I Don’t Know…

I don’t like not knowing things. Whatever I don’t know, I must find out. And until I do, my mind is plagued with overwhelming uncertainty that manages to spill over into all areas of my life. I could not know something about one thing and all of a sudden, I know nothing about all the things.

Has anyone else besides me woken up…oh, around mid-forties o’clock and thought, “Wait. What am I doing? What am I supposed to be doing? Where am I? Why am I here? I feel like I should be further along in this race by now…” No? Only me? Thanks, guys.

Well, that’s how I’ve been feeling for the past number of months. Just…unsettled…unsure…uncertain…un-everything. And I chastise myself because on the surface, I really have no good reason. God has blessed me with a husband who loves and provides for me. He’s blessed me with the two most amazing children walking and drawing breath on the planet (I’m not biased—it’s true. Sorry not sorry.) I have two wonderful sisters with whom I’m extremely close and love dearly, a mom who would move heaven and earth for her Bridgy, and brothers-in-law and nieces and nephews who mean the world to me. Life is good, I ain’t gonna deny it. Yet, something seems lacking.

Allow me to explain the background for my angst…

I grew up under the authoritarianism of a very tough father. Very little was good enough. And on some level, I appreciate the principles he instilled in me; they serve as a solid foundation as I navigate (albeit, barely) through adulthood. But his methods and his inability to love through and despite failures made it difficult to feel confident in anything, really. I was never encouraged to follow my heart. Which, ok, as Christians, our aim is less to follow our heart and more to follow God’s lead. Yes. I see you, my theologically-bound friends. But I believe it’s ok with God to follow the path we’re passionate about and seek His guidance and direction. That was never something I heard from my father, so I was forced to consider a career in which I was in no way interested. And consider it, I did. For all of 5, maybe 10 minutes. Then my parents divorced, and I went my own way.

So, since my interests and passions were writing and music and writing music and singing, I embarked on an amazing singing/songwriting career and now I’m ridiculously wealthy and fulfilled.

Ha!

No.

I skipped college since my father decided he wouldn’t pay for it with the money he’d said he’d been saving since my birth and went right into the workforce where God still blessed me with amazing, good-paying jobs. But I wasn’t passionate about any of it. They merely paid the bills and funded my silly jaunts here and there with friends throughout my twenties. It wasn’t until I was 40 that I decided to go to school and get my AA in Communications.

Upon graduating, I then embarked on a writing career, penned a few best-selling novels from my quaint cabin in the woods, and went on luxurious speaking engagements promoting my work.

Ha!

No again. C’mon, guys. Know me by now.

I decided I wanted to be a freelance writer/editor, but I’m no marketing agent. I became stuck in promoting my business which yielded discouragement and immobility. Sure, I acquired a couple jobs here and there, and I’m still plugging away at it, but something else caught the corner of my eye and like a dog chasing a squirrel, I bolted straight for it.

Enter…a pregnancy resource center and a calling that has changed my life.

Through happenstance and a few comments on a FB thread, I became good friends with a director of a pregnancy center. We met for coffee simply to get to know each other better. Volunteering was nowhere on my radar. But I am passionate about protecting the unborn and their mamas. Passionately passionate. So after our chat, I went home and prayed about asking if the center needed volunteers. And bada-bing, bada-boom, yada yada yada, I’m now a paid Client Advocate loving on women, sharing the love of Christ, and championing life. I have to pinch myself when I think about it to make sure it’s real.

There’s no “Ha! No.” after that. It’s legit, folks. And I’m blissfully happy.

Except…

I don’t know…

I still love writing. I still love sharing real life struggles and what God has placed on my heart with anyone who will take the time out of their busy schedule to read. And I have had opportunities to do so, but life got in the way. Like, rudely stepped right in front of me and didn’t even say “excuse me” in the way. And after I gave a hearty, “How rude!!!” I’d crumble into the abyss of depression that inevitably would follow and lament my disappointing existence to God.

Guys, why do we do that? Why do we get up in the morning, take care of our children, make them breakfast (or throw a granola bar at them), drive them to school, sports, playdates, go to work, come home, pay bills, make dinner (or throw a menu at them)…repeat, and when something comes at us hard, THAT thing is how we identify ourselves? Maybe you don’t. But I do. And I’m here to tell you—and me—to stop it. Just stop!

God doesn’t see us how we see ourselves. God doesn’t see me how my father saw me. He doesn’t see me as a disappointment because I didn’t do what He wanted me to do or because I didn’t perform life at maximum Olympic level. When God sees me, He sees His Son, Jesus. He sees me washed clean, worthy, beautiful, accomplished. Accomplished at what? Why, accomplished at existing for His purpose, of course!

“Man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” (I Samuel 16:7)

The Holy Spirit has been working on my heart and is steadily tuning it in to harmonize perfectly with the melody of God’s purpose for me. And at mid-forties o’clock, His purpose for me is to continue serving Him by being His hands and feet at the pregnancy center. His purpose for me is to show women what He’s shown me—pure, unconditional, unadulterated love and acceptance. Not acceptance of their mistakes but acceptance of who they are as God’s creation—the same as I am—flawed, but not wanting to be.

If God spoke like I did, He’d say to me, “Girl, you BEST get up! In that abyss of depression and lament is not where I want you. My Son didn’t die for you to feel that way. My Son died to give you life everlasting! And you’re not going to spend life everlasting wallowing in your own mess. Get up, I said! I love you!!!” …or something like that.

Friend, if you have a child, just stop for a moment, stretch your brain, and see yourself the way you see your child. Just…do it. Think about the never-ending, all-consuming, unconditional, unwavering, reckless abandon type of love you have for that human being you made. Then, multiply that by a gazillion-katrillion (as my son would say), and there you have how much God loves you.

Once you’ve done that, pick your head up and put one foot in front of the other.

But here’s the thing: do that EVERY DAY. Because Satan, “walks about like a roaring lion, seeking whom he may devour.” (I Peter 5:8) That jerk will sniff out some peace of mind and snatch it from you in a New York second. He just will. Trust me. You will have to keep the reminder of God’s acceptance of you on repeat. Don’t sleep on what I’m saying. It’s true.

So what of my aforementioned unsettledness, uncertainty, and un-everything? I don’t know. And I don’t have to. God knows. And that is oddly comforting to me.

Let’s you and I take our un-everything to God and leave it in His very capable hands. You’ll know what you’re supposed to know when you know. And then you’ll know.