Hopeless Wanderer

I’m a hopeless wanderer. 

Over and over I let go of the hope that is only found in Jesus’ blood and righteousness.

Yet in my hopelessness, the God who has proven Himself time and time again- In His boundless grace He gives Himself to this weak heart of mine once again.

I doubt that He will follow through on His promises but He delivers the worn and the broken people to a 3-horse wanna-be, don’t even have a round pen- ranch ministry. 

I’m reminded on Sunday morning where to fix my eyes.

On Jesus. 

After He’s already been more than my hopeless heart ever could deserve. 

He is the builder of the house, not I, I am to be Moses, faithful to serve in the house.
 (Heb. 3:4)

Thank heavens it’s not on me to pull this off.

I’ve been a hopeless wanderer all my life. Wanderer, not because He has not given me direction, wanderer because I fail to fix my eyes.

Bind my wandering heart to Thee.

I can feel the binding of my heart in this brokenness. In the unorganized, the unpolished, and really - in the knee deep mud.

I feel the binding when I find myself in a space, in a moment, that I have been yearning for. What I thought couldn’t happen until it was organized and polished. The moment I find myself in the middle of a family, a family seeking recovery, smiling while brushing down my run-of-the-mill grade quarter horses. Who, entirely content, doze in the sunshine. 

I see my husband, who has taken on me, as his own flesh, and my heart as his own heart. Giving up his afternoon to live this dream with me.

Bind my wandering heart to Thee.

Ask and you shall receive. 

Yes and amen.

My hope for a little ranch ministry called The Homestead cannot be based in the time and resources we currently do or don’t have. My hope is in Jesus alone. If I don’t come to terms with that, I’m doing this for the wrong reasons.

I may wander and I may loose hope.

But Jesus.

But Jesus.

My hope really is built on nothing less than His blood and righteousness. 

And while I am waiting until the day the dream is all sorted out, I’ll take Saturday afternoons filled with giggles and horse hair. And I’ll go back to my current daily living in the week, hoping only in Jesus that one day this dream becomes the daily. 

And when my mind and my heart wander He draws me home and says “child, fix your eyes on the Giver of hope.”

If perhaps the dream never becomes the daily, at least I will have spent my life focused on the Giver of hope - for this hopeless wanderer has found a home of hope.