Last night, while sipping hot chocolate and gazing at Christmas lights, I told my dad, “I think the only way I can be okay with my life is if I want God more than the things I want.”
I was still mulling over that single sentence when I woke up this morning.
We’d been talking about the girls and I growing families and how the holidays would look different if/when that happened. Somehow (probably because we are all deep people who think too much) that conversation quickly turned into a conversation about why some people had to wait longer for prayers to be answered. Or why some people had longings in their hearts that were never realized this side of Heaven.
I’ve done a lot of growing in the last few years. I get frustrated when I look on the outside; there seems to be very little to show for it. But I’ve recognized such a change in my heart and my faith that I tear up when I catch glimpses of it. God has been so gracious and kind to this tantrum-throwing mess.
It has taken years of my life to get here, but I believe God’s heart for me is good. For the first time in a long time, a peace settles beneath the quaking anxiety of a life I don’t control. He knows best. My flesh may fight against it, but something deeper is settled with a steadfast certainty.
He can be trusted. I know this in my soul.
Yet I still feel lost. Aimless. Like I don’t know how to navigate my life without a plan. “Trust God” is nice, but not concrete. I need a to-do list. I want benchmarks. Standards to meet.
But I just get more of Him. And getting more of Him gives me more peace. Enough peace to utter, with bittersweet tears, that He alone will be enough for me.
If I never fall in love again. If I never hold my curly-headed child. If I never amount to anything other than what I am right now.
This life–this precious gathering of heartbeats–will be spent loving my Jesus. And as such, it will not be wasted.