The Steadfast Heart

In 3 weeks, I’ll be moving to a new place with new beginnings. I’ll start over in finding all of my familiar places like walking paths and coffee shops. I’ll figure out the traffic patterns around our new neighborhood and find the best time of day to go grocery shopping again.

And while I think about those kinds of changes, it doesn’t take up nearly as much of my time than one other thought. When I leave this town weeks from now, I’m not sure that many people will realize I’m gone. And that is what quiets me the most.

I have a tendency to reflect on the past more often than I would care to admit to you, and from my reflections I craft my reasoning for my present decisions. Like how in the last 6 months, I’ve withdrawn from people in this community after a long period of initiating with moms from church and women my age I’ve met around town. I’ve been told by multiple people that it just wasn’t a good season for them to get together in the midst of raising kids and my texting conversations that sound like, “When are you free? I have Thursday morning available.” abruptly end after sharing my calendar. It’s hard not to believe that a year of stillness in my relationships won’t roll over for me into the next place. I’m not sure if my efforts weren’t enough or if I wasn’t exciting enough or deep enough or shallow enough…or if it was all simply out of my control the last 3 years.

I found myself diving deeper into what I could control, which was my work and my contributions to a company. In some ways, it has served as a life line for me. In other ways, it has brought equanimity to me. And then there have been the times where it’s felt like having a virtual job limits and prohibits my growth simply by not being proximate.

So that’s what has been weighing me in the last 6 weeks since finding out we’d be moving. It caused me to pause when I think about the life I’ve lived over the last 3 years and the low impact it feels like I’ve made in this town and I fear to repeat it again. There’s also a small part of me that wrestles with the idea of moving for my husband’s job with no clear direction on what’s to come for me.

I’ll keep my job, but will things continue to shift the less I’m able to visit the store? Will I be able to help people become the best versions of themselves as people and as leaders from an hour away? Will there be young moms like me who would want to get to know me or would want me to get to know them? Will our new church welcome us or have a community? Will Hunter’s new basketball community accept our family for who we are or what my husband can do for their sons?

As I was driving home on country roads Sunday night reflecting on our season in this town and thinking over what’s yet to come in the next place, I asked God if I’m ever going to feel like I’m home. And if shooting stars can work like thoughts, this is what came to my mind from the Lord:

“Natalie, I want you to know what Hagar knew. That I am the God that sees you. I not only see you, but I hear and know your heartbreak.”

What I know about Hagar was that she was told over and over that her life didn’t count in so many ways to a point where even when the real voices stopped, her inner critic would pick up where they left off. She felt used and forgotten. She was mocked and resented by people who also seemed to be following God. Can you imagine that kind of confusion on who to trust? She was forced to flee into the unknown, pregnant and alone and I can’t imagine the agony of feeling like the weight of the world is on your shoulders, just to survive.

So while I don’t have anything worked out for what’s to come that’s concrete, this I know. He saw me in this town and he will see me in and through the next one. He has seen my work and will find me at my same desk weeks from now. He not only made sure Hagar knew she was seen by him, but he provided for her needs in the chapters of her life that followed.

He sees me. And he sees you. He sees every meal you made alone in the kitchen, every time you’ve pushed a lawn mower across the yard, and every instance you went out of your way to make someone else stand a little taller.

You’re not hidden and what you do does count when it feels like no one cares to watch, and you matter when it feels like you don’t. He wants you to know what Hagar knew. And I pray that you sense him whispering that to you like the hundreds of times I’ve needed him to whisper that to me.

May you be confident of what Hagar knew: that you belong to the God who sees you. And to the God who has chosen you for the person you are and who has a purpose for your life if you’re willing to let him know you from the inside out.

Take care & take heart,

Natalie