In the Cold

We’ve lived in our house for about three and a half years. It has served us well in that time. Except for our furnace. Our never reliable, older-than-snot furnace.

I’ve cried more than I would like to admit over this appliance. I know it well:  the sound it makes when it isn’t working right, the cocktail of anger and destruction I would like to set upon it. And wouldn’t you know, I can rely on it to fail us when 8-10″ of snow hits our city. Completely reliable in its unreliability.

My stomach twists into knots at the thought of our furnace really biting the dust. I don’t know, honestly, how it still works. I was sitting in the bathroom last night, listening to my boys play together while our gasping furnace tried to bring warmth into our home, praying that it would do just that. I had tears running down my cheeks wondering, Jesus, how will you provide for us when it fails? How will we afford that? How? Why is it this way? I closed my eyes and ask for provision over & over. You know us. You know us. Show me what to do.

Every good and perfect gift is from above. All of it.

I’m not excited to split open my soul and reveal that I cry about the furnace we have. It seems silly. I sound dramatic and emotional (which, I am, thanks to hormones). But sitting in our bathroom the other night, praying for God to give me grace in my serious doubt over our stupid furnace, washed me with some serious faith. Our home is a gift. Our couch is a gift. Our TV, a gift. And this stupid furnace, the one that I want to pummel with a vehicle and then smash with a hammer, a gift. I squeezed my eyes shut and cried for hope when I could see God looking at me with fierce love:  This is all mine. A gift from me to you, and I will take care of you. You are mine. I love you too much. I will provide.

We’ll buy a new furnace in the future. We’ll be taken care of. Some day, we won’t live here. But today, in our need for Jesus and His provision for us, in our need for Him to provide every penny and dime, He will. He will! Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming from the Father, who never changes. Oh, You know us Lord. You know us.

Published by Janelle Delagrange

Wife to a graphic designer, mom to three young boys, and writer of the soul.

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