September 11, 2022
A week ago, it was a theoretical dream. Now, it’s a contract with a guy to widen our garage door and an order for handles for the 3 interior and 2 exterior doors. There’s money on the table.
Renovating this space will take time and money. Especially because we want it to feel nice. Beautiful. Luxurious, even. If you’re going to step out of your busy life for a brief respite, get vulnerable with yourself, make space for deep soul work, we think it should feel like a treat. We want you to be excited about stepping into this space, if not for the deep soul work then for the luxe satin brass doorknobs and posh feeling candles. We’re ordering samples of Art Deco swan wallpaper. This will not be a rustic cabin.
I’ve started putting together a list of things I think we’ll need to outfit the space. I’m sure the shortfalls of this list will be the source of much future laughter. But it’s a start. As I wrote this all down, I had a radical thought. What if instead of rushing to buy it all, I started by putting it before God and asking for these needs to be provided?
God has a funny way of answering oddly specific prayers. Not just the “give me a parking spot please!” prayers, although I admit to making those from time to time. But when we come to God with the humility of genuine need, specific enough to risk being disappointed or embarrassed if our pleas do not seem to be answered as hoped, it creates the possibility of something remarkable: uncanny miraculous provision, which meets not only the felt tangible need, but the deeper intangible need to be seen, known, cared for by a loving, generous God.
Twenty years ago I lived in a hotel room in Southern California with four other women for a summer, a kind of incarnational mission trip embedding us in the conditions of urban poverty of those we were aiming to serve through volunteer internships. We lived on a shared pool of very little money, no phones or computers, no credit cards or discretionary cash. Early on we realized we wouldn’t be able to afford much in the way of fresh produce, and set hard limits on the amount of fruit and veggies each person could consume each day. This filled me with dread. Even then I loved food, and it just didn’t sound fun. But more than that, I was worried I’d break out and gain weight, emerge from the summer as an ugly duckling. My mother, who grew up in Southern California, was matter of fact. “Plenty of people have trees with more fruit than they can eat.” And she prayed they would share.
You know what? They did. Someone came home from their internship with a bag of gifted lemons that very day.
I don’t know how God will provide for Rock Creek Sanctuary; maybe through a gifted bag of lemons, maybe through work that continues to come our way, paying enough for us to invest out of the abundance we’ve been given. But I do know God will have to provide for this to work.
I pondered that radical thought: what if instead of immediately providing for these needs in my own way, I wait and see how God provides for us? (The need to find the right fit for our decidedly non-rustic retreat vibe, let alone pay for it!) It took root inside me, like a divine invitation to stand back and watch a loving, generous God at work. No one is forcing me. But maybe rushing in would mean missing out on a bag of lemons that would remind me of God’s faithfulness and loving care twenty years from now. So here it goes. Stay tuned for remarkable accounts of uncanny miraculous provision.
- Twin sheets x 4
- Queen sheets x 2
- Twin comforter x 2
- Queen comforter x 1
- Blankets x 4
- Pillowcases x 6
- Pillows x 6
- Lamps x 3
- Linens storage boxes x 3
- Rug (sheepskin?)
- Rug (bathroom)
- Plant(s)
- Soap dispenser
- Mat (for kitchen)
- Curtains (for window)
- Roller skates (vintage)
And God, please make them beautiful.
