Michelle DeRusha

Every Day Faith. Faith Every Day.

Old Testament

To the Land I Will Show You

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I have always loved the start of a brand-new year. I relish swapping out the wrinkled, scribbled planner for a brand-new one chock-full of white pages and empty squares. I love to make resolutions, to list out goals, to dream and plan. I love that the dawning of a new year offers the perfect opportunity to reflect on what has passed and plan for what is to come.

I spent some time over the holidays thinking back on 2019. It was a year of big change and transition for me – both  professionally and personally – as I stepped out of the publishing arena, put book-writing on the back-back-back burner, turned my attention to my work at The Salvation Army and began to figure out who I am and who I want to be.

The year was not without sorrow. Case in point: I bawled my eyes out at the end of the new Little Women film, as Jo stood behind the plate-glass window and watched her novel being typeset, printed and bound. The joy and satisfaction on her face as she held her first book in her hands pricked a tender spot in me, and as I left the theater all glassy-eyed, still dabbing at my nose with a Kleenex, I couldn’t help but panic a little bit: “Why on earth did I quit? What have I done?!”

Still, when I look back at all of 2019, I feel solidly good. On one hand, not much happened – at least outwardly. But the transformation that has taken place within made it one of the most exhilarating years of my life. I’ve stripped a lot away; I’ve been pruned back to what feels like my pith. This past year marked the beginning of a journey toward reclaiming myself – a journey that will continue for as long as I am alive.

At the same time I am sensing a restlessness, a low-level agitation humming beneath the surface of these early January days. I feel like there is a “next thing” on the horizon – the problem is, I don’t yet know what that “next thing” is. I’m confident that writing will continue to be an important part of my personal story and my vocation, but I am still uncertain as to what shape it will take. A new creative project? A more substantial commitment to non-profit work? Blog writing? Something else altogether?  The role writing will play in my life going forward is still a shifting mirage in the far-off distance.

In the quiet early morning of New Year’s Eve, tucked into the corner of my brother- and sister-in-law’s sofa in Minnesota, eight inches of freshly fallen snow blanketing the back yard, I read the story in Genesis of Abram’s calling, specifically these words:

“The Lord said to Abram: ‘Go forth from your land, from your relatives and from your father’s house to a land that I will show you.’” (12:1)

The distance between Haran – Abram and his wife Sarai’s current town of residence – to the new land God had for them in Canaan was about 400 miles. Abram didn’t know which land, exactly, God had for him. He didn’t know where it was, what it looked like or how long it would take to travel there. He couldn’t see Canaan from where he stood in Haran. And yet, with his wife, his nephew Lot, and his livestock and people, he set out for that unseen land. Abram simply trusted God at his word. He trusted God would tell him when he had arrived at the place God had for him.

Turns out, like Abram, I’m en route to the place God has for me. This place has not yet been revealed. I can’t yet see it from where I stand, and I don’t really have any idea what it will look like. It is, at this point, a matter of trust – trust that God will indeed show me not only the land I am traveling to, but also the way to get there.

When You Don’t Get the Exact Answer You’re Looking For

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Memorial Park2

I recently made a startling discovery. As I hunched over a stack of crumpled pay stubs, invoices, and receipts and punched calculator buttons until my fingertips were numb in an attempt to prepare my 2015 taxes, I realized that I’ve earned less total income this year than last. This is not good for a person who makes her living as a self-employed writer.

The realization immediately prompted a flurry of questions and panicky prayers. Should I start looking for a traditional job? I asked God. Should I wait out this season of uncertainty? Should I try to eke out more freelance work? What’s your plan for me?

The more I prayed, the more specific my prayers got. Tell me what to do, I pleaded. Give me a sign; show me which steps to take.

Moses had a similar heart-to heart with God when the Israelites were wandering in the wilderness. Things hadn’t been going particularly well for the new leader. Not only had his people crafted a golden calf to worship, they were also grumbling non-stop, pestering Moses about where they were headed and blaming him for their miserable existence.

Frustrated, Moses laid it all on the line with God. “You have been telling me, ‘Lead these people, but you have not let me know whom you will send with me,” he said. “If you are pleased with me, teach me your ways so I may know you and continue to find favor with you.” (Exodus 33:12-13)

Moses demanded specifics – “Whom will you send with me?” – as well as a clear strategy – “Teach me your ways.”

God heard Moses’ plaintive questions and his yearning for specifics, yet he answered in a way Moses did not likely expect. “My Presence will go with you,” the Lord assured his devoted leader, “and I will give you rest.” (Exodus 33:14)

Like Moses, I didn’t receive a specific answer, detailed instructions, or even the answer I desired from God the day I blurted my panicky prayers. Instead, I was reminded of God’s promise to his people – the promise he made to Moses in ancient times, the promise he still has for us today.

We may want the step-by-step plan, but we get something even better, something that will carry us through even the most challenging circumstances. We get God’s presence.

God is who he says he is: Emmanuel — God with us.

