Here is the good news: I know where I'm going to live in Seattle.
Here is the rub: a lot needs to happen in order for me to get there.
My "moving to-do list" has essentially exploded over the past week. I sometimes get up out of bed to write something down because I can't sleep knowing I'll forget the thing that just popped into my head by morning. I am not an accomplished lister. I make lists but have a tendency to half-finish them or put them in my pocket on my way to Target and then my list gets washed along with my jeans.
I was woken up at 4:30 this morning by the activity of my neighborhood, carried over from the night before. And immediately my mind begin to move. I lay awake until I was reminded to rest in the fact that two days ago I didn't know where I was going to live in Seattle, and now I do. I have been praying for weeks, along with many others (thank you!), for a good housing opportunity, something that would be the right fit and would give me peace in the midst of this transition. And then I found something. It is on the high end of my budget, which is where everything in Seattle is sitting in my budget, so far. But as I was praying for the right roommate, a good fit, I realized that in saying that prayer I also needed to exercise trust. This journey thus far has been about practicing the faith and trust that is so much easier to write about than do. Several people reminded me that in the petition for peace about housing, I needed to trust that God would provide. Because he can. And he does.
I have been meditating on two of David's most personal writings, Psalms 91 & 139. They have reminded me of God's withness and forness.
Most of the best things in life come with a little fear and trembling. "It was by faith that Abraham obeyed when God called him to leave home and go to another land that God would give him as his inheritance. He went without knowing where he was going."
And I know where I'm going. Which I realize now, is a gift, because God could have asked for the same step of faith from me as he did Abraham.
Preparing to move across the country is overwhelming. Making brioche is not. Sometimes you just have to do what you know.
So I baked up a couple loaves of brioche in the midst of my packing and smeared it with Trader Joe's fig butter, which has become such a hit in my family. I sat with my brioche and my coffee this morning – two of life's greatest comforts – and continued reading Mary Oliver's poems, settling on this remarkable piece on Praying:
It doesn't have to be
the blue iris, it could be
weeds in a vacant lot, or a few
small stones; just
pay attention, then patch
a few words together and don't try
to make them elaborate, this isn't
a contest but the doorway
into thanks, and a silence in which
another voice may speak.