The Constant Crossroad

I watched the waves crashing against the beach, tequila burning its way down my throat. The sky stretched out in an expanse of orange and pink as the sun slowly sank beyond the horizon.

Barb set her shot glass down on the table with a small thud, smiled at me, and ordered another round. We’d taken her limo back to the hotel on the beach where she’d been ordering $50 shots of tequila for us. We were celebrating: we’d just had an amazing meeting with one of the most influential men in Hollywood—in his private conference room at his production studio. The studio that created some of my favorite TV shows at the time.

He was interested in doing a book with my publishing house. And, according to Barb, who was his longtime agent, he was really impressed with me. Which made her impressed.

“You can do this, you know,” she said. “You’ve got good instincts, you’re poised, and you’re smart.”

I laughed and looked out at the ocean. “I am so out of my league here,” I replied.

“Well, with that attitude you are,” she said dryly. “Yes, you’re a little green—and you care what people think too much. But I can work with that.”

Our waiter delivered the next round. Barb picked up the glasses and handed me one. “I can more than double what you’re making now.” She clinked her glass against mine with a knowing look. “To the future.”

As we drank the shots, I could almost see the road to my future unfurling before me, bright and shiny and lined with luxury.

*

Five years ago I boarded a flight home from Nashville. I sat down, immediately put my headphones on, and then cried—hard—the entire flight. I’d been at a conference for work, meeting with my authors and supporting their books and ministries. But God used the people there to speak to my heart in ways I never expected.

A few weeks before, Brian had told me about his crazy desire to quit his job, go back to school to be a barber, and then work in a shop three hours away.

By this point in my career, I was being groomed for a VP position in my company. I’d been headhunted by several of my company’s rivals; I’d been approached by a few high-powered agents, and I’d even been offered a job by the president of Sony Pictures at a movie premier we’d both attended.

I was 31. I was on the cusp of having it all.

And it seemed my husband wanted to throw it all away to be a barber. In northern Minnesota.

I couldn’t reconcile these things in my head. I was at a crossroads, and I couldn’t understand why I felt, deep in my heart, God nudging me the completely opposite way I wanted to go. I wanted the bright, exciting road of money, fame, and power. But He was pointing me down the almost-hidden path of uncertainty, surrender, and trust.

*

A few days ago Henry, my two-year-old with Down syndrome, had three HUGE blowouts in less than 24 hours. Which meant I gave him three baths, scrubbed poop out of his clothes three times, and washed poop off my hands and arms three times. And once off my face.

It also meant that I had to comb through three rancid-smelling diapers looking for the rocks and crayon and pool noodle bits he’d swallowed days earlier.

These days, my time and energy are consumed with coordinating therapies and doctors and schedules, making sure we have enough sensory breaks for my three-year-old with autism and dealing with the fallout if we don’t.

The last few years have been filled with ambulance rides and emergency hospital visits and infusions and even open-heart-surgery for Henry when he was three months old.

There has been waaaaaay less sleep than needed, too much coffee, arguments with Brian about how to raise and parent two boys with special needs, and so. much. crying and screaming. By three out of four of us.

This is NOT the glamorous life I imagined.

*

On the plane home from Nashville I only listened to one song by The Rend Collective. But I listened over and over again until it became the cry of my heart:

Everything’s on the altar now
No holding back, no holding out
In view of your matchless sacrifice
Take every treasure, take this life

All that I am for all that You are, my Lord
All that I have for all that You are
You’re the pearl beyond price, greater than life
All that I am for all that You are

Selfish ambition and my pride
I’m giving up, I’m letting die
In these empty hands I have it all, have it all
The pure joy of knowing You, my Lord

Even then, with tears streaming down my face and my fellow passengers giving me very disconcerted looks, I knew that conference was a watershed event. I went there clinging desperately to a shiny future I’d put so much work and hope into. And I came home clinging to a God who promised to give me more than I could imagine.

*

Some days I hear Henry crying like crazy from one of the bedrooms. When I run to see what’s going on, I usually find him trying to get down from one of the beds. He’s clinging to the sheets, frantically trying to climb back up yet slowly slipping down.

He can’t see that the solid, safe ground is just centimeters beneath his toes.

I think that’s how it is with us.

We hold on with all we have to the false securities the world offers us, not realizing it’s a slippery slope. Then, when we feel ourselves falling, we cling more tenaciously, thinking that if we just got that raise, or just had that house, or just made that connection, or just lost that weight we’d finally get our footing.

When really, if we were to just let go, to surrender, we’d find God is right there, solid and safe, ready to care for us in ways we never knew we needed.

*

Five years ago Brian and I started to pray in earnest for God’s Kingdom to come, for His will to be done—in our hearts, in our lives, in our home—as it is in heaven. And we’ve prayed that every day since.

Honestly, I pray it multiple times a day. Because, kids.

And each time I pray it, I find myself at a crossroads. Because for His Kingdom to come, I have to take that hidden, quiet path of surrender and trust. I have to yield myself to Him and His direction.

And so I take all that I am—usually tired and weary and anxious—and lay it on the altar. Like the widow in Luke 21 with her two copper coins, I don’t have much to give, but it’s all I have.

Then I let go, trusting the solid, safe arms of God will catch me.

And in these last five years, I have seen more miracles than I have my entire life. I have felt the presence of God so closely that it takes my breath away. I have experienced healing and protection and provision and abundance in ways I never knew I needed.

I’ve seen peace descend on distraught families in overly bright hospital rooms; I’ve watched joy fill hopeless eyes of the homeless in ER waiting areas. I’ve witnessed women rise with renewed strength to face their impossible situations.

I’ve seen two little boys overcome time and again the obstacles life has thrown at them. I’ve seen my husband grow into a father and a man of unshakeable faith. And I’ve experienced the deep, abiding joy of a family centered on and surrounded by a God whose goodness knows no bounds.

I have seen His Kingdom come and His will done all along this quiet, hidden path I walk. And I wouldn’t trade any of it.

So I continue to follow where He goes. I continue to give Him all I have, to empty my hands at the altar.

Because in these empty hands, I have it all.

Because on this narrow path in this upside-down Kingdom, I am rich beyond measure.

***