do you ever feel like you are in the middle of a story, but don’t know where the plot is headed?

i guess that is everyday life, but some moments i feel it more strongly than others.

as a child, i could not stop to put books down at bed time. i was the kid with a flashlight under the covers. (well, more like one of those dorky-but-helpful clip-on book lamps. i think my parents gave them to my in my christmas stocking multiple years in a row because i would burn the bulbs out after hours of use.)

i had to see how the story ended. i couldn’t just stop in the middle and pick it up the next day; my eager heart wanted the resolution of how the boxcar children would get through their newest scrape, or what would happen next in the relationship of elsie and edward. whether it was the mandie books or little house on the prairie or anne of green gables or huckleberry finn, i could not put a book down until i finished it.

i claim my ability to speed read assignments as an english major was originally formed during my elementary school years  when i couldn’t sleep without knowing how the story would turn out in the end. and – more importantly – how it would get to that ending.

here’s a gem of what my life was like at that age. notice my finger carefully keeping my spot.

it’s too bad, in life, i can’t just stay up all night to figure out what happens next in the story. i have to actually live it.

even though i know it is going to be alright in the end – just like my childhood novels – i want to know how we get to being alright. does something tragic happen first? is it scary? is there a miracle involved? or is it uneventful with the heroine worrying for no reason?

“for my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, declares the Lord.” {isaiah 55:8}

the story-teller is omniscient, and knows things the characters involved can’t yet see or understand.

so the characters must be patient and allow the story to play out, trusting that the author is weaving each situation into the grand plot. there will be a purpose, even if it is only seen in the end.

and we have the promise that, in the end, it will all be okay.

“in this world you will have trouble. but take heart! i have overcome the world.” {john 16:33}

“fear not, i am the first and the last, and the living one. i died, and behold i am alive forevermore, and i have the keys of death and hades.” {revelation 1:17-18}

Growing up, I found a source of pride in trying to stand out from everyone else.

An example of how ornery I was in wanting to be different: in second grade, we had assignment notebooks which we used to keep track of homework. Everyone had red ones, but for some reason I had to get a new one before the end of the semester, and I ended up with a blue one. Every time Mrs. Donar told us to “get out your red assignment notebooks,” I would raise my hand and say “What about a blue assignment notebook?” I liked pointing out to everyone that she needed to say something different just for me.

Finally, Mrs. Donar got exasperated, took a permanent marker, and scrawled “RED” across the cover of my notebook.

Along the lines of this desire to be unique, I always wanted to be left-handed. In my family, both of my parents are left-handed, as well as my sister. My brother and I somehow ended up right-hand dominant.

Despite the normality of left-handedness in my family, I knew it wasn’t normal among my friends and peers, and I wanted to be different in that way. I wanted to be cool and write with the opposite hand from everyone else.

I used to try to practice writing, eating, and throwing left-handed in attempt to at least be ambidextrous – however, my hand and my brain never caught on. My right hand was (and still is) completely dominant. It took me quite some time to even learn to shoot left-handed layups properly, and I played basketball for eight or nine years.

My right hand is the key to my success at most any task, so when I read Isaiah 41:21, it was significant to me how specific God is.

For I, the Lord your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, “Fear not, I am the one who helps you.

My initial reaction was, “Why does God have to hold my right hand? If I were left-handed, it wouldn’t be as big of a deal, but I can’t do anything else at the same time if He is holding my dominant hand.”

In response, the Holy Spirit whispered, “That’s exactly the point.”

Just a few verses before, Isaiah 41:10, God affirms this:

Fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.

It’s not about our strength while God is holding our hand. His right hand is free to protect us, work for us, save us. We cannot hold His hand and still attempt take care of ourselves – that is not exhibiting trust.

God wants to hold our right hand – the question is, can we let go of whatever we are clinging to and trying to accomplish on our own? Can we give up the use of our will and our capabilities in faith that His hand is more powerful than ours?

And if you are left-handed, please don’t be ornery and ask how this concept applies to you. That is so second grade.

