Giving Feet to My Faith

I pause in the midst of packing boxes and I marvel. At how I got here. At how my life has changed so much in one summer.

Three months ago, I was a third grade teacher.

And to be honest, I was very happy. Teaching was my passion, my purpose. It involved early mornings, long hours spent on lesson plans, and bringing home papers to grade every night, but it was fulfilling. Rewarding. Gratifying.

And then? God called me away from teaching. He began whispering to my heart in the middle of my sixth year in the classroom. It was no more than a hint, really, about how I could stay at home to raise our son. But that hint, that whisper? It didn't go away. Even when I insisted that I loved my job. Even when I worried about how we would make ends meet without my income. Even when I reminded God that leaving the classroom might mean never coming back.

Still the voice remained. Calming my fears. Urging me to respond with faith and trust.

So, I listened. With more worry and what-ifs than I care to admit, I told my principal I wouldn't be returning for another school year. I packed up my classroom and turned in my keys.

I gave up my plans for His promise. And He has been more than faithful.

Three months later, I'm surrounded by boxes. Memories filed away in crates. Life confined to Rubbermaid containers. And my house? It's a mess. Odds and ends litter every available surface. Cupboard doors gape, threatening to spill their contents. My type-A side screams to restore order, to correct the chaos.

And yet in the midst of the mess, I hear it. That familiar whisper. That recognizable call. To give up my plans and embrace His purpose. And this time? I'm ready.

You see, we're moving. We're leaving behind our little shoebox home, packed from rooftop to basement with love and laughter and more joy than three people deserve. And that whisper? It's inviting us into a new adventure. It's calling us to leave our home and move in with my grandmother. To pour out our lives for a widow with dementia.

If I'm being honest, this new adventure makes me a little nervous. Because I have no experience caring for someone with dementia. And I also have a very busy three-year-old to look after. What if my grandma needs more care than I can provide? What if she feels overwhelmed by the fast pace of life with a toddler? Really, I could list so many what-ifs that you and I would both lose sleep tonight.

But for the most part, I am excited. Because this life? I get to live it exactly once. And I want this moment and every single moment thereafter to be poured out in love for my Savior.

A life well-lived? It's no mystery. I make this life count when I love others. 

I live well when I love well. 

And I don't mean the Hollywood version of love, all cheap pick-up lines and happily-ever-afters and empty promises.

I mean the get-your-hands-dirty, put-others-before-yourself, reach-your-limit-and-keep-on-giving kind of love.

And although I have been called to love everyone in this way, God has given me a specific call to love widows. James writes, "Religion that God our Father accepts as pure and faultless is this: to look after orphans and widows in their distress" (James 1:27). Paul also weighs in on the topic, stating, "But if a widow has children or grandchildren, these should learn first of all to put their religion into practice by caring for their own family and so repaying their parents and grandparents, for this is pleasing to God" (1 Timothy 5:4).

So this call to care for my grandma? It's a way to give feet to my faith. It's an opportunity to write a love story to my Savior with my moments, my days, my life. 

I know that if God is calling me to this life of leaving home and loving others, He has a plan for me. And how amazing, how absolutely breath-taking is it to realize that the God of the universe - the One who spoke the cosmos into being - wants to use me to do His work!?

Once again, God has called me to forfeit my plans to pursue His promise. That familiar whisper, that recognizable call is urging me to follow Him. And so my feet step forth in faith.