ready to take us through the darkest of nights —the greatest of changes and the hardest heartaches.

We do not need to know what lies around the next bend if we know well and never forget, whose hand it is that we hold.

Our God is good.

May I not forget it now, just like the Israelites did then.