Moving to a new place is hard. Nearly 6 years have passed, and I can confidently say that the struggle of uprooting my entire life and relocating 1,000 miles away has easily been the hardest part of my walk. I came to Texas with good intentions. I moved here to build a future with Jeremy and our daughters. I knew it would be hard... but I never fully understood the kind of emptiness I would feel being here. There was so much to miss. My family, friends, a home and a job that I loved... every memory I had for 28 years of life was tied to this one place. I had the love of these 3 precious humans, and even still... I didn't feel whole. I struggled for years to determine whether that was okay or not. Was I taking my life for granted? Was I simply making it harder on myself by yearning for things from my past?
The warmth of a bonfire at Lake Linville.
The beauty of autumn leaves falling on my windshield on a long, country drive.
Views from the tops of mountains and the green of everything below.
The sweet sounds of rivers and streams and wildlife.
A lonely pier that heard me sing and play guitar more than any person I know.
Miles and miles of roads full of memories.
I knew God placed me here for a reason... but without all of these things, these moments... I felt so lost.
There's something special about Kentucky that I don't know if I could ever accurately describe. The sleepy Appalachian hills and hollers... the morning fog and sunrises... the clean air that always felt thick with God's presence. I felt Him there. I felt God so fully and so completely. I made a habit of solitary moments with Him... drinking in the sweetness of His blessings... blessings I could see in every nook and cranny... around every bend and curve. It was blissful, really.
Don't get me wrong... the Big Country is nice in it's own right. It's full of vast landscapes as far as the eye can see. People here actually do say "Howdy" and use the word "y'all". There are rodeos on the weekends, small towns genuinely look like they're straight out of an old west photograph, and I've seen my fair share of beauty here too... but it's not around every corner. There are no high rock mountains here... and if there were, they'd be quietly tucked away at the end of private road on a private ranch, never to be seen by the likes of me. It's sad, really... and I stewed on that sadness for a very long time.
I finally stopped looking. I decided that, in order to FEEL God, I would need to travel more. So, we did. We found every mountain in Texas that we could get our hands on. We traveled to Kentucky more times than I can count... New Mexico, Oregon, Washington, Colorado... we hiked mountains in every place we could find... and every time we'd travel, I felt His presence.
Then COVID hit... and traveling ceased... and I felt that emptiness welling up inside me all over again. Despite the chaos, I found myself excited for the freedom of a simpler life--enjoying more of my kids, relishing in the comforts of the house I now call "home"... but, even in the midst of that sweetness, I felt distance from God in a way that I hadn't since I committed my life to Him. I can recall times when my husband would be at work, doing essential business, and my kids would be away, visiting with their other families, and I would just sit in silence... nothing to be heard in those moments, but the brush of my hands wiping away quiet tears that I never dared share with others.
Empty.
I had restless nights... weary nights. I'd wake and come to the living room, turning on the electric fireplace my parents gifted me for housewarming, and I'd contemplate the life I was living--or rather, mourn the life I wasn't living--and dwell in the dark melancholy of it all. Joy somehow felt out of reach. In those moments, I didn't pray. I didn't pick up my Bible. Instead, I found contentment in this callous, tragic form of comfort that I'd created for myself.
If you've read my previous posts, you know this isn't the first time I've felt these emotions... and I'm sure it won't be the last. I've said it before and I'll say it again, choosing a life of salvation isn't a step into a life of ease. It's a walk toward intentionality. It's a commitment to being deliberate with your actions and striving for your purpose... and unfortunately, nothing magical will happen that will change the fact that it's YOU who has to make the choice and put in the work to stay on task. I'd gotten off task. Even amidst my daily prayers and devotions, I had become shallow... and I wasn't being honest with God. I'm sure a part of me knew that I didn't have to be. God's omniscience isn't lost on me. But, in not being honest with God, I was also not being honest with myself... and, in turn, I'd inadvertently taken a step back from Him without even knowing it. So, I gathered up the weakest bit of motivation that I had left... that mustard seed of faith that keeps Christians going, even in the hardest times... and I tried once more.
I picked up my bible, and opened up to the first page my fingers flipped to (as I often do, when I'm desperate for answers). In the book of Deuteronomy, Moses was speaking to the Israelites, reviewing the promises and commandments of God during their own time of distress and discomfort. I could see my reflection in the words. I could feel God speaking to me, just like He spoke to His people through Moses all those years ago...
"While you’re out among the nations where God has dispersed you and the blessings and curses come in just the way I have set them before you... come back to God, your God, and obey him with your whole heart and soul according to everything that I command you today. God will restore everything you lost; he’ll have compassion on you; he’ll come back and pick up the pieces from all the places where you were scattered... God will cut away the thick calluses on your heart, freeing you to love Him with your whole heart and soul and live, really live... Nothing halfhearted here; you must return to God, your God, totally, heart and soul, holding nothing back... This isn’t too much for you, it’s not out of your reach. It’s not on a high mountain... it’s not across the ocean... No. The word is right here and now—as near as the tongue in your mouth, as near as the heart in your chest."
My skin warmed and my arms broke out in goosebumps as an overwhelming sense of relief flooded over me. Water welled in my eyes as I read the words of Moses... in those words, God had revealed to me the reality that I don't have to go looking for Him in far off places. I don't have to travel across the world. I don't have to climb mountains. I don't have to return to the places I've felt Him before.
He was here--in my home in Clyde, Texas.
My husband and our children were nestled in their beds, dreaming sweet dreams, and here I was, once again, in the presence of God... Once again, feeling His staggering love all around me.
It was blissful... really.
I write this as a reminder, not only for myself, but for anyone out there who is struggling to feel God's presence in their lives... whether you're a Christian or don't even know if you truly believe in the Creator. We ALL fall short, and we ALL go through seasons when we are unsure of how genuine our walk is. Know that it's not about a place or an emotion, or a physical change... God is as near as the tongue in your mouth and the heart in your chest. So, don't hold back. Don't stop reaching for Him because you can't feel him in the moment. Don't stop searching for Him because you can't see your favorite versions of His beauty around every bend. Relationship with God is as easy as breathing. It's us and these silly, free-willed, incredibly human brains of ours that make it difficult.
So, get out of your head. Give God room to use your mind to GROW you. You'll find that He can sow seeds of joy in the most barren places: a broken heart, a lost soul... even the dry, desolate wild of West Texas.
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