Welcome

Welcome Home

How do you pack up all your things and shuffle them around trying to decide what stays, what goes, and what gets thrown out? How do you hold back the tears of unwrapping bits of your deferred dreams over and over? How do you create a home in a place that looks bare and uninviting, but holds potential?

Time.

Kairos. The right or opportune moment.

(and a little help from family who decides to just grab all your stuff because they’re not emotionally invested in it….)

So many things in life need a little bit more time.  God’s timing hardly ever seems to be my timing.  My timing would find me packing for Africa last year.  My timing wouldn’t find me walking up steps to a new home in the same snowy place.

But here in the moments of “excuse me, what are you doing, God?” He’s with us.  Beckoning us to hold on to hope.  Reminding us to keep worshipping Him through all situations and circumstances.  Hindsight will show so much.  Wait for it because then we’ll see the beauty of His timing.  We’ll be celebrating up and down the streets with thanksgiving.

And a little side note love that sets my heart singing is that the very word Kairos sounds so very much like Kyrios. The Kyrios that sweet Angie Smith talked about at Women of Faith.  The Lord. The one my heart loves. The Kyrios who Peter called out to on the water to come save him.  A Kyrios who knows the Kairos for you.  He knows the perfect time for everything.

Rest in that even when all seems lost.  Goodness is on its way.

Have you seen how God’s timing is different than yours? What helps you keep grounded when the timing isn’t happening when you’d like?

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6 thoughts on “Welcome

  1. It seems like life tends to happen at the worst times – at least what I would consider the worst. It seems, though, that it happens at the best times for me to turn to God, which I suppose is the point, anyway.

  2. “Rest in that even when all seems lost. Goodness is on its way.”

    yes. yes. yes. such a good reminder. love this katy. and love seeing you writing again. . .

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