“They should be rich in good works and generous to those in need, always being ready to share with others. By doing this they will be storing up their treasure as a good foundation for the future so that they may experience true life.”
— I Timothy 6:18b-19
The first time he grabbed my hand and said “Twirl!” I was sure he had lost his mind. Me? Twirl? A girl who didn’t know the first thing about dancing. A girl who’s dance card had been blank most of her life. Dreamed of it, yes. Participated, rarely. Hard for most to believe, but home for me bore roots that, just a few generations prior, had started in the Amish faith. So dancing, well. . . it just wasn’t something we did.
“Twirl!” he said again. This time already in motion, starting the move that would spin me around and land me back in his arms, I twirled. Teetering and unsteady, I was sure I’d trip or stumble or hit the ground. . .but instead I laughed. I was spinning!
Wobbly foundations have always freaked me out. Add heights to that and it’s nothing short of a petrifying elixir. So last week, as the masons were laying our foundation block, I watched from the safe shores of solid ground as day by day our basement began to emerge. Carefully designed and aligned, the walls were perfect. I’m guessing Matt, already walking down the 2 X 10 board perched over the gap, thought I was following. In truth, I was studying the 10-foot drop between the basement and the ground around the house. I noticed Matt stopped mid-step on the bouncing plank: Aren’t you coming? I looked at the drop, the rickety wood, the slippery edge of the ground that held the end of the board, the sharp drop-off, and the . . the . . “No. I can’t,” I said, walking away. My heart was racing. I felt warm and a bit flushed. When I finally decided to go back–lifting my foot to see if I actually could do it–all I could see was the board giving way from the earth and me slipping, tottering, stumbling, and bumbling all the way to the muddy gravel below.
I know, I know . . . there was Matt with his hand stretched out . . . someone I trust with my entire being . . . and still, I turned and walked away.
Why didn’t I go? Where was my faith? He had walked down the board, investigated the newly-laid block and then had come back up again. No problems. Why couldn’t I do it?
It made me wonder: Does God ever feel that way? His outstretched hand, waiting for me. What’s not to trust? Unfortunately there have been times I’ve turned my back and walked away. Does His heart break? Even when we’re promised a solid foundation beneath our quivering feet, why is it that we still doubt? Cowering in the shadows, giving into fear . . . only to lose out on something amazing. A little too much like Peter, I suppose.
I’m sorry, Lord.
This week, with all of the block laid and the gap between the foundation and the block starting to fill, we were ready to try out the sub floor. Even though I knew I wouldn’t have to walk the rickety plank, I still hesitated. The tightly nailed-down particle board floor, with no evidence of the 10-foot high earthen hole below, was waiting. When I stepped up onto the newly-laid boards, feeling that each step was solid and safe, the excitement of standing in our new house was thrilling! The groundwork of our home was laid and now, everything else was going to be built on top of that. The foundation had to be nothing short of stable and secure–rugged and robust–in order to support what was to come. All those rooms we designed and redesigned, tweaked and calibrated, to produce the final blueprint–signed, sealed and delivered–were ready to be built.
On that day, a gentle wind began to blow through our unframed house. As we stood on the foundation of our future home, Matt took me into his arms.
And we danced.
Sterling 