I’m sitting here on my living room floor trying to get a few things sorted out for school when I had the urge to write.

(That’s right. School. We’ll get there.)

Actually, to be real honest, I’ve had the urge to write for a few weeks but have ignored it because since I’ve been out of the habit of writing for so many months, I simply get lost in the process.

I’ve learned that disciplines are called disciplines for a reason. They don’t just magically get easier and they’re not always fun, and then there’s those disciplines you simply get out of the habit of practicing, and it’s like yanking out teeth to pull yourself back together.

Running is one of these disciplines.

And also writing.

And that’s kind of how I feel about writing right now. I feel a little bit like I’m pulling my own teeth out. Not because I don’t enjoy it (because I absolutely do), but because I was so disciplined for so long and then lost all my desire so I just stopped. Because I’m human.

I’ve also learned that while desire often leads to discipline, it can also sometimes be a really lame motivation for discipline. Desire comes and goes. But being disciplined is a choice. And I’ve found on rare occasions that if I stay disciplined despite my lack of desire, that discipline often becomes desire. For instance, I don’t always leap for joy at the chance to run, but when I am disciplined to run consistently, I want to run more. I don’t always feel like reading the Word of God, but then I find that the more I do it, the more I want to read the Word of God. Writing doesn’t always come naturally and sometimes feels like a chore, but the more I write, the more I want to write. And who knows, maybe I’m the only one that oscillates between doing things out of desire vs. discipline.

But enough about desire and discipline, that’s a rabbit trail if I’ve ever chased one. And the trail is there to stay.

I really just wanted to jump on here and testify to God’s faithfulness.

If I’m just being real here (and do you really want anything else?), I’d tell you that it’s been a tough year.

I’d tell you that, thus far in my own personal walk with the Lord, it’s been the most trying season.

I’d tell you that financially, spiritually, and emotionally I wondered if I’d ever hear the Lord say “yes” again.

I’d tell you that there were days I lived with a ton of anxiety and held it together really well. (Read: I pretended to hold it together really well.)

I’d tell you that the Lord was very, very quiet. So quiet I had doubted that I even knew Him.

I’d tell you that I’d look around and compare my circumstances to others and send myself into a pit of self-pity.

I’d tell you that it was a fight to keep my joy. And that some days (a lot of days) it just wasn’t there.

I’d tell you that I wasn’t always positive the Lord would come through, or how He would come through, or that He would even remember to come through for little me.

I’d tell you that I understand now what it means when Matt Chandler says, “Where the ideal is lacking, grace abounds.” Because grace DOES abound. 

I’d tell you that I was straight up full of fear on what His next assignment for me would be.

I’d tell you that I was not just full of fear of His assignment, but full of fear of human opinion.

I’d tell you that the usual comforts I ran to when I didn’t like the way things were going were not even an option. (Read: Shopping.)

I’d tell you that God has looked me in the eyes and been nothing but kind to me when I have thrown the worlds biggest fit.

I’d tell you that stepping out of the boat is really scary. And once you’re out on the water, the only person that can help you out is Jesus. Because boats only stay anchored for so long, and then they sail away. But Jesus is all about rescue.

I’d tell you that our unbelief does not nullify the faithfulness of God. Our unbelief doesn’t make Him ineffective.  (Romans 3:3)

I’d tell you that I don’t think this season changed me, or at least I’m afraid it didn’t, but that I can look back and see little evidences that He did a work on my heart, and continues to, every single day.

BUT…

And I mean every word of this…

I want to tell you that in the midst of a really hard season Jesus never left me to fend for myself. No, I didn’t always “feel” His presence, but I knew His presence like never before, because a lot of days it was the only thing I knew.

I want to tell you that He alone sustained me.

I want to tell you that I was able to see streams in a desert season.

I want to tell you that some of those streams were new friends, old friends, kind words, odd jobs, international trips that were a sheer gift, vacations with family and many other blessings I didn’t even know to ask for.

I want to tell you that I never want to keep secret what He is up to.

I want to tell you that He does come through. Always. Does it look how we imagine? Rarely. Is it within our time frame? Never. But He does not fail us.

I want to tell you that sometimes He offers the gift of rest when you didn’t know you needed it. And after fighting it for many months, it’s okay to lean into it.

I want to tell you that in uncertain seasons, “no” is a perfectly acceptable answer, even when it makes no sense.

I want to tell you that you have the choice to either respond or react to situations you’re handed, and responding with grace is much better than reacting out of hurt or anger.

I want to tell you that it’s better to be 100% honest with the Lord about the condition of your heart than to put on a mask, because He already knows our hearts and He can handle it.

I want to tell you that our God is a faithful God. And that it’s okay if the only thing you know to pray is, “faithful you have been, and faithful you will be.”

I want to tell you that we have a good, good Father who loves us so, so much it’s impossible to comprehend.

I want to tell you all of this because sometimes we need to testify to God’s faithfulness in both the hard seasons and the good seasons.

Tomorrow I will step foot in a brand new season. At a brand new (to-me) school. With a brand new teaching position (5th - 8th grade Bible, to be exact). And brand new co-workers. And brand new students. And a brand new opportunity to trust God for the unimaginable and watch His faithfulness unfold in ways I don’t even know how to pray.

And I’m hyper aware that God alone moved Heaven and Earth to merge two things together that are both dear to me: ministry and teaching.

And I’m so, so grateful.