Matt and I told each other several weeks ago, “It’ll be a miracle if we can get on that plane in six weeks.” An international move with a family of five is no small thing. Neither is moving an office and handing over the leadership-reins to a new manager. But, friends, we are five days out from boarding that plane and I’d say we’ve lived a bit of a miracle this last month.
We got into the International Christian school we wanted, after a truckload of paperwork was scanned and sent.
We found, hired, and trained a new VP of Operations to manage The Exodus Road home office from Colorado.
We secured a new office space in downtown Colorado Springs and organized the transition of our staff and systems.
We rented our current house to a precious family; we sold our van. We walked through several fundraising events and trips.
We’ve visited with our parents and clapped at recitals and bought new swimsuits. We’ve made goodwill runs and then more goodwill runs. We’ve packed boxes and ordered vitamins and cleaned out the garage and listed things on Craigslist.
And tomorrow, the cat is going to some dear friends for his new home, and armed with class cookies and teacher gifts, the kids went to their last day of school just this morning.
And I seriously can’t believe it– the details that have come together in the last few weeks are nothing short of a miracle. It’s been a bit of a Red Sea experience that I’ve gotten front row seats to watch unfold.
But if I were honest, too, I’d say that the presence of miracles hasn’t meant the absence of hard work, emotional battles or mountains of stress. Because in the same breath we speak of the miraculous this past month, we’re living the struggle.
God parted the Red Sea, but the Israelites still had to walk the miles across it, after all. In the middle of the night. Dragging crying babies and stubborn cows. Bumping shoulders with 2 million or more other scared and tired former slaves. Wondering if the angry Egyptians would be on their heels or if those walls of water would come crashing down in the next five minutes– while they were still very much vulnerable.
That hike couldn’t have been a cake walk.
And I find some comfort in the thought of those Israelites, trudging over dry land in the middle of the sea. One foot in front of the other. Witness to the miracle unfolding each minute but at the same moment exhausted with the literal walking-out of it.
We leave for Asia in five days, and there’s still a lot of ground to cover between now and then. And while I don’t expect to reach the other side relaxed and rested, I do expect the walls of water to keep holding with each step I trudge forward.
Maybe both the parting and the walking are equal miracles.
Pray for us these last days? We’re both tender and tired. Movers get here at 8 am tomorrow morning. Pray especially for the hearts of our kids, friends and family. And thank you for being on this journey with us. We are grateful.