In one of my favorite books, The Return of the King, Gandalf, the venerable wizard, and Pippin, the playful but maturing Hobbit, arrive at a major city at the cusp of an enormous battle. Everyone is on edge, waiting for it to start. Gandalf calls it “the deep breath before the plunge”. I’ve been here several times in my life, on the edge of something completely life-changing.
Before I left for college, the first person in my close-knit family to leave home, move to another state, and complete a bachelor’s degree.
Before I moved overseas, to another country to learn a new, difficult language and be immersed in a new culture.
Before I moved back to America, not knowing in the least what was next.
Before I got married, choosing to trade singleness for lifelong partnership.
And now, I sit at the cusp of adopting four children, ages two to seven. I’ve taken lots of deep breaths before this plunge. These quiet moments of preparation before my “normal” is completely turned upside down are precious, and frightening at times.
In the weeks or months leading up to a big change, my heart has a tug of war with itself. I don’t like change, yet God’s given me an adventuring spirit that is willing to go into uncharted territory. All the what-ifs swirl around my head. I am a champion at worst-case-scenarios, which makes for great story-telling, but leads to anxiety in my personal life. It is all too easy to spiral down into fear and despair, long before any difficult thing actually happens. I’ve had moments of panic, wondering what in the world I was thinking when I made this decision. Surely you can’t handle this. It’s too hard. It’s too big. And too uncomfortable.
And while those things are true of every adventure I’ve embarked on, there is another truth that rings even truer. If God asked me to do this, he will be by my side supplying grace, strength, perseverance, and wisdom to accomplish it every step of the way. This is his plan, not mine. I’m not writing this story, he is. And I must trust the Author.
Even if nothing of the rest of my life is as I planned, expected or hoped, I will still cry out, “I have no good apart from [God]!” (Ps. 16:2). He is my never-changing Rock of Ages in the midst of the enormous, approaching change. Everything around me will look different in a few weeks, but he is and always will be the same.
Savior.
Provider.
Faith-giver.
Way-maker.
My Rock and fortress.
My God in whom I trust.
This leap of faith says nothing about me. I will never be able to look back and boast, “Look at all the amazing things I did.” No. I don’t have any faith in my own abilities. I am weak. I have and will fail. No, all the good in me is God’s work. He get’s all the credit and glory. I’m just a vessel, a clay jar in which he hid his surpassing treasure. He is worthy and he is with me. I’m ready for the plunge.
“But we have this treasure in jars of clay, to show that the surpassing power belongs to God and not to us.”
1 Corinthians 4:7
Kristi P. Powell 