Standing cheek by jowl in the small Cotswold town of old millworkers’ cottages, our house is what you might call cosy and compact. We are thankful for a place to live, glad that we can unpack our twenty or so boxes that we sent from Mongolia, although we’ve yet to find space for everything.
We are also thankful for this next stage in ministry opening before us, but we are also eager to recover a sense of equilibrium. Foolishly, we thought that once we found a place to live, peace would return. But it hasn’t. Instead, there has been more turbulence as we navigate the quotidian tasks required to settle into a new location. All of which simply serve to remind me that organising a daily routine doesn’t necessarily bring peace and stability to my heart.
Perhaps I focused my eye on the wrong things. Impatient to attain what I considered some semblance of normality, my trust moved to functional and created things. It was a subtle shift caused by my longing for peace and security. But it didn’t work and revealed the ongoing sorrow that clouds my view of Jesus.
I’ve looked to things that are neither my heart’s desire, nor my life. What we really want is know God more deeply, to serve Him and please Him. Yet, instead I’ve tried to hold on to what’s already gone, trying to recreate those times when I felt His peace and presence close by. But the days of walking the ridges close to our home in Ulaanbaatar have passed; I cannot hold onto them.
I am slow to learn that finding contentment in God doesn’t depend on whether life’s circumstances are stable or not. God’s peace is above and beyond all of that, although I can’t just ask Him to ‘send it now’ and expect it to arrive. No, I have an active role to play in this relationship. I need to share my struggles with Him, seek His help and then recommit myself to what He has and is doing in my life, even when the grief that continues is far from tame.
By faith, I choose to look up and into His presence and, relying on the Holy Spirit’s power, ask Him to reign in me. My prayer draws me back, reorients my fitful gaze onto Him until I know that He is with me, bringing rest to my heart. His rest gives me peace which pronounces, from the inside out, that all may still feel strange and stability may not come in a moment, but His will and way are right and, in His good time, life will recover its equilibrium. And for now, that is more than enough.
© copyright Gillian Newham 2024
Nomadic Pages 
Thanks, Gill, for expressing yourself so well. I, too, have had to leave where I loved into a place much smaller. It was a decision I felt directed by God but very hard. Lots to give up and I grieved that “loss”. I finally had to wrap it all up and to give it back to God Who had given it in the beginning, to sincerely receive what He again gave. It begun to be a bit easier after that as long as I didn’t try to take it back. But the changes still challenge my spirit’s peace. I find I do try to hold on to things that I favor and am reluctant to move on to what I cannot see right now but trust are there, because He is. So with eyes that are more open and a heart that is also more open, I move forward. Grieving is important but so is moving on. I’m not telling you something you don’t know but to remind myself. Blessed Easter greetings! He is risen!! Love, Sandra
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Forgive my late reply Sandra. But I just want to say what an encouragement it was to read this reply. Bless you. Much love Gill
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