Change is risk, movement is risk. But staying still and not doing anything is also a risk. For some deceptive reason, it just doesn’t feel like it because it’s so passive.

Our family has been in a significant transition for a few months – or more accurately, years – but most of the recent change has actually been in our minds: how we view and communicate what we do. Most of the physical, active changes already happened; it just took us a while to realize it. It was gradual and unintentional, hiding in plain sight.

“What would it look like for you to shift toward full time ministry? What would change?” one of our pastors asked, sitting with his wife on the couch across from us.

“Well, this week,” I answered, “it looks like taking Thursday off to help one of our families paint before they move…and not feeling guilty about it because we won’t be at the desk.” That’s the biggie.

We, like you, are pulled in all kinds of directions, and we fight feeling like we should be in all the places at once. Simultaneously, some of us also fight the urge to hide in our blanket fort all day where it’s safe, because the world out there can be doodlywhack.

My child, do not let these escape from your sight: keep sound wisdom and prudence, and they will be life for your soul and adornment for your neck.

Then you will walk on your way securely, and your foot will not stumble.

– Proverbs 3:21-23

Anyway, that was the plan for Thursday, but then we learned another friend in our group was diagnosed with pneumonia. And it’s been nine years, but I remember what it was like to be a nursing mama with pneumonia through almost the entire summer of 2016, with the feeling of “I can’t even” pervading everything.

I was already making a meal for the painting crew and it was no big deal to make a little more, just as it was no big deal to just split up for the first part of the day and reconvene later.

So that was the New Revised Plan: I’d take the girls to drop off goodies, Vin would take the boys straight to our other friends’ house to help prep for painting. Two vehicles, two destinations, and the girls and I would be back to join them by early afternoon.

Buuut…you know where this is going, right?

Of course you do. If everything went according to plan, why would I be telling you this?

The local lighting store tried to warn us on the drive out:

It started fine, though. Our friend who had pneumonia lives on the other side of the valley, so we had a drive ahead of us: through Wasilla, through Palmer, up the highway toward Sutton. It was a beautiful day for it, though.

It did cross my mind that this was quite the expedition to make just to deliver a small meal and a few other supplies. Not cost effective, not time efficient. And we think to ourselves, Will it really matter, anyway? Do these efforts make a difference?

It is such a long way to go, what if something goes wrong? We so often decline to do the right thing because self-protection mode is our default…until we change it.

The wind was against them now, and Piglet’s ears streamed behind him like banners as he fought his way along…to listen, a little nervously, to the roar of the gale among the treetops.

“Supposing a tree fell down, Pooh, when we were underneath it?”

“Supposing it didn’t,” said Pooh after careful thought.

– A.A. Milne, The House at Pooh Corner

Doing nothing is as much of a risk as doing something. And it was so clear when we found out our friend was sick that I was supposed to take her these things. To see her, to pray for her, to tell her what I knew, to deliver right to her home.

As we left our driveway, we prayed like always for a safe drive, no accidents, no injuries, a productive day, all the things.

All the things we thought of, at least.

I didn’t think to pray against car trouble. Or more specifically, to intercede for the car’s gas pedal. But I’m getting ahead of myself.

We arrived without incident. I delivered the package of goodies, prayed for my friend, patted the cute dog on the head, smiled at the kids. Restarted the car, turned around, went down the driveway, flicked on the right blinker. Turned back onto the highway.

Pressed the gas, and…twang, the pedal hit the floor under my foot. The car immediately decelerated, not even having reached 20 miles per hour.

I coasted into the grassy shoulder in front of the next driveway.

Assess the situation: Our car was stuck on the edge of the Glenn highway, fifty minutes from home, and I could not find the &*%$# switch for the hazard lights anywhere.

On the positive side, we hadn’t gotten far, and it was the gas pedal, not the brakes. There was no one right behind who had to swerve to miss us. It was only a two minute walk back to my friend’s house, and there was a paved path right behind our car, so we wouldn’t need to walk in the ditch or too close to the road.

So that was the New Revised Updated Plan: Grab our things, walk back to our friend’s house, call Vince, figure out what to do.

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Let me interrupt here for a brief aside: Do you know that everything we do carries risk?

Sitting here and writing to you is a risk, an act of faith. I don’t know if these paragraphs will go anywhere. As I write them, I don’t know if they’ll come together into something coherent, or end up in the purgatory of my notes file. If it does come together, I don’t know who or how many the message will resonate with. I don’t know if people will misunderstand or find offense or leave nasty comments.

Every single time, I never know.

