Due Dates

My first son, Graham, was born a full week after his due date. I vividly remember how it felt to watch a due date come and go. I remember that despite ALL evidence to the contrary, I was momentarily convinced that I was NEVER going to have that baby. I cried irrational tears to accompany my irrational feelings.

Due dates are estimates. Best guesses. Hopes.

Due dates are not deadlines.

Missing a due date does not change the inevitability of an imminent birth.

Today I feel like we are missing another due date. Our desired time for departure to France is fast upon us, but the house remains unsold and 35% of our support remains unraised. The date is passing us by; yet, an imminent departure to France still feels inevitable.

Just as with an over-due baby, we feel limited in our ability to make long-term plans; nevertheless, life goes on. The boys will start school this week, not in France as we had hoped, but in Spokane. We will engage in ministry, not in France as we had hoped, but in Spokane. We will continue to learn French, not in France as we had hoped, but in Spokane, using Rosetta Stone.

We are convinced that we will go to France. We are certain that this is God's call on our lives. When we will go is yet to be determined. Maybe next month? Could it be by Thanksgiving? Oh we hope it is in 2009! We are SO ready.

In the meantime, we trust the God that does know the day, even the very hour, that we will leave. We trust that He is sovereign over the timing. We wait anxiously for His hand to move in both the sale of our house AND the completion of our support. He is faithful, and He will do it.

Still, I did have some tears to shed over the issue, dying once again to my own agenda. These small, painful deaths are the answer to my prayer that I would lose my life for Jesus. I know. I asked for it. But it still hurts, and the pain reminds me of how much in love with my plans I really am. Surrender is necessary, and not so sweet just yet. I believe there are scars on my palms where the agenda to which I cling has been torn from my hands. Raw and bleeding, I know only this: My dear Savior also has scars on His hands, and perhaps even this light and momentary trial (trivial, really, in the eternal sense) can be used to make me more like Him.

Oh Jesus, make it so.

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