When God Doesn't Give Us What We Think We Want

The Darling Two Story Yellow House on the dead end street was going to be home. Our home. I was certain of it and I couldn't stop dreaming about it.

 

 

 

I had the paint selected, the walls decorated and the furniture arranged before we had made so much as a purchase offer.

  Yeah, I know; I’m pathetic.

 The wraparound porch would be an ideal place to greet the morning sunshine with Jesus and a fabulous cup of fu-fu coffee (you know, a little bit of coffee with my cream and sugar- thank you). The house didn’t actually HAVE a porch… yet.  But we would be adding one… someday. Make that maybe someday. Okay, the only in my dreams kind of someday. Oh, and I had completely designed the studio apartment we'd add on top of the garage for our out-of–state parents (Yeah, make that the only in my dreams kind of someday too. Sigh.)

Call me a tad ahead of myself or quite presumptuous but I'd just call it… a passion for HOME.

Okay, maybe along with a wee touch of crazy romanticism.

 The Yellow House was perfect for us. It was realistic, affordable, and in our budget.

That kind of perfect. It needed work. A ton of work,

along with a huge heaping of love, but

 I adored it.

  The back yard butted right up to the school campus; elementary through high school. We are talking WALKING to school. No carpooling. No lines. No traffic. Send the kids out the back door two minutes prior to the school bell ringing. That’s it. My mornings would be a

glorious mommy style piece of cake.

 I could hear my kid’s sweet little voices at about three-ish, "We're home mommy!" without so much as me even glancing at the clock- once.  I forever had feared forgetting what time it was and being THAT mom who left her kids waiting at the curb with the teacher who becomes the crabby, glaring, judgmental teacher when I finally arrived late and last to gather up my children.. I never wanted to be THAT mother.

With this house I never would be.

A playground that we didn’t have to purchase or attempt to assemble, just out the back door; on property we didn’t have to pay taxes on and a lawn we didn’t have to mow. That’s all my man needed for him to be convinced.  I could wave at my kids during recess; yell at the naughty kids while I was at it; and keep an eye on the bullies...

all while enjoying lunch at my dining room table.

 

Then there was the bike path which led to hundreds of miles of bike trails just a few blocks down the street. And merely a hop and a skip away was the Historic Main Street with its quaint shops, Dairy Queen, Movie Theater, coffee shops, library, post office, river views, did I mention the Dairy Queen? (Okay, so it was more like a hop and skip down a very steep hill- but never mind that-I needed the exercise.)

 

This was going to mean life- practical. Life for our little family, on our little budget- perfect.  This was my idea of living a dream while raising my kiddos...

and of course, a white picket fence around my little darling Yellow House was in the plans too. You seriously didn’t think I would forget the white picket fence did you?

 A church parsonage was what we had been calling home for seven years. It’s not that we didn’t like the parsonage, we did. It was more of a house than we could’ve afforded in that area. Bigger than The Yellow house for sure. It had a sunroom that I adored and a state park out the back door.

But it was also a tad bit neglected.
 Mold in the basement, sewer water coming up in the laundry room, paper thin green carpet (think mini golf. No, not kidding. I wish I were.)

  And one thing was clear- it wasn’t ours.

 A woman from church stopped by one sunny summer afternoon as I was painting the green shutters that, how do I put this?  Just weren’t working for me.  She proceeded to let me know that I shouldn’t paint the shutters blue because the next pastor’s wife might not like that color. I told her the next pastor’s wife could paint the shutters whatever color her sweet little heart desired. But green shutters just weren’t ‘me’ and certainly didn’t put a smile on my face as I pulled in the driveway (a woman should be happy she’s home don’t you think?) I said it with a nice tone and a kind spirit-I know you were wondering.

 

So when The Yellow House came on the market it got us thinking... let’s stay here forever. 

Let's make this quaint little town on the Wisconsin Minnesota scenic byway home-for the long haul. Something about committing to a church-it's people-a community-a school-a house for the duration of our lifetime sounded wonderfully welcome and even greatly needed to this heart of mine. I longed to watch our kids grow up while growing old with my husband in one place.

 Can we, please? Do we dare dream that it's possible that God would actually let us?

 Let us as a pastor’s family have what most people think is normal? A place to call home, for good, a place to belong for as long as we desired...

 maybe just FOREVER.   

Something about being pregnant at the same time as my friends, giving birth, navigating the infant, toddler and preschool stages together as moms while our kids also became friends was such a extraordinary notion. Then having the delight of watching them get big enough to start school, then enter the teen years and finally graduate, having experienced it all together-

 well, it felt right.

