For the first time in a long time I'm saying no. Fridays are my "day off" and yet there is always something to do. Endless paperwork, lending a hand at the busy hospital, putting out fires for overwhelmed receptionists. Not today. It's time to take a breath. There are herbs to be planted, pictures of beautiful nature to be edited, a husband on spring break to be loved, and of course 3 large piles of laundry. Mostly there is great need for a bit of quiet.
My heart feels a bit bruised today. It has been a challenging week at work, with potential for big changes and hurt feelings along the way. My loyal, people pleasing, avoid-conflict-at-all-costs self has had to stand up and make tough choices. Loneliness has ebbed again. And above all I find myself wrestling with my purpose here in this lovely state and quaint town.
Six months later I grow impatient that God's plan for us, and for me, has not been spelled out. For the first time in my life I am not sure where I am going. I got my education, I followed my passion, I married a wonderful man, I started into a clearly God-given job. And then we were called. I remember the way I fought it, the questions and tears, and the ways I was reassured that God's will was so clear. And I believe it still. But I am still waiting, apparently swept along and unable to find a paddle to guide and pursue my own existence. My sense of injustice grows as I struggle to find my place professionally, personally, spiritually. I long for a passionate mission, for lives I can see changed or helped, for sharpening friendships, for a home full of a giving and hospitable spirit. Instead I feel frustration and isolation and even occasional fear creeping towards the thresholds of my life. In desperation I grab a notebook and bible and stubbornly refuse to move until God will speak like thunder, write words on the wall, or reduce my uncertainty to the ever-sought "peace." I think of myself proudly in these moments, that like Jacob I will attach myself like a writhing leech to the Lord and come out with a new name, a clear identity, and a to-do list that I know will work. When the thunder and the message do not ring clear, it is easy to assume that I have missed something, that I made a mistake, or didn't try hard enough.
Sometimes we don't get to know.
I feel like I should have learned that lesson somewhere around 2nd grade, but somehow the principle seems to allude me. As I face big choices professionally this week (more on that later) I find myself desiring to know that answer that is TRUE. And by true I mean the most spiritually fulfilling, the most aligned with God's kingdom plans, and the best suited to mold me into a girl after God's own heart. My motives, though I may be biased, seem to be pure. I long to follow. I don't mind the weight of a cross. I can manage pain. But first, I need to know that what I am doing is worth it. My fears are of finding out at the end of a long and painful road that I chose the wrong fork 400 miles ago...that my struggle was not only in vain but laughable. On the other hand, I fear the "easy" road. If it is easy, it must not be God's will. My circular reasoning is more than frustrating, more than hilarious. It is truly ridiculous. As I read and question and pray, I beg for "the voice behind you saying 'This is the way, walk in it'" (Isaiah 30:21). What I hear is silence, and decisions do not make themselves.
Last month I did something very rare for me. I picked up a book. Not a reference book, not an old physiology notebook, not even a medical journal. A real book. Actually, one I've had on my shelves for years. Through Painted Deserts is one of those books I was supposed to read long ago. Self-aware conservative Christian girls who didn't want to get too painted in were supposed to pick up edgy, hip words from the likes of Don Miller alongside their CS Lewis and Chicken Soup for the Teenage Soul. It was how we proved we weren't scared of "the outside." It made us feel sexy and relevant to be dealing with a more angsty and unsettled version of our faith. And of course it stroked our intellect to be able to refer to this mainstream-unorthodoxy. By the time I got around to reading it I expected something quite cliche and perhaps without much substance. What I found was a soul, searching, and leaving some words behind.
"It strikes me as I think about it, how beautiful we find massive structures, either man-made or organic. I wonder if we find them amazing because they make us feel small and insignificant, because they humble us. And I remember feeling that way back in Colorado, that I was not the center of the cosmos, that there were greater things, larger things, massive structures forged in the muscle of earth and time, pressing up into the heavens, as if to say 'the story is not about you, but for you'...as if to remind us we are not gods."
Donald Miller
Through Painted Deserts
In my own search for "the way" this week, I have not been given the answer. I have come to a crossroads, and leaned more into common sense in the absence of divine intervention. And I am not sure this is wrong. In fact, it requires every bit as much faith as a down-from-heaven message. No matter what I do, I long for it to bring glory to my maker. That is the only thing that matters. And as I do so, as I experience all that is around me, as I watch and question and live among the mountains, I hope to feel small.
Happy Friday, everyone. May you find joy and blessings as you walk your way today.