But the more I do it, the more I know that He moves through it in ways I can and can’t see. So I’m typing away here on this rabbit trail, trusting that it’s either going to be used to grow into an article, or to grow me.

And the same thing is true for whatever you are doing in quiet, steady obedience.

Everything we do is a risk. Everything we don’t do is also a risk. So we might as well be bold and free, and obey the Holy Spirit’s promptings.

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Back at my friend’s house, I made and received about 58 phone calls and texts: To and from Vin, my dad, my cousin, AAA, and the towing company.

Do we need someone to come get us? Yes. But also, we need to be here when the car is towed. How long will that take? About two hours. Also, my name isn’t on the account, so can my husband be there when the tow truck driver arrives? No? Well, I should think about getting myself and my daughters an account, so the next time this happens I won’t have to deal with all of this. Right, well, since neither of them drive and I’m a little preoccupied at the moment I’m disinclined to fall for the marketing shtick right now but thanks so much anyway, buhbye.

So now we had a New Revised Updated And Expanded Plan: Wait for the tow truck, ride back with it to Wasilla, get picked up by Vin at the car shop, resume our originally scheduled plan, better late than never.

What did we do the whole time, besides send and receive 58 texts and phone calls? We smiled at the baby. Talked about pneumonia, and how to prevent cracked ribs from violent coughing. Talked about books, and woodstoves, and our families. And Reagan, who has always been afraid of anything on four feet, had some exposure therapy to one of the mellowest dogs ever.

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Our self-protection mode keeps us back from so much. Obedience and freedom both require the same thing: Allowing our lives to overlap, rather than staying safe in our own bubble (or blanket fort) where we think bad things can’t happen, where people can’t touch us, and where we can’t accidentally hurt others.

Where we won’t get stranded far from home and have to rely on a friendly tow truck driver to fetch us, entertaining us all the way back with stories of his encounters with grizzlies while we gaze out on the beautiful day through a cracked windshield and wonder what we’ve been missing.

If protecting ourselves is our highest priority, everything else is a threat. Even simple observations might be seen as criticism, making us defensive when people try to talk to us – and they will learn that they can’t talk to us.

Do you remember when Peter denied Jesus three times? Why did he do that?

He was afraid, yeah. He was protecting himself. Three people asked if he knew Jesus, and he said no every time.

Here’s what one of my friends said about it:

I’ve often wondered if the three people were curious about the Gospel and what it was like to be with Jesus. I’ve often wondered if the people questioning Peter were genuinely interested in knowing Jesus. But Peter, in selfish fear, misinterpreted it and feared for himself instead…Peter made himself more important in that moment than he made Jesus.

And the point [Jesus] was making was, you deny me three times, and all they really wanted was a glimpse of what you and I have…

Peter’s response is so human…but we’re called to be more than mere men. How often do we back down in fleshly fear when God is trying to answer our prayers?

Man taught us to be afraid of what others think, but God teaches us to fear Him instead and only. And in doing so, we find freedom from all other fears.

If you sit down, you will not be afraid; when you lie down, your sleep will be sweet. Then you will not be afraid of sudden panic or of the storm that strikes the wicked, for the Lord will be your confidence and will keep your foot from being caught.

– Proverbs 3:24-26

Freedom feels irresponsible and reckless, but we are free to dream again, to move deeper and wider, to trust Him in all the plans – new, revised, updated, and otherwise. Because all is risk, but at the same time, if we are obeying, nothing is at risk. Nothing is wasted.

Do not withhold good from those to whom it is due, when it is in your power to do it.

– Proverbs 3:27

That night, home late from taping and painting, we put the kids to bed and collapsed on the couch. This text came in:

Thank you again (so much) for coming today and just walking me through the practical stuff of what to do to take care of myself. It might have felt simplistic but it meant so much.

The drive, and the distance, and the delay weren’t wasted; they were a divine appointment.

We tell Him no, we stay in our safe zones – but all they really want is a glimpse of what you and I have. We have to be willing to change and move to show them. If we’re not willing to do that, what do we have that’s worth showing, anyway?

At the end of the week, our pastor asked another question: What would it look like for us, for a community of believers, to really live out the gospel?

It would look more urgent, but less desperate, I said. Less insecure and striving, less self-protection mode, less worry about what others think and how we’re going to make ends meet. More wild and free, confident of His provision and protection, and a lot more fun.

Can we devote ourselves to a cause outside of our own comfort zone? When we rearrange our lifestyle to give Jesus room to move in us, to move us, He does. The world sees and notices, even as we wonder if it was worth the risk.

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