Even if I haven’t ridden in years, it’s fun to hop back on a bike, feel that muscle memory kick-in, spin the peddles while I face the wind, and enjoy the ride.

I wish movements in faith held that same muscle memory; however, each time I think, I’ve done this faith thing before—it will feel less uncomfortable this time, I’m always mistaken. To place my life continually in God’s hands and await His faithfulness requires me to forget (not remember) what is behind and strain toward what’s ahead. God is always doing a new thing.

To do what we’ve never done and go where we’ve never been means surrendering what we already know and have.

Faith is a bike we must approach like a child learning to ride.

My last post Here’s That End of Summer Feeling, I share how Marc (my husband) recently spilled some news I didn’t expect. Now I’m picking up the story where I left off: fresh hope on our 20th wedding anniversary.

The day didn’t begin in hope; Jesus had to pull me out of a few pits first.

It’s August 2nd. I wake with that in-between feeling; an eerily empty quiet, like waiting in the eye of a hurricane after something massive just happened and more is soon to come. For me, signing our notice to vacate yesterday feels like putting a dream to death—maybe this is why faith steps feel new every time—death never feels any better than death.

My will and desire is to stay here (not forever, but definitely longer). I know death precedes new life, but I can’t see what new life will be, so I’m just sad.

Marc sits beside me on the edge of the bed. He reads the thoughtful card he made then leaves for the day. I thank God for the gift of my husband and how he loves me. I’m excited to celebrate tonight, but after he leaves, I lay pondering the effects of yesterday’s decisions.

Among other things, I think about leaving our lemon tree and how I’ll miss it.

We’ll have to move before the next harvest season. . .

I bury my misting eyes in the pillow.

I love lemon bars and lemon cakes. . . why didn’t I bake when I had the chance?

While I self-scold for merely zesting and juicing, I think of our fig tree and all the bars and jams that will never be made. I so admire homemakers that eat from their gardens and make the most of their produce. Mist turns to tears—I’ve squandered the gift of fruit trees, and now we’ll have to leave them behind.

What else have I taken for granted?

While I teeter on having a full blown pity-party (and neglect inspecting whether these emotions are the fruit of righteous thoughts or not), God suddenly crashes the party in my head with some reasonable questions. Caught off-guard by His directness and clarity amidst my muddled pool of pity, I answer:

Do you enjoy taking care of trees?

No.

Do you look forward to harvesting fruit?

Eww. No. I just like eating it.

Do you eagerly scan fruity recipes, can, jam or bake?

Not ever.

Are you choosing to regret missing out on activities you don’t enjoy and mostly avoid?

I am.

Will you choose to stop crying over lemons and trust I have something better suited for you?

Sure.

Masked as grief, these are tears of fear, guilt, shame, jealousy and doubt; He pulls me out of the pit with His quick questions to set me straight. Hope replaces self-pity. I get out of bed.

It’s a quiet day. The kids do their normal chores and activities while Marc continues the job hunt with sub-par options. Since moving to California and experiencing major shifts in the medical field, he’s been developing a private health and wellness practice. Due to the ongoing WGA and SAG strike (writers and actors), the LA economy is suffering. Much of “Hollywood” is out of work affecting his best clients. He’s looking for full time employment to pay our bills and verify income so we can move, but the leads aren’t panning out.

How will we move if we can’t verify our income?

I’m wandering around the house looking at what needs to happen before September 30th. I sporadically hide in the garage to pray, cry and praise a few more times. It’s called the fight of faith because it seems to take no effort to doubt God’s goodness and worry about the future.

After finishing an anniversary message in Marc’s journal, I flip back to read my 15th anniversary entry (one of the benefits of replacing cards with special occasion journals). I laugh as I realize how similar our position was five years earlier: 10 days postpartum with our third daughter, about to move but don’t know where yet. Praying for a place our family can thrive. Fighting to believe; choosing thanksgiving and praise.

God obviously took such wonderful care of us, so I wonder why I’m dealing with all these feelings again? He opened the doors when we needed them opened and our family did thrive. I know He can do it again.

Why can’t I take the memory from that time and apply it today, making me move more effortlessly in faith? It seems like it should work, yet it doesn’t!

Then it hits me: I’m wanting yesterday’s bread to satisfy me today, but it doesn’t (it can’t). I need fresh bread. I need new bread for today. I need to trust God for today and then the next, and the next.

He desires to take me some place new, not a place I’ve already been.

The girls eat early and set the patio table for a lovely dinner al fresco reminding me of the classic movie set in California, The Parent Trap (except Marc is cooking tonight instead of Verbena the housekeeper).

We are happy to be reminiscing and enjoying the evening together when the topic turns onto Marc’s job search. As he finishes a bite of steak, he casually says,

“While online today, a job listing popped up I haven’t seen before; it’s full time, has a hefty sign-on bonus, and an option between two territories.”

I don’t know it yet, but the time in the eye of the storm is about to end and another blow is about to land. This time it won’t be another death blow. . . it will feel like the breath of new life.

I almost choke on my asparagus, “What did you say?”

“This company is huge and needs someone in the field right away so they’re offering a sign-on bonus. . .”

I put down my fork. “What are the territories?”

“I’d have my pick between the beach cities (Pacific Palisades, Santa Monica, and Marina del Rey) or the hills (Hollywood, West Hollywood, Bel Air [once home to the Fresh Prince], Beverly Hills, and Brentwood).”

I can hardly believe what I’m hearing, but I can almost see Jesus giggling as He watches us walk right into the plan laid out in advance for us. “You mean, someone from this Californian company is asking if you want to take the territory of Hollywood and you get to say yes or no?”

“I know. I can’t believe it either.”

It’s hard to convey in writing what this meant to us. For a little context: In 2020 after Marc got out of surgery (read part 1 for a more detailed backstory) and he knew we needed to move to LA, the Lord spoke very clearly to him:

“I’m sending you to the bowels of Hollywood.”

The phrase was accompanied by an image from the perspective behind the Hollywood sign looking down on the Hollywood Hills and Los Angeles below. As a Christmas gift to our family, Marc bought an extra large photograph of this prophetic image and it hangs in our living room.

We assumed the specific call from the Lord was metaphorical and had something to do with culture creating and influencing from the heart of the beast while ministering directly to the pain and depravity behind the glamorous facade. There is such hunger here and we’re convinced revival is coming (again) to Los Angeles through the Church, but not necessarily within the church building.

We minister to creatives in the film, television, and music industry, hosting them in our home and praying for their needs. I’ve seen Jesus do beautiful and wonderous things, but I know we’re just licking the tip of the iceberg and that’s why I didn’t want to leave the house yet.

I’m now seeing God needed us to let go of the house so he could give us our territory.

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It’s been exactly a month since our anniversary dinner. Marc spoke with the corporate recruiter, interviewed for the position, and was immediately hired at top pay because of his expertise in the industry. They fast-tracked his onboarding and he’s already finished his second full week of work.

On Labor Day, we will tour our first apartment in Hollywood. It never occurred to us He meant for us to live and minister within the picture He gave Marc, but that’s where we’ll be and we’re so thankful and excited for it.

We may be back on a bike again, but it feels like the first time. He’s training to bring us somewhere new with Him for the sake of those He loves that don’t know Him yet; I’m happy to have you join us in prayer for our family. Don’t worry on our behalf. . . even though we don’t know the details, God does! Stay tuned for updates from the journey!

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