Anyone who knows me can see that I am cautious to a fault. Risk-averse. I enjoy being comfortable, and would be content seeking stability for the rest of my days on earth. To my detriment and the detriment of my faith.
Luckily, my husband and I live a life of constant change that keeps me on my toes. Each day I must fight to be fully in the present rather than live halfway in an intangible future. Because I am by nature a planner, I seek to map out my life so that there are no—scratch that—fewer surprises. And yet, as I sit here this Sunday afternoon (procrastinating on several other things by writing this blog post) I find myself caught in a strange web of unknowing that leaves me unable to do what I love best—plan.
This web has had hold of me for several weeks as I wait (and try not to hold my breath) to find out where my husband and I will spend the next four to five years of our life. I call it a web rather than a trap because I have many paths of preparation, but none that allow me to pursue the planning through to the end (as I so desperately want to do).
In church today, my small group discussed part of John 4, and our teacher made a profound statement that made me realize that the tentative, comfortable way I prefer to live my life is not what God wants for me.
When we step out in faith, that is when God provides.
Though it seems counterintuitive, I have seen this principle played out over and over in my life—and yet I still avoid doing it whenever I can. For the longest time, I associated the taking of excessive risks with stupidity, or even bad stewardship. And in some ways, with some people, it might be. But for me, it is a justification for my own sin.
Stepping out in faith, for me, does not mean foregoing preparation. It does not mean impulsive decisions. But it does mean taking greater, more calculated risks, and setting aside my fears. It involves making personal and professional decisions that rip me from the warm embrace of my small section of familiar web, and allowing my web to be carried on the wind of God’s will that will take me beyond the farthest reaches of my imagination.
Practically, this means I must make a conscious effort each day to listen to God’s guidance as I pray for him to guide us to the right decision for my husband’s doctorate. I must pay attention to the opportunities that slide into my path, and treat any crook in the road or closed door as a course correction rather than a failure. I must take into account the voices of other men and women who have gone before me, and above all, seek His purpose.
I can’t see the end of my life, the people I will impact or the missteps that will form the foundations of the lessons I must learn. But I can see a few steps ahead, and I know how to hold on when the wind blows. And I know, despite my fears, who holds my web steady in His hands.
Check out this one-minute video of how spiders make their webs. Because metaphors are the best.
Luckily, my husband and I live a life of constant change that keeps me on my toes. Each day I must fight to be fully in the present rather than live halfway in an intangible future. Because I am by nature a planner, I seek to map out my life so that there are no—scratch that—fewer surprises. And yet, as I sit here this Sunday afternoon (procrastinating on several other things by writing this blog post) I find myself caught in a strange web of unknowing that leaves me unable to do what I love best—plan.
This web has had hold of me for several weeks as I wait (and try not to hold my breath) to find out where my husband and I will spend the next four to five years of our life. I call it a web rather than a trap because I have many paths of preparation, but none that allow me to pursue the planning through to the end (as I so desperately want to do).
In church today, my small group discussed part of John 4, and our teacher made a profound statement that made me realize that the tentative, comfortable way I prefer to live my life is not what God wants for me.
When we step out in faith, that is when God provides.
Though it seems counterintuitive, I have seen this principle played out over and over in my life—and yet I still avoid doing it whenever I can. For the longest time, I associated the taking of excessive risks with stupidity, or even bad stewardship. And in some ways, with some people, it might be. But for me, it is a justification for my own sin.
Stepping out in faith, for me, does not mean foregoing preparation. It does not mean impulsive decisions. But it does mean taking greater, more calculated risks, and setting aside my fears. It involves making personal and professional decisions that rip me from the warm embrace of my small section of familiar web, and allowing my web to be carried on the wind of God’s will that will take me beyond the farthest reaches of my imagination.
Practically, this means I must make a conscious effort each day to listen to God’s guidance as I pray for him to guide us to the right decision for my husband’s doctorate. I must pay attention to the opportunities that slide into my path, and treat any crook in the road or closed door as a course correction rather than a failure. I must take into account the voices of other men and women who have gone before me, and above all, seek His purpose.
I can’t see the end of my life, the people I will impact or the missteps that will form the foundations of the lessons I must learn. But I can see a few steps ahead, and I know how to hold on when the wind blows. And I know, despite my fears, who holds my web steady in His hands.
Check out this one-minute video of how spiders make their webs. Because metaphors are the best.