Just about three years ago I was happy. It wasn't exactly the Philippians 4:11 version of "content" but the emotional comfort that comes from external circumstances. I had a great job where I had just received a promotion (and a huge raise); I was living on my own for the first time in my life in an adorable one-bedroom; and my social calendar was pretty busy with performing, church and friends. I'd even decided to put school on hold so I could ride out the wave for a bit (maybe store up a little cash) and just be stagnant for awhile.
At that time Celeste and I performed together and, even though she was several years older, struck up a friendship. We shared a similar mindset despite being from different backgrounds and I began to really admire her. Somehow she managed to maintain a genuine innocence while still being open-minded and shrewd. I wasn't much younger but I remember being a bit in awe of the way she carried herself, like a junior high student hanging out with the vastly cooler college co-ed.
Then one night following a show, long after the others had left, she dropped a bombshell - at eighteen she had been abducted, raped and then abandoned on the side of the road. Understandably she didn't bring it up much nor did she advertise the event, but she also said it wasn't something she was going to hide, either. She said she'd never wish rape on anyone but it ultimately stripped her of almost everything she'd ever believed and forced her to make a decision about how she was going to live her life. Had it not happened, she would've continued on in a sheltered existence and never would have taken the chances that made her who she is.
The drive home that night was somber and as I sat waiting for the light at 7th Street and McDowell, I actually prayed these (naive, oblivious, foolish) words: God, I need you to force me out of my comfort zone.
Two days later I was fired.
So what's the moral? Was there a big lesson learned, one that I'll pass onto my children someday about how all things work together for the good and when life hands you lemons, make lemonade because it's not about how far you get, it's about how quickly your rise after falling?
Uh, no.
I found out that if you're idiotic enough to ask God for something, you'd better be ready to work for it. And if you aren't ready to get eyeballs deep in some serious shit, then keep your mouth shut.
In all honesty, the entire experience made me very skittish when it came to how I communicated with God. With a couple years between then and now, I can say that the mountain I scaled in the 9+ months afterward gave me plenty of opportunities to grow (up) and the woman it's helped form is stronger, smarter and more mature as a result. Yet I can't help but ask "Seriously God, wasn't there an easier way? Something, I dunno... less painful?"
Ironically, one of my favorite sayings (a la Brennan Manning) as of late has been "faith at the mercy of what it receives is bogus faith" which basically means that it's not real faith if you put conditions on it. If I believe (or claim to believe) that God will bless me I have essentially accepted aaaaaaaall the things that will come my way between the moment I first believed and the arrival of the blessing.
So why do I always add a caveat at the end of my prayers? I'm terrified of what it'll take for my pleas to be answered. I'm gun-shy now, my finger perpetually on the trigger yet rarely do I pull it back, too afraid of the frightening reality that I can't control the path of the bullet. The future that God has promised me is bright but is it worth the risk? Do I trust that what's waiting for me will overshadow the pain, heartache, blood and tears that I shed to get there?
I had a shitty summer and so far this semester doesn't appear to be much of an improvement. There was a point in the spring where I came to a crossroad and for what felt like the first time, I dug in and prayed about which way I should go. It was then that I heard, very clearly, my two options: One, stay safe and take the well-worn path you're used to; or two, for once risk yourself and your heart by stepping out of your comfort zone. Knowing the possibilities, both good and bad, I made the jump (well, it was less of a "jump" and more like a tentative "easing into" but still...). And the fall has been less than graceful; the landing, however, is still "up in the air".
When I made that choice, I naively thought that God's green-light for that particular path meant that He agreed with my vision of where it would lead. When my plans began to unravel I pointed a finger to the sky and shouted "What the hell? You TOLD me to do this and now it's falling apart!"
"Do you trust Me?" Was the reply I received.
"What?!" I asked, incredulous.
"Do you trust Me?"
And with a sigh of resignation and fists clenched at my sides, I scowled down at my feet and answered "...yeah, I guess."
I loathe the unknown. There is nothing more frightening to me than giving up control - of anything. And even though my hands are shaking I'm still going to lay it down, grit my teeth and walk away. I'll take a backseat and accept the fact that not only do I not have the wheel but I don't know the way or even the destination.
It'll probably be treacherous, over steep canyons and up rocky mountains, and I'll probably lunge for the steering wheel a couple times to set us back on (what I think should be) track... but ultimately I trust the Driver. I may not understand Him, but I trust Him.
And so I say, bring it on.
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