Spirit Lead Me

Every time I hear the song Oceans, one line in particular stirs my heart:

"Spirit lead me where my trust is without borders. Let me walk upon the waters, wherever You would call me…"

Over the course of our marriage, God has called us to move across four different states.

Oklahoma gave us roots and family. Texas gave us beaches—and sand. So much sand. Sand in every crevice of our minivan. Arkansas gave us fourteen wonderful years, lifelong friends, and enough humidity to test anyone's religion. Now God has brought us to New Mexico, where we are learning a new rhythm of life. 

Once again, He is leading me into deeper waters. Part of me is excited. Part of me would rather stay safely near the shore. However, just like our steps of faith before, we have seen God’s hand in the move. 

Several years before my daughter, Sarah,  died, I had asked God for a promise from Scripture because I was weary from watching her struggle with mental illness. He led me to Isaiah 43:19:

"Behold, I am doing a new thing. Do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert."

After Sarah’s death, I chose that verse as the foundation of Rewritten Ministries because I believed God could make a way through the wilderness of my grief and use my story for His glory. What I didn't know was that less than a year later, He would literally lead us into the wilderness—to a home beside the Rio Grande. Our little ranch is covered with towering cottonwood trees. There are fruit trees everywhere, a vineyard growing grapes, and chickens.  Somewhere along the way, I've become a chicken person. I read chicken magazines and follow chicken influencers. Apparently, that's a thing.

When we bought the property, it was the dead of winter. We were told everything would come alive in the spring. We simply had to trust what we couldn't yet see. Isn't that what following God so often looks like?

There was something especially difficult about leaving Arkansas. The first Mother's Day after Sarah died, I was exhausted by grief. I knew she loved Jesus. I knew she was with Him. But it was Mother's Day, and she wasn't with me.

I prayed a simple prayer. "Lord, would you just reassure me that she's okay?"

A few days later, I walked into our backyard garden.

When we bought the house years earlier, the previous owners had planted white rose bushes throughout the garden. Five of them lined the outside wall beneath Sarah's bedroom windows.

That morning, every rose bush in the garden was blooming white—except the two directly beneath her windows.

They were blooming red.

They continued to bloom red every summer afterward. It took my breath away because every year on my birthday she brought me red roses. Leaving those bushes behind was one of the hardest parts of moving. But God had already given me His promise.

"I am doing a new thing... I am making a way in the wilderness."

The first evening we arrived at our new home, I walked the property for the first time in bloom. Tears filled my eyes. Scattered across several acres were rose bushes of every color imaginable. I had left behind a handful of roses I treasured. God welcomed me with hundreds I never expected.

Isn't that just like Him? We cling tightly to what we can see, while He is already preparing something greater than we could imagine. Sarah would have loved it.

There are chapters of our stories that will always hurt this side of eternity. But I have learned that God never wastes anything. He is able to rewrite even our deepest pain as He weaves it into the greater story of redemption.

Maybe you're standing in your own wilderness today, wondering whether God can make a way. Wondering if you can trust Him with your next chapter. My prayer is that you'll have the courage to step into deeper waters, believing that the Author of your story is already there. He has been there all along. He has been rewriting every part of your story—the good and the hard—into a testimony of His faithfulness and a love letter to a hurting world.