Robyn.Bowles.es

My friend Brooke wrote a post the other day about acting “so middle school.” Adults behaving immaturely. I was glad to read it – to find out I’m not the only one that has tendency toward immaturity more often than I’d like to admit.

I think I act “so middle school” (or “Junior High” as one commenter offered) when I have to wait for something I deeply desire and I really have no control over it: Bascially, when it’s ALL in God’s hands. I sigh, plead with God, cry, sulk, dream of how it could be and bemoan not having it. Despite my efforts to be patient, to have faith, to trust that “it will all work out,” my immature flesh often wins.

I’ve been fighting my Jr. High tendencies as we look for a home. We’ve been without a place we can call all our own for over three years now. At first it was fun, exciting, an adventure. Now it’s a burden – we are a burden, we’ve been a burden on others for a year now. We’re finally in the place where we can settle for awhile; and I’m ready for my own home, and I want it NOW!

Sometimes I wonder if it a test: I wonder, “if I just stay positive and not talk about it for 1 day, 2 days, 3 days?, then God will provide?” Well, I can go about 2 hours while awake without at least a momentary obsession about it (getting absorbed in a TV show helps).

We looked at a great apartment today. In fact, I think it gets greater in my mind the more I think about it. I loved it right away – even though it’s smaller than we had hoped, it had so many other qualities on my list of things God knows I want and need: A great park very close, quiet streets, very new, decent furniture, central air and heat, an elevator, lots of light, a huge open patio just down the stairs . . . I was ready to hand the guy thousands of euros in cash to be able to get it. Then we heard the “but.” Another couple from a town 3 hours away had called before we did yesterday and was driving in this evening just to see it. If they liked it, he’d have to give it to them. My heart sank.

We knew he’d be showing it at 7pm, and I figured we would have heard within an hour. It’s after midnight – no news. We tried to call him, but just got voice mail.

It’s hard to be in this place of cautious hope, an unlikely hope that plagues my mind with “maybe . . . , but why didn’t he call us back then?”

I haven’t been sleeping well this week. It’s hard to sleep when I’m constantly praying, pleading for a place to call home, but it’s time to try.

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