Careful What You Wish For.

I know your works. Behold, I have set before you an open door, which no one is able to shut. I know that you have but little power, and yet you have kept my word and have not denied my name.

Revelation 3:8

 

I regularly and purposefully say to myself:  Heather Lynn, you will NOT be blogging (still hate that word, btw) about THIS.

Yeah, OK.  Sure…

That very topic inevitably becomes a Billboard with flood lights in my head – the kind I pass by on a loop, until writing about exactly that it is the only thing I can do.

But this time I think I need to whisper the secret on my heart:

I’m not sure I should be moving to Pittsburgh.

I know.  I’m like Jekyll and Hyde.  It’s unhealthy.

You better believe I asked God for this.  Pleaded.  I also had to let it go (a few – hundred – times).  I’ve convinced myself it could never happen.  Told myself I didn’t need it.  Then begged God for it all over again.  I’m like the back of a shampoo bottle:  Wash, Rinse, Repeat.

Have you ever been given something you desperately wanted and then tried to Run, Forest, Run away from it?

I was in my Munich kitchen being a Sous chef to Stephen when he said, “What if we moved to Pittsburgh?”.  I got spiritual whiplash as I turned around asking, “Come Again!?”.  While he explained why this could make the most unexpectedly brilliant sense, like a bouncy ball released under water, my first thought dramatically shot to the surface:

Church.

My parents’ full-time-life is ministry.  I really can’t overstate this detail.  I grew up inside the very walls of this church.  These are the people who routed for me when I was a 6 feet toothpick of a tween, sporting a perm and braces with 2 broken arms from separate injuries.  They pushed, prepared and protected me every single step of the way.  Even now, when my feet touch those foyer tiles, I start to cry.  I’m home.

My husband also has some intense church-love in Pittsburgh.  A place where he feels finally home and, all these years later, still listens to the weekly podcasts on his runs.  He’s talked many times about how he’d love to team with the heart of this church for it’s inner-city community.

I brace myself every time we’re in the US – which one will we attend on that inevitable single Sunday we have together in PA?  It stresses me out months in advance.  This topic runs deep, folks.

So, if we managed a move to Pittsburgh, which church would be our new home?  Because church is a kind of HUGE thing for my little family of four.  And ministry is a massive reason we feel called back to this city.

My answer sat surprisingly available in my spirit, but I was certain Stephen’s page would be in a different book (of a different store, in a different country).  I was poised to argue my side.

Neither church.

Off came a crushing weight as he said, “I fully agree with you.  No question.”  (and no argument)  Relief let me breath out again.  And that’s when I first started freaking out.

I was 22 when I got married and moved far away from home.  I was a selfish, insecure, naive, terrified, Jesus-loving woman.  Fifteen years later, my adulthood has been forged – Nay, CHISELED – in the unlikely land of Europe.  I’m now a confident, bold, adventurer who is more deeply in love with Christ than ever before.  I’m still pretty selfish with a new laundry list of things to work on, but my sassy-self is no longer a lost newlywed.  Go ahead and add the two short people who have made me into a mostly crazy mother.  And Voilà! I don’t know America anymore that it knows me.  Don’t let my pale passport picture fool you.

It’s more than church.  Whether it’s family, old friends, new friends, Chick Fil A, Anthropology or Trader Joes, I’m not sure where I’ll fit (or how to shop there).  Pretty sure, despite returning “home”, I’m not what anyone is expecting.  And equally aware that this all matters much more to me than it does to the city flanked by Three Rivers.

But here’s something special.  Something unplanned.  Something gift wrapped…

Stephen’s company went public on Dec 17th, 2014.  On this day, our deep prayers and vision were granted, and it’s the very reason we can move home to Pittsburgh.  It was also, poetically, Steve’s birthday.

And now, the first morning my jet lagged eyes will open (at an ungodly hour, no doubt) in this city I will call my home, happens to be June 11th, 2015.  My birthday.  The irony does not escape me.

This move is a gift.  (One I asked for and then considered returning without a receipt)  If I weren’t scared, I wouldn’t be doing something worthwhile.  Playing it safe rarely creates value.  I’m looking to double my money.

Christians love to use the buzz phrase, “God opens doors no man can shut”.  He does.  But, according to Revelation 3:8, there is a reason for it:  “I know your deeds. See, I have placed before you an open door that no one can shut. I know that you have little strength, yet you have kept my word and have not denied my name.”

Do you trust His plans for you?  In your little strength are you still striving to honor Him?  Maybe you asked for this specific door to open.  Or maybe He’s asking you to walk through a door you’d prefer to keep nailed shut.  Perhaps you’re like the 22-year old Heather who hated (read: misunderstood) all things German, yet landed herself a one-way ticket there for 13 years.  Maybe you’re at the start of the lesson or just finishing one up.  No matter.  God’s using it — ALL.

• Every plan.
• Every “Yes”.
• Every sacrifice.
• Every fearful move forward.
• Every ounce of faith.
• Every Primanti Bros. sandwich.  (shout out Pghers!)

So, yes, I’m scared.  But Frau Yoder is on her way through a door, so please extend her some grace (she’s a work in progress) and expect something great (she likes a challenge).

And, Heavenly Father, I promise to try with more intentional devotion than ever before, to follow hard after you, to hear your voice and daringly obey… to go through every door you open and bless the ones you shut.  And to run wild with the adventure that awaits, laughing at myself along the sorted and surprising way.  Also, because accountability matters, as we agreed, I promise to faithfully write this blog for another year.

And. Not. Complain. About. It.

God help us all…