Grumbling & Gratitude: Resting in God

Alexandra Davison, "Kitsugi Daughter," 2023, Watercolor. Listen to the artist's statement.

When my husband and I prayed over the opportunity to move to the Netherlands in 2023, we shared a single hope: that God’s glory would be made known in the hearts and minds of the local church in Europe. We asked Him to lead us—and to make us willing to leave our Texas‑sized home, the American conveniences we loved, and, more painfully, the nearness of our family, church, and Houston community.

God opened the door. Our house sold quickly, expat red tape dissolved, and obstacles cleared before we even reached them. From the speed of our departure to the ease of settling in Maastricht—our children’s school, renting, then buying our home—His provision was unmistakable. Even small details felt like gifts: my lifelong dream of a Dutch door, complete with a stained‑glass window of the local church. Everywhere we turned, we saw signs of His goodness guiding us.

But then the challenges of dwelling here came. Our six‑year‑old struggled with homesickness, language learning, and the slow work of making Dutch friends. His anxiety left my husband and me wondering whether we had done the right thing for our children. Yet beneath my fear, I realized the deeper issue wasn’t their comfort—children can swing from joy to fury in minutes. It was my desire for control and expediency, my longing to skip the discomfort of cultural formation. My “questioning heart” wasn’t far from the Israelites in the wilderness. It is always easier to leave a place than to adopt a new culture.

In our Exodus series, we’ve seen God display His cosmic power and intimate care. He split the sea for His people and used that same sea to crush the power of their enemy. And how did Israel respond? They sang. This first song in Scripture—Moses declaring, “The Lord is my strength and my defense”—becomes a communal act of worship with his big sister’s lead. Miriam, who once watched over her baby brother on another shore of death and deliverance, now takes a tambourine and leads the people in praise. Their deliverance becomes a shared song, echoed again in Revelation as all nations sing the same refrain.

But three days into the wilderness, they complain. No water. Then bitter water. Fear rises. Anger masks fear; bitterness masks disbelief. Because the issue isn’t water or food—it’s formation. They are newly freed people, but not yet a faithful people. And we imagine we’d be different. “If I saw those miracles, I wouldn’t complain.” But we do. When provision feels delayed, when direction is unclear, when suffering lingers—we question. Has God forgotten? Does He see me? My children?

Yet God responds not with rejection but with provision and teaching. Even His “tests” are for the benefit of His people—to reveal what He already knows about them. They see the signs but cannot yet interpret them, like newborns unable to make sense of shapes and light. God reframes testing: it is not abandonment; it is formation. “If you, being evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in Heaven give good things to those who ask Him.”

He provides healing water, daily bread from heaven, twelve springs and seventy palm trees—echoes of Jesus throughout the Gospels and Revelation. He introduces a new cultural rhythm patterned after Genesis itself: work and Sabbath. Action and praise. Gather, then rest.

Sabbath confronts the “virtuous” god of self‑reliance. It is both Law and Grace, command and gift. To refuse it is to reject the ordered grace of God. When I cannot let something rest, it often reveals a trust issue—a leftover household god, a cultural reflex of expediency.

As the Church, we are invited into faithful action and faithful adoration—not out of faith, but into Him. “Enter into His Rest.” Not childish fear, but childlike trust. “Beloved, we are God’s children now… and what we will be has not yet appeared.”

Motherhood has taught me this: I cannot always change hearts or circumstances. Sometimes what I call “responsibility” is really fear—fear of scarcity in God’s love, protection, time, energy, or security. So I choose to rest in Him. I receive His daily grace for me and my children. I choose to keep singing Jesus’s mighty deeds and remind them of His faithful lovingkindness.

Because the same God who led Israel through the wilderness is leading us still—faithfully, patiently, and always toward a life shaped by trust, gratitude, and worship.

The author, Alexandra Davison