September 12, 2014. Friday. 8 A.M.

My mother is visiting. She resembles my grandma Stuart now more than ever. She has gained a lot of weight and moves very slowly now. She says it is the medication she is taking. I am glad to have her here. I told her last night about the questions that remain since this move: the fact that we are struggling to pay bills, the fact that our house hasn’t sold.

We filed the paperwork back in July to short-sell the house—to sell it for less than we still owe—to avoid foreclosure. We learned this week that the paperwork sat for 60 days and nothing has moved forward at all in the same time we have missed two mortgage payments.

God, we cannot understand this. Psalm 50. You own everything, everything belongs to you. You could have said “no” at any point in this process. Will my trying to follow your plan and be a leader in my household lead us to ruin? Will you allow that to be testimony? How will I speak to people about you if I’m not sure you are trustworthy? It’s not a question of your capabilities, or my weakness. These things are certain. It’s a question of your involvement, and the things we are learning about you during our time on this planet. Me, Jess and the kids.

I am seeking grace, even in the midst of my questions. I would rather be poor in your presence than rich and comfortable outside of your grace. I seek to dwell in beautifully situated Mt. Zion. Lift me up to that place, my Hope.