As I was driving along the country road I was having trouble focusing my eyes on the pavement. There were beautiful , historical houses on my left and my right and it took everything I had not to pull over and explore.
I had been down this road before, but I was much younger and didn’t appreciate the beauty of the area. With the girls signing along to a worship song in the back it was a surprisingly blissful morning. I actually remembered to bring my morning coffee with me. I had time to savor it instead of inhale and ache for more.
I passed something that caught my eye. I turned around and entered the driveway to a house at least 200 years old. I sat there for a moment wiping drool off my chin and wishing I had a pair of glasses I could slip on that allowed me to see back in time. I also wished I was alone and could explore this abandoned property freely.
I’m confident Jesus gave me children for my safety. And to boost my common sense, which I often lack.
It would be difficult, yet not impossible to strap Adah in the Ergo and throw Rhema onto my shoulders just to get a glimpse of what the kitchen floor looked like. How many windows still are holding on and if there was any vintage furniture left. I refrained and instead sat in my van dreaming for a moment.
He made me to be fascinated by things like this. It isn’t a bad thing unless I was to trespass. Which I have. I may or may not have a record for trespassing when I was 5 months pregnant with Asher. That’s a story for never , unless you bring wine. In which case I will spill, but not the wine.
On another occasion I may have explored a different property with Asher in a Bjorn. That’s when I didn’t know any better, meaning I didn’t have an Ergo. Moving on….
I made myself leave the property and onto my destination. The destination was just as beautiful as the drive. Pleasantly, it was an older home as well. I always feel at home in older homes. Something about the stories that we written there and the laughter that was shared between family members for centuries. It fascinates me. Go ahead and plan an intervention.
“Hello my name is Rachel and it’s been 37 days since I last explored a historical house. It’s been hard and I’ve watched 233333 episodes of This Old House, and programmed American Pickers in my DVR to ease the fix I need. ”
When arriving to my destination I knew in my heart Jesus would have me write about the subject of the roads we travel. He was pulling at my heart to listen for the message he wanted me to write about. This was three weeks ago.
I’ve been listening , but somewhere between Rhema finally pooping on the potty and Adah exploring her lungs in the middle of restaurants I’ve lost sight of this message. He reminded me again this morning on the way home from taking Asher to school. I chose a different way to get home from his school and it hit me.
We can chose different ways to travel, but He never loses sight of our destination.
That day if I hadn’t pulled into that old driveway , I wouldn’t have been tempted to trespass , right? If I would have stayed on the road to the destination intended for me I would have saved a lot of time and heartache. Heartache is an intense word, but bare with me.
Often times people get so hung up on their sins along the way to their destination that they lose sight of how Jesus sees us as his children.
Are you here now? Do you love him now?
Then let’s lay how you got there at the cross. If you stopped and trespassed, lay it before him.
If you are still traveling to him, keep your eyes on the road he has before you. Don’t look to the left or to the right. Look straight ahead. Look up .
Regret is Satans biggest weapon to use against Christians with a sinful past. You should have stayed on the pavement. You shouldn’t have cheated on your wife. You shouldn’t have miss treated that person who loved you. You’re ruined.
Your sins do not define you.
Today there is freedom in these words. I feel them. There’s freedom for you, you tired lonely Christian. You searching College student. He’s with you now.
He’s waiting for you with open arms.
What matters is that you get to him. Forget the wrong turns you made or pit stops for a soda. What matters is …
You have arrived.