Last May, we went camping with my family near Mount Magazine at Cove Lake. The air was just starting to get that warm, sticky feeling, but driving with the windows down was still bearable. Eric and I drove down from Fayetteville along winding highways, slowing down through small towns and singing along to the radio.

However, we were both heavy-hearted with the news that Eric’s job was being phased out of his company.

Not ready to tell anyone yet, we had kept the information to ourselves; we wanted to trust the Lord with our next steps, and even though we didn’t know what those looked like, we knew we had to surrender it to God first.

I grew up camping during the majority of the spring and summer with my family, and my dad knows all the good places to camp. Cove Lake was slightly crowded, but he had reserved a spot near the lake and fairly separate from the rest of the sites (but not too close to the outhouse). We hiked some, hammocked some, and we cooked really good food.

That night, as we were sitting around the campfire, my parents brought out a jar, a bag of rocks, and some Sharpies. Mom passed out rocks and markers to everyone as Dad began to explain that we were young in our marriage (six months in) and young in our lives, and we had a lot before us – both good and hard experiences. “When you get to the hard times, you have to look back and lean on how God provided in the past to allow you to move forward in faith that He will do the same. Because you don’t yet have as many of these God-experiences to look back on together, we want to share with you some of our God-stories. We are going to write them on rocks to start your jar, as a way to remember – then, when you reach hard times, you can look back at these stories for encouragement and start filling the jar with your own stories.”

My parents had no idea about Eric’s job situation and the crisis of faith we were in. But they started telling story after story of God’s provision in our family’s story – specifically, financial provision. These stories were ones I had heard growing up, but it strengthened my heart to hear them all again, and to know that Eric was getting to hear all that God had done for my family. Everything from a flexible job for my mom so that she didn’t have to put me in daycare, to someone giving us groceries when Mom didn’t know where the next meal would come from, to financial gifts and encouragement for Dad when he was starting his shop, to God’s faithfulness with friendships in my sister’s life. They continued to tell stories and write them on rocks and form the first layer in our glass jar.

We took that jar home with us that weekend, and a few months later were able to put in our own rock concerning God’s financial provision during the time Eric was looking for a job, and then God’s provision for a new job.

The concept of memorials is found throughout the Old Testament, and the purpose to continue telling the generations all that God has done so that their faith may be strengthened.

“When your children ask in time to come, ‘What do those stones mean to you?’ then you shall tell them that the waters of the Jordan were cut off before the ark of the covenant of the Lord. When it passed over the Jordan, the waters of the Jordan were cut off. So these stones shall be to the people of Israel a memorial forever.” – Joshua 4:6-7

Our experiences with God’s faithfulness in the past is the best way to find faith to continue to move forward, even if we don’t know what is next. Once you have seen Him provide in ways you didn’t think possible, you can approach new situations and expect Him to do the same, even if He doesn’t do it the same way. You can trust His sovereignty and His wisdom above your own.

Those experiences and stories become your foothold for your next faith-steps. 

In the moments of doubt and uncertainty, I am learning that the best weapon is the truth of God’s continual presence and action in my past – and I am then convinced I can move forward in trust that He will be present once again.

The other morning, I took a visit to Mount Sequoyah. Perching myself on one of the pews, I let my gaze drift from the altar – the very place where Eric and I said our forever vows to each other – to the world around that altar. This outdoor sanctuary will always hold a special place in my heart, and one day I cannot wait to bring our kids here and reminisce. I will tell them of how their dad had tears coming down his face before I even got to the aisle. Probably before the bridesmaids were even walking down. I will tell them of how their grandfather, after giving me away, tripped over my dress on his way to his seat. And I will tell them of how perfect a day it was. No matter how many times I have told it before.

Arkansas weather is in that stage where, one moment it will be sunny and warm, but the next cloud cover comes and completely changes the necessary clothing for being outside. I was trying to grab the last few moments of sunshine before the clouds came in, and as I tucked my legs under me on that wooden pew, I asked the Lord what He wanted to show me.

