With four kids, travel is not in the budget.
With the calendar, time off is not in the schedule.
Anytime we have been able to take a trip, it has been with family.
Gulf Shores for visits and Arkansas for reunions.
Never had we done a trip of this magnitude, all by ourselves, just as our family of six.
In a word, it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
Husband and birthday boy were sent on a plane to Sacramento to enjoy a couple of days celebrating the boy turning double digits.**
The other three boys and I meandered our way through New Mexico (stopping at Carlsbad Caverns and the White Sands) and Arizona (exploring the Painted Desert) and joined up with the other two in Yosemite National Park for three days of camping and hiking.
If you know me well or have sat under any of my teachings, you will know one of my biggest struggles and deepest griefs is my inability to have more children.
Yes, I have four. Yes, they are beautiful and brilliant and I wouldn't trade them for anything.
Yes, I'm living out what I always wanted to be when I grow up; a mom.
I get it. I know it. But a hurt is a hurt is a hurt.
And it has been in this hurt that God has stripped away everything from me so I might realize how desperately needy I am.
See, it wasn't my choice not to have any more kids In the midst of some dark and painful marital struggle, my husband put his foot down and opted to have a procedure done that rendered him sterile. A vasectomy, to be explicit.
Let me just say that at that point in our marriage, it wasn't a case of us being on different pages; rather, we were in completely different books.
As you can imagine (or maybe you can't), the next few years were awful. The "trying to pretend it didn't happen" turned into bitterness, which turned into anger, which turned into grieving.
I cannot tell you the amount of baby showers I excused myself out of and the amount of birth announcements I wept over. The hopelessness and helplessness I felt at the situation -- that my wishes and desires were dismissed -- and there was nothing, absolutely nothing, I could do to change it, rolled over me as a constant reminder of what would not be.
I felt ashamed and ugly on the good days.
So much was lost during those years in our marriage, the most being the time lost to "what could have been" instead of focusing on the "what is."
I learned so much about humility and God's grace.
I wrestled with His goodness and His sovereignty and discovered one is not separate from the other.
I saw that his ways are truly higher than my ways and his thoughts are most definitely not my thoughts.
By the time we stood on that mountain in California, I had heeded the call loud and clear to go back to school. That came after God made it clear that my holding out hope that more kids would come would indeed not happen. Not just a "no, not right now" but a firm, "no, not at all."
The opening of one door (returning to school) was difficult because it had come at the cost of a closed door (not growing our family).
Yet, I knew God was calling me to something else -- not necessarily better or more than -- just different.
So off I went, backpack, pencils, textbooks, and insecurities, to embark on a journey I had neither hoped for nor wanted but was choosing to do it out of obedience.
The three-mile hike up this trail (Columbia Trail) leads to a lookout point; a 180-degree unobstructed view of the Valley.
It's breathtaking and awe-inspiring.
The entire time up the trail, mom that I am, I was being the pack-mule for the backpack loaded with first-aid supplies, snacks and water bottles, reapplying bug spray, fielding the "are we there yet?" mantras, and retying shoelaces.
I didn't notice much as we gained the 1,000 foot elevation; I was too busy taking head count and alternating piggy-back rides for tired boys.
We finally made it and I had the boys sit under some shade to have a snack, and it was then I lifted my eyes to take in what I had been missing the previous two hours.
What I saw took my breath away.
What I heard made every single doubt disappear.
"Do you see it? This is all yours, Laurel. If you would only stop looking at what isn't and look at what is, you would see I've given you everything."
It was as though all the scheduling, all the dreaming, all the hoping that goes into planning a trip like the one we were on came down to that moment. God brought me out to Yosemite National Park in the midst of the Sierra Nevadas to give me a glimpse of all that he had been doing in those years of hurt and confusion, and would continue doing, as I continually entrusted myself to Him.
Never before had I felt the depth of care and compassion from the Lord that I felt in that moment.
To know he has this all in hand.
To know he is unfolding a beautiful plan for me, even if it is not one I would have chosen for myself.
To know he alone fulfills the deepest desires of my heart.
To know he is a God of yeses and opportunities - he does not call the equipped, but equips the called.
To know he gives lavishly, despite knowing my selfish and doubting heart.
To know in all my wandering, in all my questioning, in all my times of being in a desert valley, he has never left me nor forsaken me.
To know he has been and continues to do things far beyond my comprehension.
Standing there was an ebenezer moment for me. Or as my mama puts it, my "aha" moment.
I understood it like I had never understood it before.
God is, day by day, revealing his glory and his goodness as only he can in ways only he can.
While there are still moments of "I wish", it no longer wracks me with the grief and shame it did once. I never thought I would be able to say this, but the faithful wounding that occurred during those years, the nights of loneliness and despair, the wrestling deeply with God, have been worth all the learning that his love is far more vast and precious than my heart can possibly take in. To have this treasure in such a fragile jar of clay; to see just a shadow of the things to come, to understand deeply why I need Jesus so desperately, has been immeasurably more valuable than gaining the world and fulfilling what I see as best.
If you're in a season that is toilsome at best and painful at worst, draw your heart closer to the Lord. As John Piper says, "God is currently doing 10,000 things in your life and you are aware of maybe three."
The Lord has not left you, he has not forgotten you. He is there, arms open, calling to you, no matter how you feel. Get in the Word, gather two or three women that you can be vulnerable and transparent with about your struggles, talk with God about your thoughts, and trust him. He loves you more than you can fathom.
**We take a cue from Wild at Heart by John Eldridge and do special trips to mark certain years in our boys' lives. When our boys turn 10, they get a special trip, just the boy and dad, tailor made to their interests. When they are 13, dad and boy will again embark on a special trip, this time a missionary one. We'll do something special for 16 and 18, but haven't quite figured those out yet.
