Worship Wednesday – Safe

Worship WednesdayI knew when I married my husband that I was signing up for a life of roaming. On average, military families move every two to four years. I knew I was in for an exciting life of exploration, building a life with the man I loved, and expecting the unexpected, supporting him while he served our country. And I was excited to do so.

But growing up with lots of military friends made me aware from a young age of the leaving. You move somewhere, falling love with the people, and/or the place…and then you and your friends leave, one by one.

As I type, I’m sitting in McCarren Airport, waiting to leave my beloved childhood home of Las Vegas. (Yes, you read that right.) It would seem like it should be easier to leave with time. It should photo1-2be the norm to say goodbye by now to my parents, brothers, grandparents, cousins, and childhood friends and play spots. But any military spouse can tell you it doesn’t get easier, it gets harder.

And it’s not just that I miss them. I miss them terribly, but it’s more than that. My anxiety plays games with my mind whenever I part ways with anyone. Whether I’m leaving my husband at the Little Rock Airport or leaving my family in Vegas, I mourn. There’s an obstinate little part of me that demands to know why people must leave.

There’s also a part that worries…a lot. What if they’re in a car accident after I leave? What if there’s a tornado or other natural disaster that strikes, and this is the last hug I get on this side of Heaven? I know the fears are irrational, but they’re still there. That’s what it means to have an anxiety disorder, after all. You know the fears aren’t warranted, but they push their way into your head anyway.

In the military, we never say, “Goodbye.” We say, “See you later.” But I hate both. As I contemplated my impending departure last night, I asked God for some sort of comfort, a reminder of His presence while my heart grieved for yet another separation. And He gave me one.

Phil Wickham

To the one who’s dreams are falling all apart
And all you’re left with is a tired and broken heart
I can tell by your eyes you think your on your own
but you’re not all alone

Have you heard of the One who can calm the raging seas
Give sight to the blind, pull the lame up to their feet
With a love so strong He’ll never let you go
oh you’re not alone

You will be safe in His arms
You will be safe in His arms
‘Cause the hands that hold the world are holding your heart
This is the promise He made
He will be with You always
When everything is falling apart
You will be safe in His arms

Did you know that the voice that brings the dead to life
Is the very same voice that calls you to rise
So hear Him now He’s calling you home
You will never be alone

These are the hands that built the mountains
the hands that calm the seas
These are the arms that hold the heavens
they are holding you and me

These are hands that healed the leper
Pulled the lame up to their feet
These are the arms that were nailed to a cross
to break our chains and set us free

It feels like everything’s falling apart when I must bid my loved ones farewell. Tears fall, and hugs are given, but I know in my heart that God’s in control, and His will is best. In truth, I’m where I’m supposed to be by God’s appointment; He doesn’t orchestrate our lives purposelessly. I will miss my family, but my husband’s arms are my silver lining. And no matter what, I will be with my loves for all eternity, and more importantly, I will be with my Lord Jesus Christ. The goodbyes are just for a little while longer.

Do you have an instance in which God made you feel safe, or that you cried out for him to feel safe? Please share you questions and comments in the Comment Box below, as I’d love to hear them. If you’re interested in getting more information on neurological disorders, education, and encouragement, sign up for my weekly newsletter. As always, thanks for reading!

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