The Bridge

Wednesday, February 06, 2013 Posted by Katie

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I have a fear of bridges. When driving over one, I often wonder if the engineer who created it got an ‘A’ in math. I detest being stopped in traffic on an overpass where I can feel the surface shaking below me. Then there are the bridges over water. Should I be forced off of a bridge in an accident, and my car tragically plunge into the water below, I have actually considered the process of how I would escape said car…and which kid to get out of their car seat first (shudder). Don’t get me started on tunnels that travel underwater.

Two years ago, my husband, my dog, and my two precious baby boys moved to Texas, to a house in a neighborhood whose entrance is … (wait for it) … just beyond the end of a mile-long bridge…over water. My efforts to find a reasonable way around this ridiculousness were thwarted by a little-known truth: Texas is big. Let’s just say, driving the “other way around” don’t work in these parts.

And so you say to me, “Katie, why on earth did you move to a house you can’t get to without driving over a bridge which scares the tar out of you?” (Good job speaking Texan, by the way.)

Simple. That house is my sanctuary.

Also, we did not pick that house. My parents did, nearly a decade before they invited my fellas and me to move into it with them.

Two years ago, things were a little crazy in the Pickard world. We needed a fresh start in a town with a better economy. My parents (saints on earth) offered us sanctuary. We took it.  And while half of our life from Virginia is still packed up in boxes in the garage and attic, our souls are unpacking and resting in the sanctuary of my parents’ home.

Living with one’s parents is not a popular lifestyle choice in this country. Some folks harbor judgment for those who do. I don’t care, really. People say all kinds of unflattering things about the weakness of the hearts that walk through the doors of churches too. Sadly, naysayers don’t realize what treasures lie beyond the doors of a sanctuary: community (Acts 2:42-27), restoration (2 Corinthians 13:11), and hope (Zechariah 9:12).

I have to cross a big bridge to get to my sanctuary every day. How about you? Is your path to community, restoration, and hope being blocked by fear? If you’re trying to find another way around your “bridge”, let me encourage you to “get over it”. Something extraordinary awaits you on the other side.

When I first started crossing my bridge, as I must do on my daily commute, I was gripped with fear (literal white knuckles on the steering wheel). Now? My fear is distracted by sunrises, sunsets, wind across the water, and the peace that comes from recognizing the Bridge God put in place so that I would find His love in a sanctuary on the other side.


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