Let’s curl up under a few warm blankets, make a fresh pot of coffee and share some honest talk for a little while.

Twenty seven is the scariest number for me right now. Tomorrow that number will change to twenty six. The next day — twenty five.

A few days ago, everything felt just as sweet as it normally does between God and me. My soul was overflowing with untroubled rest, unreserved hope and trusting love. As I was walking to class on Wednesday, I felt all of that suddenly crumble. A pit of unpredictable anxiety grew as if our lifeline was snipped with a pair of scissors.

I can’t put my finger on it exactly, but echoes of uncertainty erased the inklings of plans I thought maybe God had for after graduation. Fear rooted deeper than that of confidence. I’ve prayed so incessantly for clarity about my next steps but nothing has come to fruition, let alone realization. With graduation just twenty seven days away, that doesn’t fill me with peace.

I know that God doesn’t hide. Sometimes I’ve seen Him work by storming into my life in the mightiest, moving and shaking way to set me on a new path. More often I hear Him in still and hidden whispers.

Maybe lies of fear are closing off my heart, stopping me from listening to what He’s trying to tell me. Maybe I’m afraid of doing big things and failing. Afraid of leaving what I know and then being too small. Afraid of being unworthy or unqualified for what I want to do and so I avoid thinking about it.

Afraid.

Afraid.

Afraid.

Oh, my heart aches to answer curious people’s questions with concrete plans. All I can tell them right now is that I’m sure God’s ways are so, so good and my plans haven’t been revealed to me yet. As a planner — someone who doesn’t like surprises — it feels incredibly uncomfortable to not be able to confidently assure people that I know what I’m doing yet.

But a lingering, restless heart cannot possibly be an accident. I’m sure it means that something is stirring within me, waiting to make an appearance at just the right time. Last week, my heart was shaking off the fact that graduation is so close and pretending to be okay. But I think now it’s to the point where God is telling me that I have to sweetly wreck my heart and fully trust in His works.

I have to tune out fear. There is so much beauty in God’s quiet seasons, what I’m experiencing now — opportunities to be still and allow our hearts to settle and let calmness overflow the aches in our chests. There’s beauty in silence, in the woods, in the desert.

Last night, late, lies of failure and unpreparedness were filling my mind. This unexpected lost-in-the-forest kind of season is fear bringing. I know God’s not hiding from me because He doesn’t do that. Maybe he’s just lingering a bit so I can trust Him, or maybe I’m hesitating to listen.

Jesus used to go out into the desert to be freed of distraction to pray. Last night, I didn’t have a desert nearby but oh, did I have rain. I could hear it as I was listening to “Pieces” by Amanda Cook, having a mind battle with God — getting progressively more angry at the sudden unrest in my heart. The rain sounds on my bedroom roof drew me in. I peeled off my socks and walked outside. I allowed my bare feet to rest in a puddle of cold water; face turned towards the sky and allowed the unforgiving downpour to wash over me. The drops slid down my face. I breathed.

Friends, we are so much more than dust and bones. Our hearts are glowing embers that await kindling and air to burn strongly, even in the darkest of times.

The good news is that we have a tool — the Holy Spirit. God works in our lives, the Holy Spirit is with us to help us go boldly and be patient. Even if we feel like we’re the most unqualified of humans, we have to remember that Jesus is love and what we do is about our hearts and not our works.

“Such is the confidence that we have through Christ toward God. Not that we are sufficient in ourselves to claim anything as coming from us, but our sufficiency is from God” (2 Corinthians 3: 4-5).

I have to erase this fear of what is to come because as long as our works are done in love, our works are beautiful. God’s spirit moves within our hearts because we are made for mission. It’s not of ourselves, rather it’s of him — whether we want to be an artist, a teacher or an accountant.

Go to the desert or out in the rain where you listen to God’s sweet words. I’m sure that our stories were written on our hearts since before we were born in the most beautiful tapestries and His call for our mission won’t look the same for anyone else.

And that soothes my soul. 

Love,

Kate

{"Pieces" by Amanda Cook. Seriously. Listen.}