Sometimes I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to pick up my life and go somewhere new. Somewhere where no one knows me. Where I can be myself again, without the scars and reminders of the life I have now. To abandon Toronto and it’s constant movement for a slower pace; a quieter life.
You see, in a few short months I’ll be graduating from my undergrad, and with that has come a million questions from onlookers as to what I’m going to do with the rest of my life. As if I know. But here’s the thing: not long ago I did know. I had an idea in my head of what the next couple of years of my life were going to look like. I had dreams that were made with someone who had given his word and committed to me. But people fail, and people disappoint, and things change. And to an extent, that’s okay. How I was treated was not okay, but what the result was was and is in the hands of the Lord–and that’s okay. You don’t have to know much about me to know that I’ve been forced to account for variable change.
The thing is, I feel stuck in this wave that just keeps crashing on the shore and never gets relief from the storm. No calm sea, no quiet water, just endless tidal waves. And just when I think the storm is passing and things are finally becoming normalized, the wind catches and picks up again, and I’m back where I started. The rate of change has been a little to fast for me. The lack of consistency has been too much for my head to handle. The hope of stability and steadiness seems a lofty one. Sometimes I feel that if I know what’s coming next, when or how the next wave will crash, then I can be “ready”. But I’m quickly learning that even when we think we know, things change. Nothing is sure. Nothing is 100%.
Except One. And He calls to me in my wanderlust, in my fear, in my heartache, and He says “come home”. Because relying on my ability to know has only led me down winding paths, towards the cliffs of my own will. Because though I feel tossed in the constant storm, there is One who is behind it all, directing the seas and protecting me with mercy. And even when I feel like running away, after I’ve been used and hurt and beaten down, in His presence I know I’m where I’m supposed to be. He reminds me of this promise from Isaiah 54:
“O afflicted one, storm-tossed and not comforted,
behold, I will set your stones in antimony,
and lay your foundations with sapphires.
I will make your pinnacles of agate,
your gates of carbuncles,
and all your wall of precious stones.”
And then suddenly, hope doesn’t seem so lofty.