Recently, I've had a couple of people remind me of how lucky I am. How lucky we are that we'll be moving to Kandern, an idyllic little city nestled in the heart of a beautiful, mountainous region. And they're entirely right; we're really looking forward to living in Kandern, and I am extremely lucky. Maybe not for the reason they think, though. I'll come back around for that in a bit. Where they're wrong - and as a good Canadian Mennonite, I'm loathe to break the peace - is that luck has little to do with it. I'm abandoning my career here in Canada. I'm quitting my job in faith, picking up my family and moving them across an ocean to live in a place where we don't know the language; where my children will miss their friends, cousins, and grandparents; where they'll come face-to-face with a new language in new schools, with new faces all around. These are not decisions that have much to do with luck.
Where they're right, and this is the kicker, is that I count myself to be among the luckiest people in the world. God has been faithful to me throughout repeated spates of unfaithfulness across the years. Despite myself, I have a wonderful wife and two wonderful children, and now count myself extremely lucky to have been called to a ministry where God can use the skills He's been developing in me to serve missionaries and their families. I call it luck because it's not of my doing, and if I'm going to be lucky for anything, it should be this, that God is faithful to such a man as me, and His grace will provide both route and reason to continue driving forward.
And if after all that, we still decide I'm lucky for the scenery through which I'll bike and walk to work, remember that my heart won't easily forget the fiery clouds that cushion our prairie sunset, or the midnight dance of our northern lights. God has given us all something we're lucky to have, and it's on us to recognize just how lucky we are.