Life, illustrated

We were on our way out of our neighborhood this afternoon and drove by the *new* Taco Bell being built less than a mile from our apartment. While visions of gorditas and seven layer burritos do make my mouth water and tummy growl, what caught my attention today was not the now in place tables and functional counters, but the poor fire hydrant out front. You see, we've gotten a ton of rain this past week here in the swamplands of Cajun Country. Rain that we asked for. Rain that is moving things. Rain that will ultimately be for our benefit. The rains take no notice of the piles of sand around new fast food joints, nor does the rain care if on its way to the great ocean it has to bury a couple of lonely fire hydrants.
I recently asked God for rain, in the spiritual sence. About four months ago I had reached a point of frustration with myself and my walk, and so I fasted bread, yeast, sugar and the like for about two weeks. I spent lots of time in the word. Lots of time in prayer. I prayed for God to.. get this.. move me. I prayed that he would rain into my life newness. I read how he moved the Isrealites from slavery to freedom but had to take them through a desert first. Then, when I was not prepared, even though I asked for it, he answered. Lucas got laid off. We are moving.
Today I feel an awful lot like that fire hydrant. It was minding its buisness, serving its purpose as guard against fire for a very vacant open field until the power that controls its existance decided to move. Plans were written, construction began, and then the rain fell. Now that little yellow fire hydrant is buried, prevented from use by the very act of being moved in itself. After a while work will be done, landscapes will be placed and the hydrant will be free again, ready to serve an even greater purpose. Where before it served only an empty lot, it will now stand guard over a restraunt, full of people and really yummy food.
Right now I feel buried. Buried in boxes and moving plans and fear and anxiety. Buried by the stress of making decisions for my children and my home. Buried by questions and research and dust from old stuff I've pulled out of corners. I havent been able to focus on others or reach out to my many pregnant friends. I've missed baby showers and bible studies. I havent been able to put my all into the study I have meeting here, which is ending next week... because I'm buried. But the reality is, I'm buried in my answered prayer. I asked God to move and he did.
The past two months my husband and I and my children have all been seeking His face. Our faith has been stretched, but not tested, no not tested but bulked up. Reinforced. Encouraged. By the acts of love we have been given by our church we are seeing that we matter to our King. We are fed and safe and have hope and possible jobs and healthy vibrant children. We know without a doubt, that He is working. The plans have been made, construction has begun. And when it is time he will lay the landscape. He will dig us out and we will be free. Free to serve a greater purpose. Free to serve our Lord where we have been moved.