I sold my car as I was leaving for Africa. One of my best
friends bought it. As I was riding in it with her the other day, there might
have been a little bit of a weird factor, but the funny thing is, I haven’t
really missed it.
When I had a car, the Lord took great care of me. And since
not having a car, He’s taken great care of me. I don’t have as much
independence now, but I was never promised independence. What I have been
promised time and time again is the provision and presence of my Papa.
To Him, I am more valuable than the sparrows, and more
beautiful than the lilies of the field. He holds all the wealth of Heaven, and loves
to do immeasurably more than this daughter might ask or even imagine. Of course
He will take care of me. It is His great delight.
To many, I may look like a homeless hippie without a car. But it
feels like quite the opposite (minus the hippie part). It’s almost as if I have
more than I've ever had before.
Instead of having one place I call home, I am welcome in
many, and I've gotten the privilege of staying in 5 lovely homes over the past
month. And in the process, I've almost mastered the gift of packing an
overnight bag ... almost.
And this whole not having a car thing has actually given me
a more beautiful picture of what true community looks like – the kind of fellowship
written about in Acts 2 where all the believers shared everything they had, and
no one was in need.
I could go on and on about how friends and family have gone
out of their way to pick me up to take me places, of the food we share together
(smoothies are our new specialty), the laughs and dance moves that go down, and
how we usually end up praying and worshiping together.
This is more than
sharing our physical things with each other. This is life, and we are going
through it together.
One of my first nights back at my old apartment in Atlanta,
I came in exhausted – mainly emotionally and spiritually. One of my roommates,
after listening to me share about the things weighing on my heart, grabbed her
guitar, sat on the end of my bed, and just
played it for me, as I laid there and let the tears come.
The whole time I was thinking, “Is this real?” Yes. Of
course it’s real that she would support me when I’m going through it. She is my
sister, my family. That’s what family does.
Now don’t get me wrong – I’m not trying to paint a cheesy picture
of what God’s family is supposed to look like. I've had plenty of hard and
challenging conversations with these same people over the past few years. I've been annoyed with them, and they've been annoyed with me.
But in it all, forgiveness, grace, and honor have been
themes. And I've discovered that life is too hard independent of these people. Now
that I've tasted true Kingdom family (check out the Greek words, “koinonia” and
“oikos”), I don’t want it any other way. I've never valued my community more than I do
now.
And (for now, at least) I praise God for the gift of being a
car-less nomad.
