Lately, there’s been much swirling going on in my head and my heart. Ending one season, and embarking on another often does that to a person.
It leaves us in a beautiful place, but a place, nonetheless whirling with familiar questions and all too familiar discontent.
Ah yes, dear one… we’ve been here before.
What really is the purpose of my one life?
What does it really mean to fully and abundantly live unto the glory of God, for such a time as this?
And how do the deepest desires of my soul touch the gifts from the Spirit within and reach out, intersecting this world with the grace of the Gospel?
Questions, all valid and tremendously worth asking and wrestling out. Not questions that doubt my ultimate purpose in glorifying God; learning to truly love Him and others more deeply (Matthew 22:37-39). Not questions that discount my role as a wife, and a (hopefully, someday) mother. No…even though heaven knows I spit ingratitude on those and other gifts daily.
But more like— questions of holy discontent. Questions that get to the bottom of things, like what does this really look like with skin-my skin-on?
The beauty is these questions don’t just stop there. They have the power to draw us to the heart of our Savior, and the beginning of what a life fully surrendered to Him can entail.
Because these questions, they can burst forth into dreams of the wildest imagined. The kinds of things no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor mind even begun to conceive. (1 Corinthians 2:9) The kinds of things that Christ did, and even more (John 14:12).
And that’s where I’m finding myself.
Dreams, timid dreams, held closest to the chest. Barely acknowledged to self, let alone whispered to another. Dreams bringing their own set of questions, unknowns, and if I’m honest? Mainly enough fear to keep me rooted right where I am.
“There is no way you could ever do that.”
“There is no way God would ever use you in those ways.”
“You don’t have the gifts/knowledge/life-experience, who do you think you are?”
Fear that creeps in and strangles, crushing every hint of dream. They are lies, every last one of them. Lies spoken out of deep seeded fears. Fears I choose to live out of instead of believing in the all-powerful Spirit within. (1 John 4:4)
Stacking them up against God and somehow letting them trump Him and His limitless grace.
But I’m learning…that there’s a better story I can live. I can believe and live out of the truth of who I am and Truth of who God is.
I can believe that the Spirit of God Himself dwells within me (1 Corinthians 3:16), that nothing is impossible with Him (Luke 1:37), and that nothing can ever come close to trumping His grace in my life (2 Corinthians 12:9). I can believe that it is God working in me to will and act according to His good purpose (Philippians 2:13) and that what He has begun in me, He will faithfully bring to completion (Philippians 1:6).
And the ramifications of believing these promises?
Beautiful, and unending ripple effects in my life and heart.
And the funny thing?
When the fears subside, and the Truth is given room to breathe and grow in us—the dreams and the questions are still there, but they seem to shift a bit into their rightful place. Not crowding the lens through which I view life, a haunting of discontent. More like, in the background, peacefully surrendered.
Because the questions and dreams, they bring me to the feet of my Savior. And sometimes He has ready answers, and sometimes He whispers, wait.
So I wait.
And the clenched fists, they open up a bit more.
And the heart, it settles into a more steady rhythm. A rhythm bathed in humility and deepest trust. A cadence of belief that God alone knows all my days, and my every hair. That His plans for me are always good, whether they fit in with my dreams or not.
That every moment of action, every moment of stillness and waiting…every reaching out, and every season of simply receiving from His hand. That all of it matters. All of it matters.
That’s what I’m learning. The dreams and the questions, they are still there. And He more than cares about them.
But before Him, at His feet, I’m drawn to quiet humility. A blessed laying down of rights and agendas. Of passionate plans and lofty visions.
He knows, more than I could ever comprehend.
He cares, more than I could ever conjure up.
And in Him, it will all be more than okay. In Him, and His perfect timing, there will be abundance of life; a freeing and beautiful dance in His rest.
And in Him, I can taste and live the sweetest contentment I’ve ever known.