It might appear from my last post that the sky is falling, oh chicken little. Alas, that is not the case. I have not contracted some terminal illness, financial disaster has not overtaken me, and nor has there been any family crisis that might keep me here. I will try to explain as best I can, but please know that if this post seems to be missing some details, it is because I am not feeling like there are aspects of this that I can write about yet with even a shred of purity of heart.
"Reader's Digest" version: church leadership feels that the time is not right for me to be leaving long-term for London with where things are at regarding the preschool.
Now, knowing that this was a possibility all along, you might be wondering why I reacted so strongly to this directive. The answer is simple: I believed I was hearing the exact opposite, felt that this had been confirmed through numerous others and circumstances. To me, being released from the obligation to the preschool really just felt like a matter of "when" not "if." That is how confident I was that I was being led by the Lord to go. It simply never crossed my mind that the answer would be anything other than: "go." Or, if it had, it was only a fleeting thought.
So, this felt like a bombshell to me. I was, as I wrote in the last post, devastated. Even if I wanted to rebel against the desires of my church, no one at ChristChurch would have me under those circumstances. *I* wouldn't want to *go* to a church that would have me under those circumstances. You know?
A lot of things have come up: it all "looks" like anger and rage, but at the heart of it is my hurt and disappointment at the Lord that I am not going. Because, since He is sovereign, if He *really* wanted me in London now, I'd be going. And so, I am angry at the Lord. A lot of old lies about His character and His plans for me and my future are surfacing, and they cause anger. Have I mentioned how angry I am? So angry that I don't even want to pray and confess. I know it's there, I know it's wrong and I flat out don't care. It feels good to be angry.
There is the blackness of my heart: I know the sin that is there, and I would rather hold on to it than confess it. Like a 4 year old throwing a temper tantrum, I feel I have the right to get my own way and be mad when I don't. I guess it is fitting, then, that that is the age of the kids I will be working with.