When God Calls: Entrusting Ourselves and Our Children to Him

Five years ago, I found myself sitting in a women’s conference. At the time, my husband and I believed that a huge transition was impending, and we were getting input on all sides, both positive and negative. Should we move across the world for ministry? Was it wise?

One of my greatest fears during these days and months was how our children would handle such a huge transition, especially due to the losses—mostly relational—they would experience. I didn’t feel like I could talk about it with anyone, so it became a deep groaning between me and the Lord. Will you provide for them? For all of us? 

Well-meaning friends took it upon themselves to tell us that surely such an upheaval would ruin our marriage, children, and family. After all, we were only about ten years into marriage and responsible for five still relatively small but rooted children. “What could you possibly be thinking?” they asked. 

Honestly, I couldn’t blame them. At times, my own fears in the face of the unknowns were too much. Yet my husband continually comforted my soul during those days: “The best thing for our children will always be that they have parents who obey the Lord.” 

I believe this, Lord. Help me to believe it more fully. 

But still, do you really have us? How can I be sure?

I can’t begin to know the reasons others leave everything they have known and loved and move somewhere totally different, but I know reasons that weren’t ours. It wasn’t for an adventure. It wasn’t to somehow save the world. It wasn’t because we were tired with our life and needed something new. No, in fact, I begged the Lord to close the door multiple times and would’ve been grateful had that been our story. We don’t and can’t force his hand. In the end, our soul's response remained, “If you provide the next step in this, God, please, give us the courage to take it.” Often, it felt like crossing a river in the fog, just seeing the next step and not knowing for sure what was on the other side.

Back to five years ago. At the conference, I listened to a woman share a gospel story I have heard tens—if not hundreds—of times: Jesus’s anointing at Bethany. Mary pours out her flask of oil on Jesus’s entire body, starting at his head down to his feet. I can’t help but notice that her ending posture resembled bowing. She poured it out—all of it. All of her precious, expensive perfume on Jesus, not holding any of it back for herself. 

It felt like I had been hit by a semi-truck as the Holy Spirit, in his ever gentle but clear way whispered in my soul, “Will you trust me with them? Will you pour them out for me?” 

God’s gifts—whether our children, material possessions, or a certain season of life—aren’t for us to hold onto tightly, as if we somehow deserve them. For what do we have that we have not been given?[1] And aren’t we, in the best clumsy way we know how to, supposed to ultimately offer them back to the Giver?

Before I knew it, my face was wet with tears. I saw at once the boundaries of my trust as a mom. I realized that what I really trusted in was my own logic—my own plans. When those weren’t lining up, my trust wasn’t really all that strong. But God was aiming to strengthen it—by walking me out of my comfort zone to a new place, new language, and new culture. 

Obedience to Jesus doesn’t need to be rash to be real. And he is patient and kind. He does not twist our arm; rather he invites us to himself. He welcomed the perfume but didn’t ever force Mary to anoint him. He didn’t sit smugly by while she poured herself out. He knew the cost to her. And when the disciples jump up to criticize her, Jesus responds in her defense: “Leave her alone . . . She has done a beautiful thing to me” (Mark 14:6). May we understand that our entrusting of ourselves and our children to God—our willingness to follow wherever he might lead—is likewise a beautiful offering of love unto him. An offering he is eternally worthy to receive.  

My husband and I took the leap and followed God’s lead to North Macedonia. And praise the Lord, our children are doing well. No, they don’t speak Macedonian fluently, but God has preserved and continues to preserve their hearts. He is growing them into the people he has created them to be. I see it. They have friends from all sorts of countries and mother tongues. Those who really know them see the peace they all have and the praise goes to God—the One worthy of pouring them out onto, again and again. The One who knows and loves them more than we do. 

And though it has gone through some difficult days, our marriage is strong as well, and we find ourselves unified in new ways. We have seen each other through panic attacks, countless misunderstandings, doubts, failures, and tears in the past four years abroad. And through it all, we have learned that vulnerability met with compassion grows intimacy. 

With God too, we find we can come vulnerably to him and he always meets us with compassion.[2] As we endeavor to go where he calls, we can lay our worries for our children and their futures at his feet. Following Jesus with all of our hearts and being the mom he has called us to be go hand in hand. As we walk by faith into places and outcomes unknown to us, he promises to go with us.[3] Our identity is secure in him—no matter what others may think. For what more could we ask than to be his sons and daughters? And we are. Glory to God. 

Oh God, “you have been our dwelling place” (Psalm 90:1). May you and you alone be our dwelling place forevermore.

[1] 1 Corinthians 4:7

[2] Psalm 103:13; Isaiah 30:18; Lamentations 3:32

[3] Matthew 28:20; Hebrews 13:5