waiting

            I opened my door to find a four year old boy raising his hand to knock.

            “What do you need, J—?”

            “I wa a cooie,” he replied, leaving out a few consonants.

            “A cookie?  No, I can’t give you one, sweetie.  Did your mom come today?”

            “No,” he said and glanced at the ground.

I sighed and changed the subject.

            He’s been waiting for his mom to come for longer than any four year old boy should have to wait.  He wants a good thing—what could be better than a young boy seeing his loving mother?—but right now it’s being denied him.  He doesn’t know why.  I don’t know why.  It’s so hard to watch him wait.

            I, too, am waiting for things.  I have desires tucked deep inside my heart, good ones that I remember daily and don’t see fulfilled.  I don’t know why.  Others around me don’t know why.  It’s so hard to wait.

Neither of us knows how long.  Will his mother come this week?  Will I get what I want this month?  This week passes.  This month passes.  And nothing.  And we wonder why.

But as I review my ponderings, I’ve found them to be a source of deeper discontentment.  If I only peppers my thoughts.  My future becomes solely dependent upon my actions; I am the master of my fate.  But as I change things, set up the chain of events correctly on my end and what I want still doesn’t come around, I’m left in despair.  I come to the realization that I can’t make myself happy.  And if I can’t make myself happy, what then?

I’m forced to learn contentment or wallow in misery.  I can’t control my circumstances, but I can control my reactions.

Years ago, I heard someone say, “The point of our trials is not for us to understand why, but rather for us to be made more like Christ.”  All the time I ask why, I’m looking for the answers in the wrong places.  My “why” is not searching for the purpose, but the problem.  My question assumes a flaw, not a function.  And that tiny speck of perspective, it multiplies and grows until it is all I can see.  God’s goodness disappears as I close my eyes to convince myself that there is only darkness.  Sure, there’s only darkness, because that’s all I’ve chosen to see.

When I finally tire of my created darkness, I peek out onto the world.  Light.  The first sign of God’s goodness.  My trials have a purpose: my joy.  What could be better than being like Christ, the incarnation of God himself?

Although I now see the light, I don’t see the future clearly.  That’s why I turn my head over my shoulder.  I know what I’ve been through.  I have stories of God’s faithfulness.  And if I’m too tired to recount them, others have stories too.  The centuries are bursting with them.  So I listen to them over and over again.  I whisper them to myself as I fall asleep.  I draw them in my notebook.  If my God is the definition of faithfulness and I have overflowing proof of the fact, I can find no reason to declare him guilty.  I cannot rationally review the evidence, the fingerprints and the proof that declare my God faithful and me unfaithful, and slam my mallet and yell, “Guilty!  God you are guilty of unfaithfulness.  Maybe you haven’t been unfaithful yet, but you will be.  I just know it.  Lock him up.”  To do so is to attempt to trap God, force him to bribe me to let him go.  When I sew the evidence into my day, scribble it on the moments with permanent marker, I get caught in my own trap and my fraud can’t help but whither.

I’m still waiting.  Little J— is still waiting.  Who knows how long we’ll wait?  We may spend the rest of our lives waiting.  But if we wait with a purpose in view instead of a problem, we will find the pain of waiting grow paler as we reap the product of waiting with a purpose: joy as the purpose is fulfilled and we are made more like Christ.

(No, I don't believe in motivational photos.  I'm just tired of my link thumbnail being jalapeno peppers.)

Sojourning in the land of "I don't know"

Last winter, I made the decision to not attend nursing school, but that left me with the question, “What now?”  The answer was simple, but one that was a little hard to swallow: “I don’t know.”  Having two parents who are renowned for their skill in planning and having always prided myself on having purpose and direction, “I don’t know” was a bit of a scary move.  Was it okay to not know?

After grappling with that question, I concluded that, yes, it is okay to not know.  It’s human and it’s humble.  I am not God.  I simply do not know sometimes and if I believe I do, I’m only playing a cruel joke on myself.  I discovered that “I don’t know” is actually the land in which I had been living all along, I just had never admitted it, instead choosing to speak the language of pride when  the country I was inhabiting spoke the language of humility.

Accepting this position of bewilderment can be a mature act.  The way in which I walk forward changes from a confident swagger that results in many stumbles to a humble following that sometimes requires me to run, sometimes walk, more often than not, crawl, and always stick my feet forward hoping with assurance that the ground will rise up to meet the soles of my feet even though I can’t see it.

But only recently have I found out that “I don’t know” is never supposed to be a place of residence.  I thought that maybe I could stay put in “I don’t know” and eventually find my way, but that’s not what God intends.  God hasn’t left me clueless in this world, but rather, “[His] word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.”  (Psalm 119:105)  Sometimes, I can see just my feet and the ground underneath, and other times the light reaches just a little farther ahead of where I’m treading.  I may not be able to see far into the future, or even into the future at all, but that does not mean that I should stop walking intentionally forward, because God has illuminated the part of the path I need to see.

“I don’t know” is a sojourn, a dose of humility to help us on our way to following God with our whole heart and the time comes round when God calls us to move on and arrive somewhere.

When I think of this “new” concept, I think of Abram.  God called him to “I don’t know.”  Literally.

He said, “Go from your country and your kindred and your father's house to the land that I will show you.”  (Genesis 12:1)

Abram had no clue where he was going.  His life was suddenly a big “I don’t know.”  But he didn’t plop down his tent and say, “Sorry, God, until you show me the final destination, we’re not going anywhere.”  Instead, he followed, camping at one place, then another.  Sometimes, it was time to rest for a while, but no camp sight was ever his home.

I may live in a constant state of not knowing what will happen, but that doesn’t mean I need to stay there forever.  After a time, I need to pick up my bags and start walking.  My new destination may be another city in the land of “I don’t’ know,” but I’m called to keep moving.  Because, if I don’t, if I stay put at a camp sight, I run the risk of “doing” a decision without ever responsibly making it.  And that is simply not what God has asked me to do.  I am responsible for my time and my actions, and therefore, I need to take them by the horns.  That is, I need to prayerfully, obediently, confidently, and faithfully live my life in full accordance with God’s Word.

With all that said, I’m sure you’ve guessed by now that I have a few decisions that I need to make in my life right now.  And I don’t yet know what they will be.  I just know that I need to make them.  Form them, labor over them.  And in this time of evaluating and planning, I would appreciate any prayers, because I recognize that ultimately, I’m not forging a new path.  Rather, I’m discovering one that’s been laid out for me by a living, loving God, and I and those around me need wisdom, discernment, and obedience to recognize God’s voice, listen to it, and obey it.

It’s time for me to move ahead in the land of “I don’t know.”