The Faithfulness of God

Psalm 89:8b "Your faithfulness surrounds you."

It's 12:31pm in London, my town, and I'm laying in bed. I just let the dog out who'd been scratching on my nephew's door. I just climbed back in after a morning potty break. Lamp light on because it's still early EST... the leaves outside my bedroom window are still like a painting--not a wind rustles them.

I spent yesterday with my 2 best friends, rolling around on my bed like puppies, slapping each other and howling at Michael McIntyre videos on youtube, eating junk food and interrupting movies to talk life.... it was perfect.

The muscles in my body began to relax. My voice got hoarse from talking so much. I'm gradually getting used to hugging people again, and random contact... letting the love of my family and friends soak into me.

God is faithful, even when it seems like He won't be.

You see, I probably shouldn't be here right now... not in London, not in the hot summer air, glistening slightly with the humidity. My visa shouldn't have arrived at 9:43am GMT, on Saturday morning, just a few hours before my flight at 12:20pm GMT... I should have missed it, and not had money to get a new flight, and been stuck in London for the summer, with no money, and my friends all on holiday... but God is good.

Back in May when I booked my flight, I prayed and this soft voice deep inside me said July 23rd would be fine. I didn't know that I'd be struggling to move house and waiting in half hysterics for my passports to return to me.

But this little voice in my panicked brain kept telling me "Jenny, you have to trust me. Please trust me." So I tried... I cried, and raged, and calmed myself, and felt waves of peace rushing over me. The first few times people asked "what are you going to do?" in a friendly way, I gave a smile and rushed away to nearly be sick and burst into tears, but after that... after the first few times, I smiled and said "I'm hopeful that I'll have it." And I did. God is good.

Ripping through the streets of London in a cab, racing through Paddington station to get to the Heathrow express, counting the minutes on the train and racing past people, my wrists and arms going numb from pulling my heavy suitcase, and shoving my passport into self checkout to have it tell me "you are too late to check in." A wave of panic swept through me, but I held back the tears, and rushed over through the jungle of barriers to the desk where 3 service members stood and they checked me in at 11:21, as they were preparing to close the desk... they should have closed at 11:20.

Security and rushing to my gate felt like a breeze, I smiled and exhausted from lack of sleep and lack of food, I sat on the floor at the gate, shoving haribo into my mouth and chugging water into my parched, chapped mouth. I was going home.

Even on the plane when I'd dozed off for a few minutes, I'd not believe it... I was on a plane, I was going home.

Every nerve in my body screamed with exhaustion. It was enough to have to try to hold my head up in a sitting position for the 8hour 15 minute flight. I was going home.

I had had no idea what I'd have done if I didn't make my flight. Take the tube back to my new house and sit in the basement on the mattress I was using until Jane moved out. Watched back English television and sleep, living off of beans on toast and water for the summer. Walking everywhere in my neighborhood to get to know it... none of this sounded appealing to me. I wanted the hot air of South Jersey, and the hug of friends and family.

I got it. God is good. He made sure my way was clear, even though I had to pull together every fibre of strength I had in my weak body. He got me there. He is good and I praise Him. His faithfulness surrounds Him... of this I am certain.