willing to remain in the fog

It’s a perfect fall morning for the porch swing, a jacket, and a cup of hot tea.

I suppose that most mornings in this house have felt perfect for enjoying the front porch, ever since we moved in mid-April. The dog most always joins me here, sunning himself on the concrete or taking careful watch for lizards. Here is my favorite writing spot. Honestly, I started a blog back in college just to write for myself. I have found that, as a writer, I write to process and discover and hear from God. I hit “publish” in case God wants to use these words to encourage someone else, but the main reason I write is for what it produces in my own life. I learn as I see the words scrawl across the page, connecting my head to what’s going on in my heart.

However, the past week or so, every time I have attempted to write, I have felt paralyzed by something unknown. I haven’t felt like myself, perhaps due to not being able to translate all that has been going on in my head into written words. I’ve been distracted, which is why this was originally written pen to paper – a notebook leaves no opportunity for social media or comparing what others have written to my own meager space in this corner of the internet.

I have felt like I am in a sort of a fog that is not clearing — and frankly, it’s frustrating.

I know I won’t always be able to see down the road and envision what’s ahead. But it’s been difficult not being able to clearly look back at where I’ve been, either. The past can at least give some clarity that I have moved forward, that progress has been made or growth has occurred. But even that feels like a blur to me right now.

I can feel myself struggling, wrestling with the Lord, begging Him to clear the fog.

If I am in a season of waiting, I at least want to know what the purpose is. I want to figure out how to make the most of it and how to enjoy it.

What do you have for me, Lord?
What should I be doing?

“Just wait,” He tells me.
“Stop trying to figure it out. Stop squirming. Be that contented weaned child in Psalm 131.”

Life feels hazy for me right now. Maybe you are there, too. One of my college girls recently realized that her plans for after graduation needed to change, though not for a clear replacement or compelling purpose. Her future feels more uncertain than ever as even graduating on time seems like less of a possibility. She struggling, too, to process the “whys” and the “what nows.”

We like to have answers, and if we don’t have answers we at least like to be in the problem-solving process.

But maybe God is calling us to just be in the fog. To acknowledge the lack of clarity and the fear of not being able to see in any direction, and to be okay with that.

Maybe God uses the fog to keep us present.

Without increased vision, we can’t compare our surroundings to that of someone else, or even to our past self. When we can’t see, we can’t wish we were further ahead because we don’t even know what it looks like yet.

The fog forces me to be “all here.” It reminds me that I can’t change my surroundings, and it increases my trust for all that I cannot see.

And, when I stop to just be present, I realize how beautiful the fog is. It seems to be God’s way of making the present feel more magical, and I find it more enjoyable to not see what’s ahead when I look at it from that perspective. I can see myself in a fairy tale story, and I can then recognize the ability of the Author is more important than the character’s understanding of the plot. The Author will get her there in the best way, because He is the One crafting the story.

There’s beauty in the unknown.
Don’t miss it.

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