(Summer 1999–Prayer Journaling while “Homeless in Seattle”)

Dear LORD Shepherd,
Hunger gnaws as I attempt to shed a few pounds instead of gaining them during these weeks of inactivity in motels. It is quiet here with no one to talk to but You. My eyes scan this room: Scratched nightstands hold orange, sixties-something lamps on both sides of this large bed. I lean against a faded orange vinyl headboard. A television sits on top of a dark bureau. Two vinyl chairs address a small, scuffed table. An ironing board waits against a blank wall for my husband’s white shirts. I no longer smell the old-motel-odor that greeted us when we first arrived because I since amalgamated with it. Engines rumble outside and traffic lights flash. An airplane roars overhead. Commercial buildings break the horizon.

I shall not want? But, I DO want! I want a steak dinner with dessert. I want my own beautiful home—a two-story in the country, complete with guest rooms and a fireplace. I want a home near our children, grandchildren, friends, and relatives. I want my husband home in the evenings, content in his work and ministry. I want to write books and have them published. The things I shall NOT want are debts, worries, sickness, loss, homelessness, and loneliness.

I stand before You, Shepherd of my life, and give all my wants to You. I need not cling to or insist upon having them. You are God. You are love. You are wise. I remember the story of a small child trying to quote the 23rd Psalm,“The Lord is my shepherd, that’s all I want.” Oh to have the faith of a child! Oh to be so completely satisfied in You that I too could so beautifully misquote this verse and say, You are all I want. I know Your love and presence are enough. “Lord, I believe. Help Thou my unbelief.”
. . .
LORD, we certainly aren’t lying down in “green pastures” right now—separated from our children, homeless, and out of our ministry vocation. How I pray this gypsy life-style will soon end. Please bring us home to our family, a church, and a house of our own. I can’t know the future. I have no assurance of how it will all turn out, or what You will do about it. But LORD, in the meantime maybe I can just lie down in Your peaceful presence. That will be enough. Maybe that is where You intended for me to lie down all along—simply resting in You. There is no place of greater safety.

“He leads me.” You don’t push. You don’t shove. You don’t even pull. Actually, there is someone I wouldn’t mind if You would push a little sometimes. He is about five foot ten, one hundred and sixty pounds, gray hair and beard. Know him? I’ve known him for the last thirty years, and let me tell You, I really think he could at least use a nudge in the right direction. I know I’m usually “chomping at the bit,” and I know this life partner You graced me with has protected me time and again from acting too quickly, too rashly. Yet this time, surely this time, You could work on speeding him up to make a decision on what to do.

It isn’t that I mind these days alone with You, or the writing I so love to do, but what kind of reputation do vagabonds have? People we know, who surely watch for the outcome of this drama, may think you abandoned us. What about the imposition this puts on our relatives who store our stuff? Yet, You gently lead. Your sheep know Your voice so You don’t have to push them, You simply call them and they follow.
. . .
I had precious little sleep last night. A bunch of drunks sang karaoke at the bar until after 2:00 a.m. from the restaurant next door to this motel room. Then at 5:30 a.m. the recycling truck backed under our second story window to collect a seemingly endless supply of bottles and cans, not to mention the loading devices grinding and whining. Just when those irritations finally faded into the distance, and I clung desperately to the hope of miraculously falling back to sleep, a garbage truck came to collect a week’s supply of motel and restaurant garbage!

Thank You for meeting me in those early morning hours and refreshing my spirit in Your Word. “Your compassions fail not. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness!” Lam. 3:22-23. Yet now with the growing darkness of another night comes an even greater weariness. In spite of my early morning joy, the burdens feel heavier and seemingly insurmountable mountains loom on the horizon. Tonight my husband shook his head and whispered, “I’m not doing well.” I knew what that meant. The shadow of depression is on him again—stealing the hope that life will ever change. It’s been ten months since our little church had to close its doors and he remains a displaced pastor. My heart sinks and my own faith is tested again.

Your sweet Spirit reminds me not to doubt in the darkness what You showed me in the light. You remind me that Your promise to care for us and go before us has not changed one pinch! When my soul is too weary to go on and the night is too dark to see what to do,“You will guide me with Your counsel, and afterward receive me to glory” Psa. 73:24. You reprogram my heart and mind. I choose to trust You and once again You restore my soul!
. . .
Today is the last day of our on-the-road job. Last night was the last night of living in a motel. Tomorrow we fly to Alaska for a month to visit our children and check out the job market. This is a time to celebrate! You blessed me these past weeks of homelessness in many unforeseen ways. You created a banquet of provision right in the middle of trouble and hardship. As I passed through the Valley of Weeping, You showed me how to make it a place of springs and You covered it with blessings as plentiful as the autumn rains (Psa. 84:6).

“Living on the road” we could rest from all the stress of selling our home, packing, moving, storing our stuff, and the adjustment of an empty nest. While in motels and enduring frozen dinners, there was no house cleaning, planning or preparing meals, or entertaining house guests, and I even lost unneeded pounds. During this time I spent many hours alone with You and in Your Word—uninterrupted time!

You inspired me to make this valley a place of springs. This normally arid place blossomed and became a fruitful time to write devotionals. I’m amazed as I look back at Your plan and purpose in using such a difficult place for so much blessing. I could not have imagined it!

I am ready to move on, but as long as You kept us in this situation, You provided more than strength to endure. You set a banquet before me in the presence of the enemies of insecurity, joblessness, homelessness, and purposelessness. Even though we cannot understand our circumstances, I acknowledge Your hand of love, power, and wisdom to make our paths straight. You are our loving, lavish Provider in the most unexpected places!