“Though the fig tree should not blossom, nor fruit be on the vines, the produce of the olive fail and the fields yield no food, the flock be cut off from the fold and there be no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will take joy in the God of my salvation. God, the Lord, is my strength; he makes my feet like the deer’s; he makes me tread on my high places.” -Habakkuk 3:17-19
When I opened my Bible last week, a letter from a sweet sister friend dated April 2016 fell out of the pages of Habbakkuk.
When I went to slip it back into its spot, I saw my own chicken scratch in the margin next to the passage above listing two dates: August 2015, April 2016.
The first time I read that passage of scripture was in John Piper’s book When I Don’t Desire God: Fighting for Joy circa summer 2015. My then-boyfriend had suggested I read that book as I was coming apart at the seams while wrestling with the murder of one of my Denver Street School students. I carried that book around in my purse for months, slowly chipping away at it. (After all, how does one read a book about not desiring God, when one doesn’t desire God because they’re broken and angry and just so dang sad? I couldn’t tell ya…I honestly never finished it…) Some five months into toting that book around with me, I sat in a Starbucks and read the words of Habakkuk 3 with tears in my eyes.
The relationship that had led me to that book was crumbling and I was preparing to walk away from everything I knew and deeply loved in Colorado to follow Jesus to Alaska, for no other real reason than because I knew in my bones that it was what He was asking me to do. My decision was against logic and I was a hot mess express as I pre-grieved my transition, and yet: I was simultaneously rejoicing because I knew I was doing exactly what I had been created to do.
Fast forward another nine months from that day in Starbucks and you would find me crying once again– but this time in Alaska. Said relationship had in fact ended. My future plans were being upended as I battled my previous desire to return to Denver after my year’s commitment to the gap year program in Alaska, and a growing desire (that I’d never seen coming) to stay in the strange little village I’d come to call home; a village of 200, where I had the liberty to make up my own mailing address since roads don’t really exist, much less house numbers; one that had welcomed me in with wholehearted hospitality, even though I ended up in tears at most coffee dates and social events I was invited to by my new friends…
That year I’d moved to Alaska to mentor two young women and four young men at Tanalian Leadership Center. That December, one of the young girls who had been living in our house, which I’d deemed as “723 Jesus Loves River Otters Lane” (after the otter I often sat and stared at from the dock in my backyard while I read my afternoon devotions), had gone home at Christmas break and chosen not to return to the program. By April, my relationship with the other was strained, to say the least. While things were going well with the boys I was mentoring and I’d found a few ministry niches in the local community and school, I felt like a failure and a fraud. Some “missionary” I was if I couldn’t even manage to maintain a relationship with the two girls I’d come all this way to mentor…
I’d called my sister-friend back in Colorado and sobbed to her on the phone sometime early-April that year and she’d sweetly sent up a little care package with a letter tucked inside.
“Know that I love you and you have purpose. No matter what the day has held or will hold tomorrow, there is sweet purpose and enough-ness in being the daughter of the Father. He has not made mistakes in sending you to Alaska, or to Jesus Loves River Otters Lane…even if the river otters leave. May you find sweet satisfaction in Him today,” she wrote.
Eight years later, care packages find me at 723 Jesus Loves River Otters Lane in Port Alsworth once again. And while so many circumstances in my life have changed, I am once again faced with the reality of a metaphorical river otter leaving my home– at least for a while. It’s a story that is in process and not entirely my own story to tell publically, so for now, I will refrain.
But what I can say, is that even if my family tree doesn’t blossom this year and no fruit comes of this season, even if all of my river otters leave and I’m left sitting in this beautiful little cabin in the woods alone with Jesus, I will rejoice in the Lord while I cry and wonder, lament and grieve.
I may not understand the what, why, or how of any of this on this side of heaven, but I am learning more everyday that even here, He is still good, and that He doesn’t make mistakes.
Jesus, make my heart believe. Lead me on as I journey to the high places with You.
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“Though the fig tree should not blossom, nor fruit be on the vines, the produce of the olive fail and the fields yield no food, the flock be cut off from the fold and there be no herd in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord; I will take joy in the God of my salvation. God, the Lord, is my strength; he makes my feet like the deer’s; he makes me tread on my high places.” -Habakkuk 3:17-19
Since I wrote this, my oldest “river otter”, aka my adopted daughter and eldest kiddo’s mailing address has changed to a Teen Challenge program in Idaho. The expense of getting her the help she needs to be successful in life is steep to say the least. (Steep to the tune of approximately $42,000… Oofta.) I’m believing in a miracle for the financial provision of this program for her, since I certainly don’t have the funds for such a program as a single foster mom…
If you are interested in partnering with us to help keep her at this program, you can find out more or make a donation at https://www.givesendgo.com/ZTeenChallenge.
Thank you for loving her well and holding all of us in your hearts and up in prayer.
Louise in the Light 