I can’t see what’s in front of me. It was pouring rain and as I weaved along the country roads toward the airport the foggy thunderstorm left my hands clenched on the steering wheel praying I would not drive off the road. Street lights are a novelty in the rural Midwest, and apparently, so is seeing the lane lines on the road.
Thank goodness it only takes fifteen minutes to run from the parking lot through security to my assigned gate for departure at the Madison airport. I made it. Phew.
There wasn’t a moment on the drive that I thought I would miss my flight. Despite decreasing my speed by 80% and a total lack of vision of the road and other vehicles, I knew I would make it to my plane in time. Such confidence freed me to slow down and take the necessary precautions on the stormy roads that morning.
I can’t see what’s in front of me, but still I want to trust you.
I have no vision of the year ahead, let alone the next five to ten years of my life. I can’t tell you if the Midwest will be a stop along the way or a place that ever truly feels like home, and while the desire to be married and have a family grows in my heart, I can’t show you proof of if or when that chapter will be written.
What I can tell you is that prayer works. Talking and listening to Jesus opens us up to hear the voice of God, to feel his presence, and to find peace in the middle of not having many answers. When the people of God lift their voices to him in unison, he listens. He responds.
Lately, I have felt Jesus responding, but it’s not what you think. I didn’t hear an audible voice and I don’t have any hints about the future. But I do feel him. I feel Jesus wanting to set my heart free from the weight of doubt. I feel Jesus desiring to alleviate the feeling of exhaustion that comes with constantly trying to calculate life’s outcomes. I feel Jesus carefully loosening my grip from the fear of being forgotten.
He is giving me little tastes of what deeper trust feels like. (As an aside, I just pictured him handing me truffles, one by one.)
Trusting Jesus feels a little like reckless abandonment. It’s invigorating. It’s thrilling to let go. I picture myself running and dancing with arms tossing in the air as the sun kisses my skin and the wind caresses my curls. It’s marvelous.
It’s hard to stay there though. I’m sure you can relate. As much as the glorious release of concern enthralls me, thoughts rush into my mind grabbing my attention and dampening my courage to run freely with Jesus.
The moment is enough though. One moment gives us a taste of the sweetness of trust. Trusting in Jesus empowers us to believe in the unbelievable. It catapults our dreams to the heavens and unleashes a beauty and fearlessness that puzzles the world.
Isn’t it ravishing? It’s most desirable.
Won’t you run with me?
I can’t see what’s in front of me, but Jesus, I trust in you.
Photo credit: Little City Magazine