When You Need Someone Else’s Eyes to See

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tulip

A couple of years ago, I found myself smack in the middle of the wilderness. My proposal for a second memoir had been rejected by more than a dozen publishers, and I had no idea which step to take next.

My editor suggested that I write a much different book instead – a biography of Martin and Katharina Luther. The problem was, I felt unqualified. I imagined a professor writing that biography – someone who wore tweed, smoked a pipe and listened to opera on NPR; someone much smarter than me.

I didn’t write the proposal my editor wanted. Instead, I told him I would “think about it,” and then I swept the idea under the rug.

A few weeks later, I mentioned the biography in an email exchange with a good friend. “I agree with your editor,” she replied immediately. “I think you are the perfect person to write this book. I really believe God is in this.”

When Moses was in the wilderness, he turned to his brother-in-law and asked for help. “Please do not leave us,” Moses begged Hobab. “You know where we should camp in the wilderness, and you can be our eyes.”(Numbers 10:31)

Blinded by uncertainty and anxiety, Moses understood the value of an another perspective. He understood that his brother-in-law could serve as his eyes, to help seek out opportunity in the unfamiliar terrain.

Often when we find ourselves in the middle of difficult circumstances, we turn inward, consumed by questions and self-doubt. Yet God gives us community for a reason. He puts particular people in our lives to serve as guides and advisors, to point the way when we can’t see it ourselves.

Like Moses’ brother-in-law, my friend was able to see what I couldn’t. I hadn’t recognized the opportunity because it hadn’t looked exactly the way I’d imagined or expected it should. But my friend saw what I had missed, and she encouraged me in the right direction. She was my eyes in the wilderness when I couldn’t see beyond the next bend.

Why God Gives Us Boundaries

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fence

The backyard of my childhood home bordered an apple orchard and, beyond that, a forest of stately pine trees that swayed and whispered in the wind. My sister and I were allowed to explore to the far edge of the orchard, but my parents deemed the pine forest off-limits.

The fact that the pine forest was forbidden territory just made it all the more enticing. Perched high in one of the tallest trees deep in the middle of the woods was a dilapidated treehouse. Jeanine and I dared each other to climb the planks that were nailed to the trunk, a makeshift ladder leading to a hole cut into the floorboards far above our heads.

Thankfully we were both too afraid to climb very high. I shudder to think what might have happened if one of us had been brave enough to make it all the way to the top and stand on the rickety floor of that old tree house. I doubt the rotted wood would have held our weight.

When God blessed the Israelites with his gift of the Promised Land, he did not give them free reign over all the land, but instead named clear boundaries on every side – mountain ranges, the Mediterranean Sea, and the Jordan River. God said to Moses, “Command the Israelites and say to them: ‘When you enter Canaan, the land that will be allotted to you as an inheritance is to have these boundaries…This will be your land, with its boundaries on every side.’” (Numbers 34:1-2 and 12)

Boundaries often feel negative to us. We feel constrained and limited by them. We might wonder why God is intentionally holding us back by inhibiting us from entering the place we desire to be. But what we fail to recognize is that boundaries are often good for us. Boundaries keep our ambitions and desires in check; they give us time to mature and prepare.

I often find myself wishing for more success as a writer. I desire more readers, better book sales, and more speaking engagements. If God gave me the call to write, I wonder, why isn’t he growing my reach?

Recently, however, when I published a blog post that was shared hundreds of times on Facebook, broadening the reach of my words far beyond their typical range, I got a small taste of what that kind of visibility can be like in reality. The post was more controversial than my usual fare, and it provoked several readers to leave angry comments on my website and Facebook page. Three days after the post was published, I was still negotiating ugly conversations on social media, which left me feeling anxious and angry. Turns out, more readers did not produce the outcome I had desired.

The boundaries God gives us are just one of the many ways he surrounds us with his love and protection. Just as my parents knew that the pine forest was a dangerous place for my sister and me, God sees the potential threats that await outside the boundaries he gives us. He understands our limitations; he knows where we are weak and where we will falter. He knows when we need more time to grow in ways that will help us survive and thrive beyond the place he has established for us today.

God intentionally hems us in, giving us boundaries in our professional and personal lives not to punish us, but to protect us from harm.

This post originally ran in the Lincoln Journal Star in January. 

Weekend One Word: Back

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Back

Where or what is “back that way” for you?

Maybe it’s a bad habit. Or a sin you’re tempted to repeat. Perhaps it’s an unhealthy or destructive pattern from which God has rescued you. Or maybe it’s simply a familiar, comfortable place from your past, a place that was easier than the place God wants you right now.

“Don’t go back to Egypt,” God warns the Israelites. Don’t go back to what enslaved you, God warns his people. Don’t go back to your old ways.

What’s “back that way” for you? Whatever it is, don’t go there, God says. Don’t retrace your steps; don’t turn around and go back the way you’ve come. Stay the course; trust him; follow him. “You have not yet reached the resting place and the inheritance the Lord your God is giving you.” (Deuteronomy 12:9)

Amen.