My “word” for the year is listening – learning to listen to God, specifically. This is the discipline I have always struggled with in my walk. I am able to grasp the concept of doing the talking in prayer, but the listening part is always interrupted by things to do or stories replaying in my mind or songs that I can’t stop humming. It is not often that I make the time to leave the house and just “be” with God. The concept of solitude seems best played out in nature, as it is one of the only places besides my house where I can be alone. It is the place where, in the past, I have heard Him speak, so part of my goal this year is to take more time for solitude outdoors.

And, in the midst of trying to clear my mind and listen, I didn’t necessarily hear anything specific. I warmed my hands on my travel mug of chai and allowed myself to simply sit for awhile. The rustling of leaves came alive, and as I watched the branches sway to the wind’s beckoning, I noticed the way some trees were still holding leaves. Brown, crinkly, dead leaves – the kind that should fall in November and crunch under your feet. For some reason, some trees had not let go of them, despite the nearness of spring and the anticipation of new greens.

Driving home, I started to wonder why it was that most trees had lost all of their leaves in the preparation for the next season, but a select few were still holding on. Not that trees can think, obviously, but – if they could – did they forget that a new season brings new life, even though they had experienced it before? Were they worried that they would lose these last few leaves they held dear, not realizing the capability for new life which lies in their branches?

What do I cling to from past seasons of life? Where do I need to let go of a hurt, or a burden, or an identity, which might be standing in the way of God producing something new in me? Or even, am I looking at things currently in the lens of the past?

The last question is probably what strikes me the most. I can very easily measure myself now against my college self, and criticize what I am doing now compared to what I was doing then. Am I less intentional now? Or am I learning to live in a new season of life?

I don’t want to cling to the past in an effort to hold together what was once important.

I want to recognize where God has me now and what He is doing now. 

I want to believe that He is constantly doing something new in me.

I want to live expectantly, walking in faith that He will provide for this season ahead.

“Remember not the former things, nor consider the things of old. Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” -Isaiah 43:18-19

In junior high, my family had a dog named Bingo. He was a German Shepherd/Chow/Dingo mix, and he loved to go on walks. The only problem was, he didn’t know how to enjoy walks.

That, or maybe we just had different ideas of what it meant to take a walk.

When I see people walking their dogs in the park or around the neighborhood, I normally see a leisurely stroll with the dog looking around, stopping every so often to sniff or stare menacingly at a squirrel. There is slack in the leash, and the human can enjoy the weather while the dog walks by his or her side. This is what I wanted with a dog. Bingo was a different story, though – all he wanted to do was run (in any and every direction, it seemed).

It was almost no fun to take him on walks. He would continually lunge and yank at the leash, choking himself and wearing out my arm. Once, I let him drag me through the yard – on my stomach, I believe – before I let go, simply because I didn’t have the willpower to try to hold him back any more. I attempted to explain to him that, if he would only walk beside me, he would not be coughing and wheezing the entire time. He didn’t seem to care that I was trying to help make things easier on him – he just wanted to go and I was slowing him down.

Sometimes, though, I think I do the same thing with life.

Actually, I know I do, because I find myself stressed and choking and going crazy because I don’t seem to be where I think I should be getting. At least, not as quickly as I want to get there.

Lately, I have been so anxious to move forward and find out what’s next. I feel antsy waiting for confirmation from the Lord, and even more anxious for what change might look like. I am so ready to be there and figure it out that I get easily stressed when I look at timelines. I don’t want things to take that long. So I start lunging forward, worrying about the future and choking on “what if” statements. All the while, I think it is helping me get somewhere – but when you are walking a dog, he can only get somewhere as fast as you are walking, no matter how hard he pulls.

The other morning, I was confessing this to the Lord, and I felt like he was telling me to simply walk with him – and enjoy the walk. To walk by his side, trusting where He is going and the pace He is setting. I just have to believe that His way is better, and His timing will be perfect.

Otherwise, I am gonna end up coughing and straining yet no where closer to my destination than the speed God is moving. And I know I will enjoy the adventure so much more if I slow down and walk with Him.