 

 I wanted to finish what I started with my precious friends- raising our kids together, experiencing seasons of life and parenting with the people I began it with. I wanted to see my friends' kids grow up and then
exhausted and relieved and wrinkled from the journey,
enter the empty nest alongside the beautiful  women I entered the mothering nest with 18 years earlier.
I wanted to have conversations regarding my adult kids with people who actually knew my kids. Is that too much to ask for?

 So we waited. Not from a call from the realtor or the bank. We waited for a call from the church elders.

The decision wasn’t ultimately ours.
 They got to vote, ours didn’t count.

Church boards are made up of  volunteers- which means seldom do things get done urgently. “Wait for next month’s meeting and we'll put it on the agenda.” That was about as serious as they took our dream.  When you are waiting to buy a foreclosed home one thing you don't have is the luxury of time.

 We had been out of town for a few days, so I begged my ever patient husband to just swing by our Yellow House on the way back through town. We did. My heart dropped as fast as an elevator with severed cables.

 SOLD.

 My dream was no longer for sale. It had become someone else’s.

 And here I thought God was in this.  Later that evening at church, one of my husband’s students darted up to him with great enthusiasm, "Pastor Cory, Pastor Cory, we bought a house today! We got a home!" My husband responded, "Really, that’s great, what color is it?”  "Yellow and it’s right by the school!"   Really Lord?  Not like this.

 I dreamed of raising our kids and growing old with my husband in that place, Our Yellow House. The one right by the school with the bike path nearby. The one that would have a wraparound porch where I would spend daybreak with Jesus and my coffee… well someday would spend my mornings… I was okay with waiting for The Someday

 But that Someday would never come.

 The following day an elder pulled into our driveway. Oblivious to what had transpired the day before.  He casually said to us like he was dropping off his dry-cleaning and THIS  was no big deal and keeping us waiting for over a month was no big deal  and us wanting our own home was no big deal.

 "Wanted to let you know the elder board decided that you cannot purchase your own home". That’s what he said.

 I said nothing.

 I can’t remember the words my husband uttered but I’m certain it was kind, mature and gracious. Always is (and sometimes THAT makes me mad.)  Here’s what I was thinking-because you know I was thinking something, “It really doesn’t matter now anyway. We lost our house. It's too late. Explain to me again why this your decision? This is our personal life here. Pay my husband a proper salary and let us decide what we want to do with his hard earned money. This isn’t about carpet color, sanctuary temperature, bulletin design or communion drama- let’s see, wafers or bread? Hmmm.

This is OUR personal life. This is OUR family.  But oh yeah, we're not a regular family, we're a pastors family, living in a home the church owns... make that a fish bowl the church owns. I get it.” The tone of my voice, though inside my head, was not kind nor was my spirit-just so you know.  I acted brave. I acted kind. I acted untouched but that was all a show.

 On the inside my guts were a mess.

Dreams die. Sometimes unfairly.

 

I was mad. Mad that a group of volunteers could dictate our private lives...and take so long to do so. My disappointment turned to hurt and anger.

 

The issue really was that I was mad at God but I blamed man.

Did you hear me? I was mad at God but I blamed man. Whew.

 It’s easier that way. I needed a target and one I could see.

That’s just simply put-more gratifying to my flesh.

Blaming man instead of trusting God.

Sounded good to my broken heart and dashed dreams. If I trusted God I'd have to release my dreams and admit it wasn’t Gods best for us.

I wasn’t ready to do that.

 So I vented. Not to people mind you- church unity was on the line and that mattered more to me.  I vented to the bitter woman looking back at me in the mirror (and my poor husband who had to put up with me).  I wasted a great deal of time rehashing, ruminating, fuming and having ridiculous make believe conversations in my head. I exhausted a lot of time and energy but boy did it ever feel good...well, in the moment I thought it felt good. It was just a lie from the enemy. What I was doing was actually toxic to my soul,

demoralizing to my spirit and
devastating my heart.

THAT was a decade ago…

 God called our family away from that quaint little town with a people and a church we loved about a year after the dream of The Yellow House died.  He moved us away. Out of place we longed to be forever and to a State where we knew not a soul and...

No one knew us.

Being utterly unknown is conceivably more lonely than not knowing anyone.
 I would know.

We had no history, no memories, no shared life with the people God called us to.

 I am delighted to report that we own our own home now (well, the bank does but they don’t care a hill of beans what color I paint my shutters),   its gray with black shutters and a red front door. It has a front porch-a darling one. I enjoy my cup of coffee and my Jesus on that front porch.

Very much.

 

 There’s no school out our back door but for two of my three kids the school is actually in our house-how convenient.  During the years we hauled our kids to school we have precious memories of singing, praying and blessing our kids while we made the trek to school each groggy morning in our faithful though dented up family van. Waiting-not always so patiently- in line to pick up my kids after school proved to be powerful prayer times… and not once was I THAT mother.

