The message of the ark

Ever get hit with news you did not expect — and did not want? This is how 2024 is beginning for me. However, unlike the New Year's Day fog, it is not as dismal as it seems. I credit this to God's guidance.

I'd heard the early rumblings at our grandson's Florida wedding in November — talk that was confirmed on Christmas Day. After nearly nine years, living little more than an hour away, our daughter and family are moving to Kentucky. There are still four children at home — with whom I have interacted for all, or most, of their lives. 

It happened suddenly — our son-in-law garnering a position at the well-known Ark Encounter and Creation Museum venue — visited by millions of tourists. Having flown to his interview and securing the job, they are packing up. I've had to absorb this major change in two stages — maybe and done.

An almost impossible occurrence cushioned the “maybe” news. At the rehearsal lunch our grandson gave me a gift he'd brought home to Florida months earlier from his trip to Malawi. It was a small enclosed wood boat with "Noah's ark" lettered on it. Lifting the lid, inside were stored carvings of pairs of animals. The next day at his wedding reception, I learned his parents and younger siblings might be moving to the Noah's Ark attraction vicinity.

I didn't make the surreal connection at first, but then I did. How do you account for a gift that mirrors a move — purchased unknown and unplanned long before the move was even an idea. The odds of such an occurrence must be astronomical. I saw a God who is in the details reassuring me that He was in this.

The “done” news landed five weeks later. By this time I understood this was a good and right move — but I was still having a hard time accepting it. Then came another reassurance. Our pastor's message going into the new year cited the story of Jesus calling His first disciples. They were fishermen — who left their nets immediately and followed Him. He called them from their lives — their place, as they knew it — and promised something more.

Our family was leaving their nets — picking up and heading east — in response to what God had opened for them. Like the fishing brothers Simon Peter and Andrew, they did not hesitate to accept the invitation to follow. 

I am not their anchor. I cannot keep them tethered to me. All I'm doing is providing drag if I continue to bemoan their leaving. Instead, I need to cheer them on — to share their vision — to pray for their success in this new venture. 

It's been a bumpy few weeks accepting all this. The actual departure is still a month away — and I'm sure farewell tears will fall — seen or unseen. We've made boatloads of memories in our nine years living nearby. But now it's time for them to make new ones — to reach for this exciting opportunity, with God as their Anchor.

And when I find myself missing them I've got a little ark of my own to keep me afloat.