Lord, I Have Heard of Your Fame


The day before I moved to Colorado was one of the best worst days I've ever had. It was the last morning I woke up in my perfect apartment of two years and realized that I wasn't going to have a room to myself much longer. It was the last morning that I made myself breakfast in my too-spacious kitchen and looked out over Nashville's Hillsboro Village, where copious amounts of tourists lined up to gorge themselves at Pancake Pantry. (I still don't understand the hype behind that one.) I went to church that morning with my then fiancé, now husband, and three of my best friends. Before I even got into the building, I began to sob in the car. I had done an incredible job thus far being excited about the transitions in my life, but that morning my guard was down. I remember that Ross and I got to church early, very unlike us, and I proceeded to shrug at each of my friends who sat down next to us with a, "Yeah, I'm a mess," look of explanation on my face.

When I first moved to Nashville, I never realized that I wouldn't move back to Lexington ever again. I assumed I would come back and spend my summers and vacations at home, but I didn't. I worked, I pushed, and I focused on the end-goal of "life after college" to make sure that I would achieve my dreams on my time. The move to Tennessee felt gradual, a stark contrast to the 24 hours I suddenly had left in Nashville and the realization that I was leaving my home for good this time.

As the worship portion ended, my tears continued, and I sat down to realize that our lead pastor would, in fact, not be delivering that day's sermon. Immediately annoyed that I was being robbed of one more memory that day, I began to listen as a guest pastor, Darren Whitehead, began to speak. He delivered a sermon that I will never forget, and it couldn't have been a more timely lesson.

His speech centered around his life verse, Habakkuk 3:2:

"Lord, I have heard of your fame; I stand in awe of your deeds, Lord. Repeat them in our day, in our time make them known; in wrath remember mercy."

He went on to explain that this verse guided him as he felt God calling him to take a blind leap of faith and move from Australia to America at age 16. He had no reason to go, no qualifications, no money, and God miraculously provided and led him to the States anyway. Darren said, "For the first time, I am starting to see the unexplainable acts of God...I feel like I am starting to be pulled into a story that I am not writing. This story," he said, "is about God's fame."

As I sat in the middle of the packed Sunday morning service, still slightly choking on my tears, I started to feel my heartbeat slow. For years, I had felt pulled to Colorado for no apparent reason, and I knew it was right. And here, on the day before my departure, I was listening to someone articulate exactly what I was feeling. I was panicking because I was so sure that my life, in that moment, was only about me: leaving my friends, my hometown, my comfort. But I was being called into a greater story, and it was time to go.

I chose to share this story today, rather than seven months ago when it occurred, because I realized that God has made Himself known in Colorado. If you've followed my blog or talked to me in the last year, you know that much of this move was not easy on me. But, over the past few months since my wedding, I finally feel settled, at peace, and provided for. I know why I'm here, and I've stopped doubting the call. I stand in awe of Your deeds, Lord. 

Whether or not you share my religious beliefs, we will all face times when we feel called into a story bigger than ourselves. We will feel led to make a decision that no one around us understands, but we know it is right. I challenge you to reflect on those decisions, the moments when you felt utterly terrified to take the leap, and see just how many have come to fruition. Maybe the road was rough the whole way, but God keeps His promises. Everything will make sense in time.

If you are interested in watching the full sermon, find the link here.