Abundance and the Hare
Some time ago, my love and I set out on a journey looking for Abundance. We danced our fairy tale courtship; picnics, meanderings, and phone calls lasting far longer than the vast commute time between us. Vows were inevitably exchanged. Better Half promised the moon and always the last spoon of gelato. We swayed to Lavender’s Blue while the disco ball revolved overhead. Abundance was dancing alongside us.
And then, life transpired. Abundance became elusive and harder to trace. Maybe the bounty we desired was overseas in Dannevirke, that charming Danish settlement in New Zealand, surrounded by sheep and lush emerald green. We’ll never know. We left it behind for the familiar life in Canada.
Psalm 16:11 tells us that “In [His] presence is fullness of joy.” According to David, we can experience fullness of joy simply by walking with God. We can be filled full; whatever life season, whatever corner of the world we call home, whatever our bank balance.
Abundance, I think I’ve missed you at times, in the restless quest for more. I thought you’d be waiting in the new job position; a lemon scented fresh start. I figured you’d arrive with the keys to our future dream dwelling place, complete with spacious entryway and ensuite. Abundance, I saw your cheery face on that mid winter imaginary ticket to Hawaii, when I was struggling with dry skin and seasonal affective disorder. Oh, and I’d gladly hold hands with you as you help my middle child with her troubling insomnia. It may be triggered by last year’s birthday party that fell terribly short; scarring and unforgettable upset.
Abundance, you’re on the run. Maybe you’re the tortoise challenging me to a race while I’m the arrogant hare taking a nap by the side of the road. Perhaps you’ve been present all along. I just couldn’t catch sight of you while busily in the pursuit of something else. Has your world ever been so upturned that you couldn’t dig your way out of the incessant heartache? Has life as you once knew it been rewritten in thirty seconds or less? Does the new script challenge your true identity to the point that you’d simply prefer a clean slate? The enemy tells you to go incognito and you can bury all that shame and unmet longing as it threatens to gnaw away at your joy.
Last Sunday, I found myself sitting in the same wooden church pew as my mom. It surprised me at first. Truthfully, there wasn’t anywhere else to sit. To refer to her as Mom feels forced. At best, we’re strangers. I have long grieved the lack of abundance in our broken condition. I have begged, bargained, pleaded with God to have her do the work, to rip out the generational roots. I’d take any motherly attachment that feels warmer than an interaction with the bank teller.
But for now, I have sat beside my mom, in the pew at the little country church. Exponential growth. I was remarkably placid as the congregation sang hymns far out of most people’s vocal range. No words exchanged, barely a glance, miles apart. On that Palm Sunday, a tiny and tenacious seedling poked through the harrowed soil after a long winter.
A sure sign of life is growth! Psalm 27:13 says that “[We] will see the Lord’s goodness in the land of the living.” When God says “not yet” one more time, He’s hardening us off for the days to come. We are the new seedlings preparing for inclement weather. Before a time of transplanting, both seedlings and we alike, need exposure to life’s elements so we can build endurance and stand fixed. Allow God to harden you off for a time, and He might just sweep you off your feet with a warm Westerly wind. He will surprise you with His goodness in the land of the living.
Goodness is incandescently painted into the rhythmic rising of the sun. She’s tapping on my window in the form of a lilac bud. Dear Husband pressed snooze this morning and drew my body in close to his and Goodness whispered “I was here all along.”
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KRISTINE AMUNDRUD is passionate about people and friendships that go below the surface. She loves sharing stories in sacred spaces and counts it a privilege when God orchestrates it just right. She’s a homeschool mom by day, a piano teacher by afternoon, and a lolly-gagging dreamer by night. She holds a Bachelor of Music in Piano Performance from the University of Alberta, as well as a Bachelor of Education. Kristine married her best friend, and together they have two daughters and a son. Connect with her on Instagram @kamundrud and at soulsigh.com.