Popped Balloons

I'm sitting on the couch with my babies asleep and some coffee beside me.  It would be an ordinary Friday morning if there weren't boxes scattered across my family room.  Instead of going to the park or grocery shopping tomorrow we are leaving Serrano Village and locking up for the last time.  I thought that holding off as long as possible to write that last sentence would make it easier... nice try Kel, it didn't work.  I don't really know what this entry will look like, and unlike most other posts I do not have a progression in mind or some themes I'd like to hit on.  This one is just me saying things out loud because it's time...

I'm sad.  This place grabbed a hold of my heart the moment we started moving.  The refugees flocked to us and random people who'd never met us and had no reason to love us started hauling boxes into our apartment.  An hour later an Iraqi lady came with a plate of fresh baked goodies and told us welcome and she loved us.  Our kids were the talk of the village, and everywhere we went they were scooped up and ushered into apartments to visit with others... my participation was optional.  From the start people opened up their lives to us and I felt safe, trusted and loved in a matter of days. 

It's no secret that this road has been rough, and it didn't consist of delightful plates of middle-eastern pastries and warm home-visits hearing people's life story.  Life has been hard and whether it was external circumstances or things brewing inside our four walls, we were stretched to our personal limits and when the balloons popped we got to see what we were made of.  I haven't thought through this analogy so give me grace if it's awful... but I'm sticking with this popped balloon idea.  I believe that in God's goodness and great love for me He let the balloons in my life get blown up so big that they would burst and the contents would be splattered across the white walls for me to see.  God did that for me and I sit here with nothing but thankfulness for that.  It's in His mercy that He unveils broken things, things that won't survive without being popped and re-filled.

This last year of my life has forced me to press into God in ways I never knew that I wanted or needed.  I think some of my sadness in leaving is that life will become easy again, the hard lessons that rattle me to my core and change the way I see life and God will be lifted.  The pressure gauge will be eased and the desperate dependency to know the power and promises of the God I love will be tested.  Life will become much more comfortable again. 

Why am I crying about being comfortable?  Because my discomfort has brought me to my knees before God, it has brought me to the end of myself and caused my balloons to pop - revealing all the things I thought were okay that in fact were not.  I hated when the balloons popped, but in the aftermath I discovered a God who sat on the kitchen floor with me and held my hand as we looked together at the dirty walls.  He told me some things weren't my fault and He was so sorry that they happened... and other things He showed me were my attempt to make it on my own and yet others were flat out sin and selfishness.  All I know is that every popped balloon meant more freedom and a chance to start fresh with a God who will sit with me in my mess. I also met a God who was eager to wipe away the stains, to sit with me on my floor as we stared at beautiful white walls again, walls He will wipe clean time and time again if I need Him to. 

So... I guess this is it... not for my blog of course because the saga continues on in other ways.  But for this season, living and breathing refugees day in and day out, we say goodbye.  I've loved to hate it and hated to love it... and I know that pieces of my heart will forever dwell within these four walls.