My sweet friend Alli got me a book called the War of Art after a conversation we had about my writing…or lack thereof. It’s about how to overcome the resistance to create.
Writing. Sigh. The one thing I believe I am destined to do, but cannot seem to bring myself to do. Creatives know what I’m talking about. The fear of standing in front of a blank canvas (or page) can be terrifying. No. Paralyzing. That is the correct word. Sometimes when I think about writing, I get sick to my stomach. Weird huh?
I love writing, but I also hate it. Good writing, at least in the nonfiction realm, is vulnerable. It often stirs up feelings and beliefs and hurts that I do not want to face.
I first started blogging when I was 25. It was during my fantastic adventures of studying abroad in Paris, and traveling solo through Europe. Oh the adventure. The excitement. The freedom. The discovery. The pastries. I pray daily for God to take me back to Paris.
(You can read about my traveling adventures here) Anyhow. I digress…
That was not vulnerable writing. It was just fun and whimsical. When that season ended, I needed a new subject. The most prevalent theme of my life at the time was singleness and waiting. Let me tell you –I did not want to write about that! Ugh. But I knew God was calling me to write from a far, deeper and transparent place than the “fun” things in life. Out of obedience, I just started writing about my journey and process of waiting.
It began to speak to other people in different kinds of seasons of waiting.
- Waiting for marriage.
- Waiting for children.
- Waiting for healing.
- Waiting for that job, for that spouse to change, that person to get saved, that money to come in.
Just. Waiting. I got comments and messages and emails from people around the world sharing their own heartache from their unmet desires.
All I wanted at that time was a husband. Oh how I longed for him. And then he strolled into my life in the most unexpected way. And he is wonderful. Tall, blonde haired and blue eyed, my very own James Dean. Gentle, steady, unwavering in his faith. When he entered my life, I entered into a new season.
I was elated. I also wasn’t waiting anymore. Once again, I had no idea what to write about.
Our impending move to South Africa promised to be a wonderful new topic about which to write, and I found myself anticipating the season of writing that was sure to come. We were supposed to leave in a week, but we are delayed due to visa issues. (I’ll write about that another time.)
So here I am, delayed, waiting, once again. I am living in limbo. Not only am I waiting to just get there, but I am also waiting for the next stage of my life to start. Waiting to write again. Waiting to discover my calling in life. I’ve just had this belief that moving to South Africa would reveal what I have been crying out to God for, for years. Destiny. Direction. Purpose.
Waiting. I hate that word. It is the bane of my existence.
For some reason, God makes me wait for everything I want in life. Things that I have seen my friends and siblings and acquaintances and coworkers get as soon as their desire presents itself.
I cannot tell you how many times I celebrated my friend’s dream coming true, while my own dreams turned into nightmares.
I find myself faced with a figurative fork in the road. Since I am familiar with waiting, I have an idea of what lies ahead of me. The heartache. The tears. The surrender. However, I also have an unwavering assurance that I will be met in the deepest, raw, and intimate way by a loving, compassionate Father. Because I have lived it. I have seen what is on the other side of waiting.
Both paths will lead me to the same place, because God is faithful, and He redeems even our poorest choices and terrible attitudes. But one will get me there a little quicker, and protect me from regret.
One is the way of surrender, and one is the way of bitterness.
You guys. I feel it. I sense it within me.
The ugly, grotesque, stubborn, and strangely enticing voice of bitterness.
I can hear it taunting me to be angry with God; to doubt His goodness; to isolate myself from those who don’t have to wait for anything; .
And you know what? It is so tempting to give in. To just embrace the pain of disappointment, because at least then I would feel justified and validated.
One of our pastors asked me how I think God wants me to respond in this season of waiting. I did not even have to think about it. I knew.
I am supposed to worship.
Through the tears.
Through the “unfairs” and the “whys”.
Through the uncomfortable unknowns, limbos, and delays.
Through the waiting.
When I cannot see what lies ahead, and do not understand His ways, I will stand and contend for the goodness of God in my life.
Because deep down in my soul, in my bones, I know that He is good.
So I will sing my song.
My song of waiting.