Summer time is a tricky thing. I love the freedom of no schedules and kids home all day and lots of time for anything we choose. However, I do not thrive in the reality of no schedules and kids home all day and lots of time for anything we choose.
I once took a personality test and my results came back 99% introverted. Summer offers a lot of time for people-ing. So much people-ing. So no time for introversion, lots of questions, conversations, louder conversations, very loud conversations, no schedule, three meals a day, sixty-five million snacks and WOW. I can do a tail-spin in a real quick hurry unless I work really hard to be a better version of myself in this foreign summer land.
So I walk. I walk for the quiet. I walk for exercise. I walk for time to pray. And I walk to keep my sanity. Headphones in, something to occupy the littles (often the four wheeler or dirt bike making laps around me), and I am off down the driveway for a quick walk. Several laps a day keep the looney bin away.
And so it was this morning…
Four years ago today, we were headed into our third surgery for our oldest son. He has had chronic ear issues for the majority of his life and his surgical history is abundant. I have lost track of the number of times we have had to visit a hospital in the early hours of the morning for whatever is the latest solution that proves to only be a bandaid in a bullet wound. Sometime last year, the ENT that we were seeing recommended we see a specialist in Houston. The issues in his ear were complex and progressing and once again, it seemed we would need another surgery.
Frustrated with the prospect of another bandaid and intimidated with the idea of driving two hours to meet someone we didn’t know in hopes that we could trust their medical wisdom, I surrendered. For some time, I had considered the idea of calling a college friend of ours. A renowned and highly acclaimed ENT with training from some of the best in the nation, I thought maybe he could help. If I was going to see a specialist, then I would rather make the drive home to someone I knew and trust. I messaged him and explained our possible diagnosis and asked if he thought it was something he could treat. “Actually, Erin, that’s my specialty. That’s right in my wheelhouse.”
So this morning as I walked my laps, my mind raced and bounded to all the things that fill my day. I spent some time praying and was admittedly distracted. My prayers landed on an issue we are facing that seems to have an impossible outcome. We are circling the mountain and wondering how on earth a solution will come through. But as I walked, I chose to turn from the mountain and focus on my God– my God who is great and renowned and acclaimed. And as I bounced between the mountain and Mountain Mover, I heard a gentle whisper, “Actually, Erin, that’s my specialty. Bring me the impossible. That’s right in my wheelhouse.”
Whatever you are facing today, bring God your impossible. Bring Him the mountain that can’t be moved. He is the God who specializes in making a way where there seems to be no way. And when we focus our attention on Him and His ability to come through for us, the size of the mountain seems to diminish and the size of our faith begins to swell. And our faith activates the promises of the Father.
Bring Him your impossible today. That’s right in His wheelhouse…