In the Pattern of the Grand Design

"You're not the one I'm angry at. Way down deep, I think I'm angry at God."

I struggled not to cry while I talked to him. I was, after all, in the middle of the thrift store. We had talked the night before, about having another baby. About how this wasn't a good time. About how we needed to wait. Longer. More. Our talk had turned into a fight because waiting wasn't the answer I wanted to hear. I'd cried. A lot.

Which was why Jason had called me from work: to see how I was. Was I still angry? Was I ok? His concern was sweet and soothing; he rarely calls me from work, and the fact that he was on the phone with me at 9:17 am showed just how worried he was. But I wasn't mad at him anymore. I'd treated him unfairly the night before, and I told him so. I also apologized.

"I love you. I'll see you at lunch."

I hung up and continued to peruse the aisles at our local thrift store. Killing time. Avoiding going home. Not wanting to sit down to devotions and face God. Because while I wasn't mad at Jason, I was still mad. Mad, hurt, confused, angry.

God was messing with the desires of my heart and deep insecurities I didn't want to acknowledge. I looked over some old photo frames and then headed for the shoes. I wasn't ready to deal. But you can only avoid God for so long . . .

"Why, God? Why are You asking us to wait?"

Trust Me. I know what's best.

"I don't want there to be four or five or six years between Caleb and our next child. I want them to be close! I don't want to raise two only children."

Trust Me. I know what I'm doing.

"I want to be pregnant again. I want to have a baby again. I want Caleb to have a sibling."

Trust Me. My timing is perfect.

"Why didn't You find Jason a better paying job so we could afford more kids? Why couldn't You have provided health insurance? Why did You give us such a big house for just the three of us?"

Trust Me. My plans are not your plans. I have blessed you richly; you and your family want for nothing. Enjoy what I have given you and be content. Let Me plan your family. Let Me be in control.

Then the Lord brought the Storage Room to mind; our uber-messy junk room that has served as the garage since we moved in last summer. A room I had secretly hoped to make into a nursery. He gave me some new ideas for that room: organization, decoration, and utility. The Storage Room would be good for me; a project to help me trust, accept, and move forward.

Slowly, painfully, I began to sort the junk and empty the boxes. Then I couldn't stop. I gathered momentum somehow and just kept going. I've been going all week.

I ran all last weekend while I unpacked boxes, bagged up trash, smoked salmon, shopped for curtains, traveled the thrift stores, hiked with Caleb, went to church.

I've been running this week, too, hanging out with friends, reading blogs, writing letters, baking muffins, shuttling Caleb to school, and washing laundry. I've barely slept. I've barely stopped.

The Storage Room has never looked so good.

But today all that running caught up with me. I sat in the car outside of Safeway this morning and realized I was tired. I was ready to stop running. I was ready to accept whatever God wanted for me, even if I didn't understand it.

Faith can be so hard sometimes, you know?

But now I'm ready to rest. Now I'm ready to wait.

"A single thread in a tapestry,

though its color brightly shines,

can never see its purpose

in the pattern of the grand design . . .

So how can you see what your life is worth?

Or where your value lies?

You can never see through the eyes of man;

You must look at your life through heaven's eyes."

-- from The Prince of Egypt soundtrack

"Through Heaven's Eyes"