 There is no bike path down the street or state park out the back door but there is a lovely park a mile away with a disc golf course which my husband and son love, and a fantastic community swimming pool that has saved the day on more than a few scorching summer afternoons.  A cheap ice cream shop is within biking distance and Culvers is virtually around the corner. My husband has a perfect paved country road on which he enjoys his coveted long bike rides. And our house is situated just on the edge of town which means I can enjoy the beautiful rolling hills and lovely wild flowers growing in the ditch on my peaceful two mile walk around the country block.   

 

 

 

It’s perfect for us. It’s more than I could have asked or imagined or dared to dream.

 God went way beyond with this one. It was a personal gift from Him. I know it was. He knew my heartache in losing The Yellow House and having to uproot our family.

So, in the midst of that, He was kind enough to bless us more abundantly than our previous dreams ever could have.

 

Life in our current community is completely different than it would have been in our last.  There are days when I wonder what life would’ve been like right now had we gotten to stay. I'll never know, but why would I even need to?

Those dreams had to die so I could live new ones. The ones God had planned for us.

God dreams.

 One of my sweet daughters asked me as I was tucking her into bed recently, "Mom, you know when we go to our grandma and grandpa’s house’s you and dad get to sleep in the same room you grew up in and you get to show us stuff from when you were a kid, I won’t get to do that with my kids will I?  “No honey, probably not", was my response as I choked back tears and held her close.

Somehow my kids just know.
We aren’t like other families from around here who have roots down deep.

Most kids have grandparents and aunts and uncles in town or at least in the state. We never run into Auntie Ruthie at the grocery store nor does our family just drop in to say “Hi” and getting together for a family cookout never happens.  Seldom do they have anyone other than mom and dad cheering for them in the stands.
 Oh, how I wish it were different.

I wish I could’ve said to my daughter that night, "Well sure, most likely, yes! That tree will be big enough for your kids to climb by then and we'll build your kids a tree house and your fort above the garage- they will have a blast up there. Dad and I will save a spot on the garage wall to chart their growth right alongside of yours. You can sleep in your same bedroom when you come home to visit and tell your kids stories of growing up here. You can even take your kids on a bike ride to Cardinal Corner Ice Cream Shop and Maytag Swimming Pool. People at church will love to see you and they'll be excited to meet your kids too. Maybe we’ll all live near each other right here in this town-in this place our family calls home."

That’s likely never going to happen.

Living in a home, in one community for lifetime-That’s what I thought I wanted.
What I thought I needed. But I realized something after God didn’t let us have The Yellow House ten years ago…
I am thankful God doesn’t always give me what I think I want.

I can look back on my life and recognize numerous occasions where I really wanted something but God didn’t give it to me.

 Hear me on this-Things far more significant than a house.

 “Father God, you didn’t let me have what I was certain I had to have.  Thank you.

You had something different for me.
 Not necessarily better but it’s always been good.
A God kind of good. And that’s good with me.”

 It wasn’t the elders fault -they didn’t cost us our dream.  God did.

God intervened. God used the elder board to accomplish His will and His perfect plan in our lives. The elders were never to blame and never deserved my internal criticism. They had a decision to make with a church budget in mind.

 It wasn’t personal. But God was.

 He works all things together for good to those who love Him and are called according to His purpose. Romans 8:28

 

God reserves the right to use hard circumstances and unfair situations to accomplish His good, pleasing and perfect will. Besides if he can direct our steps AND grow us to maturity by revealing crud in our hearts then by all means He will! He will go for greater mileage out of a trial every time.

 Don’t expect God’s best will for your life to unfold painlessly.

 Don’t expect Gods path for your life to come about in ways you think are fair.

God will use any means necessary to grow us into His likeness and keep us in His perfect will. Any means. Unfair means, Ugly means, Maddening means, Hurtful means, Disappointing means. All of it.  

There is not a thing God will not use for good.

 When life goes in a way I don’t prefer and I don’t get something I think I want...I try to resist the urge to waste precious time blaming people for interfering with my plan. I fight hard with my flesh to resist questioning God’s goodness.  

Instead I choose to remember The Yellow House
 and trust God... No, He may not always give me what I think I want because most likely He’s got something that is way beyond all I could even imagine or dare to dream waiting for me.

 I live in The Gray House now. I love it- a lot.

 My dream would be to live here forever. But I want His dreams for my life more. I hear His voice every now and then whispering to me

“Amy, beloved daughter of mine, believe me-trust me right now even though I am not giving you what you think you want. Someday I promise, you will thank me

 for not letting you have it.”

 

I know, O lord, that a man’s life is not his own, it is not for man to direct his steps. Jer. 10:23

Many are the plans of a man’s heart, but it is the Lord’s purposes that prevail. Prov. 19:21