It was heaven. Air Force Bases as the home of my early
childhood. New friends every day mixed with an endless supply of playmates and
giant lawns for epic adventures. Military aircraft played symphonies above, vibrating
my window as they landed in their safe haven. My favorites were the Jolly Green
Giants floating over, the gentle ripple of their blades a lulling heartbeat. No
one could hurt me there.
It all changed when I turned 8. Dad’s service completed, we
entered civilian life. At first, it was a new adventure. Living in a
Grandparents’ house filled with light, I attended the school where my Mom went.
I walked to school imagining myself in her shoes. Then famine hit.
November 1976, in the breath of a sentence my world changed
forever. We had to move. We needed to go where opportunity was. Like Joseph
moving his father Jacob and family to Egypt. I was moving to the Central
Valley of California. Both started out as provision and ended with trouble.
I grew up quickly as the weight of change burdened my Mom.
She fought Depression valiantly. Christianity told her if she was anointed with
oil and prayed over healing would come. Read the Bible, pray more, get involved
in a Bible Study; all of these helped, but never fully freed her to be the
person she was in the land of plenty.
She obeyed. Depression always came back.
The wilderness introduced a new mother. She did the best
with what she had, constantly battling to be free. All of life became a
struggle. Four girls, financial woes and I as the oldest accepted the
responsibility to fill in the gaps. In this new land, I didn't fit into the culture. Friendships were few and far between. The ability to serve my Mom and sisters eased my burden of loneliness. I learned the joy and importance of service.
The Counting Mutant and I met in college. The weekend after
graduation, at 20, with song and dance, I packed my car and moved. Central
Coast was a land of new
purpose. Creating a home, we trekked into adulthood. Our journey carried us
from the Coast to LA.
Our fifth year of marriage brought us a beautiful baby, BoyA.
A Master’s Degree introduced a new season. With breathless expectation we
sought God for direction. Each interview ended with the same statement: If you
only had a CPA…
It became clear we needed to start over. God had a promise
and The Mutant knew the only place to find it was in the Central
Valley. My heart groaned. The promise was for him, but not for me.
I knew I was heading into another wilderness.
As Sarah followed Abraham, I packed my house and prepared
for the journey. It didn't take long to realize how much trouble filled the Central Valley for me. My family of origin in disarray
making the best of their situation, I realized my loneliness. We welcomed a
second son, BoyZ. The friends Father provided were few, but they were rich in
love and grace. The next four years left lasting, aching scars. I learned to
love God above everything else. He would always provide for me if I served and
obeyed him first. He was a Master I trusted.
For The Mutant, the CPA was obtained. He sought God’s face:
where next? He opened a window and we were released. I quickly packed the house.
With singing and dancing I left this Valley
of Trouble, eager to see
what promise set before us.
Northern California was a
balm to my wounds. Stability and a third baby, GirlyK, introduced a season of
joy and peace. After 18 months, the dream job arrived. Another move and for two
years California
felt truly like home. A ski resort town, people from all over the world
gathered to teach, explore and breathe airs of delight. Four seasons, complete
with snow and Spring Green that glows with new life.
The dream job is still a job. God often gives us exactly
what we have asked for in order to draw us toward him and reveal its emptiness. The
Mutant became acutely aware. Famine was coming. It was time to go again to the
Valley.
I imagined what Naomi must have felt when her husband
decided to move to Moab.
My soul ached. I cried out to my Master for mercy. He led me to this verse:
“Therefore, behold, I will allure her, Will bring her into
the wilderness, And speak comfort to her. I will give her her vineyards from
there, And the Valley of Achor (trouble) as a door of hope; She shall sing
there, As in the days of her youth, As in the day when she came up from the land of Egypt.
And it shall be, in that day," Says the Lord,
"That you will call Me 'My Husband,'
And no longer call
Me 'My Master,'” Hosea 2:14-16
I entered a season of
Winter Sun. Light to guide me without
warmth. As I meditated on Hosea-written on windows and mirrors with dry erase
marker and placed on shelves in frames- my eyes were opened to small tender
mercies.
Father’s Fingerprints: A blue bird that lingered on a branch
outside my window, friends who helped carry an impossible burden and aided a
way of escape. Once back in the Central Valley
he provided home with aged trees and a lake. Provision came from unlikely
sources. Former enemies gave us encouragement. Lessons about God’s love and
grace taught by disenfranchised. The freshly healed scars on my heart were
bumped and poked. Fresh wounds of abandonment appeared and my spirit sang;
“Why are you cast down, O my soul? And why are you
disquieted within me? Hope in God, for I shall yet praise Him for the help of His countenance.” Psalm 42:5
It has been a long ten years. I still stand in the Valley of Achor, yet God is now my Divine Love, no
longer a master I serve out of duty. I sing with laughter and fulfillment
because of the men BoyA and BoyZ have become. My husband’s soul is whole and
healed with of the return of a lost son, BoyN. The Counting Mutant is pleased
by fruitful labor. Divine Love uses GirlyK to renew and redeem childhood lost within
me.
I confidently sing in this Valley of Trouble
now. In the beginning of this third, Divine Love whispered tender words to me as
he held me in seclusion. As time passed, rich vineyards of community flourished
and flowed with friendship. He provided exactly what we needed when we needed
it; from food to dance classes for the kids. Trouble was a door of hope, wounds
allowed to heal created an ability to unconditionally love and build boundaries
of wisdom.
Writing today, I overlook a backyard lake, trees dancing in
the breeze and mountains shyly peak the distance. I am reminded of a childhood
interrupted. The days of my youth; free to play in open spaces filled with
green. I lay in rest by shores of flowing water. In my head, Miriam takes tambourine
in hand, dances and sings:
"Sing to the LORD, for he is highly exalted. The horse
and its rider
he has hurled into the sea." Genesis
15:21
