I used to see it as a promise. A place of hope and dreaming. Something to hold onto when things get rough a why of trusting in the Lord. Trust that He was sovereign over all and that no matter how ugly something gets, that never determines His truth. It's just a matter of time, patience, and work.
It didn't mean there was no more work to be had. It didn't mean it wouldn't be hard. It didn't mean I wouldn't get hurt along the way. Those things are inevitable. When you really love something, or someone, and you want it forever, there is bound to be times when you think its impossible, or they hurt you so bad you think you won't recover, or a door gets slammed in your face when you thought it was supposed to be open.
And if I had faced all of those things before I had done the work, asked the questions and faced the options, all of these things could spell out that I had been wrong, that it wasn't "meant to be" or that I was making a mistake. Every pain would mean it was maybe wrong, and every mountain would seem to say that I was headed down a dangerous path. The negative could have reenforced the fear, the uncertainty, the questions and the shaky ground.
But I didn't. I had asked the Lord to lay the foundation. I had debated, talked through, gotten advice and faced the ugliness of the options. Either the path I was heading down was wrong, or right. Either the choice was good or bad. Which was it Lord? I don't like this about it, but I love this about it. This scares me, but this seems right. Back and forth, back and forth, like a tennis match. I wasn't going to settle. Not this time. This time, I needed to know. I needed to admit all of it. The ugliness, the greatness, the truth of what it looked like and the way I loved and felt. I wanted to be open and honest and not hide myself from the pain of what the answers could be, either way. I was going after His best, and I trusted Him to give it to me. I wanted to be sure.
So I made no promises, I lived my life, and I processed with God.
I waited patiently for the meant to be moment; the moment it all comes together, the fears, the hopes, the dreams, the pain, the uncertainty. And the moment came. In all its gloriousness, it came. Peace settled in and dreams began. I could take stock in what the Lord had done. I had gone about my business with eyes wide open. I had prayed, thought, struggled through the pros and cons. I had faced the questions that made me wonder if it was right in the first place. I did the work... and it paid off. I was sure. It didn't matter what happened now. It was all a matter of figuring out what the right compromise, path and middle ground was. It was about now dreaming in the surety of what I knew the God had given to me.
So I walked forward, in confidence. But what I forgot was, there was another part to the story. There were other factors at play. Not everyone in the world lives their life quite like I do, so I forgot. I forgot to be aware of others and their journeys. Maybe I was mistaken, or naive, or whatever, but the outcome remains the same. I moved forward, only to be shut down. As soon as I stepped down the path of what had seemed like a "yes" I received a very firm, real, immovable "no."
My surety met the unsurety of another. So, broken heart in hand, I went back to the Lord. The problem is, I forgot to live in the surety I had asked for. When I got the firm no, or the closed door, or whatever you want to call it, I didn't go to the Source of the first "meant to be moment." Instead, I went to the source of the shut door, started pounding on it and telling the person who had shut it why they were being an idiot. I looked for a window, or an SUV tp traverse over the mountain, rather than going to the Creator of dreams, options, opened doors and peace. I blamed the mountain, the door and myself for seeing it wrong. I created plans and started tunneling, I tried to cajole and move the object. I did everything short of what I should have done. I manipulated and forced, bulldozed and tried to convince the object to do it my way... because mine was better, of course.
Fear got hold, peace fled and along with it sanity. I turned into the worst thing of all: human. Selfishness tends to run right along with fear, so I let my needs, my wants, my desires run rampant, rather than doing the vary thing I had asked the Lord if it was right to do: walk, trust, love and be patient. I wanted everything to line up perfectly, to reenforce what the Lord had said. I hit a hiccup, and I panicked. I was asking something outside of myself to do the very thing I needed to do. Trust God and not give up.
Hindsight is always 20/20, and in moments like these, forgiveness for self is invaluable. Well, almost as invaluable as His forgiveness. I wish I had sat in front of the mountain, pulled out a picnic basket, a bottle of wine, and watched the sunset. I wish, when the door closed, I had turned back to the Lord and said "Hmph. What now?" I wish I when I heard the "no" I had listened louder to the "yes" from above and not let it shake me. I wish I had sat still, trusted Him, and not let the fear, panic and hurt be bigger than God's grace, hope and truth.
"Meant to be" is an invitation. An invitation to trust the Lord. To not let the bumps in the road diffuse hope. It's an invitation to face when someone or something hurts you and work through it with the Lord. It's an invitation to take responsibility for a dream, or a desire, or a path, and let the Lord bring it to fruiting. It's not a phrase to escape responsibility or to rush past pain just to get to the end result. That is a fools errand. Trusting the Lord says something different. "Meant to be" is just another way of saying "I trust you Lord. I trust that if this is what You want, that if this is what it is supposed to be, then any hurt I incur, any road-block I hit, every mountain I come across is just another chance to trust You, no matter where it comes from." That trust doesn't give in easily, it doesn't give up hope, it settles in as a resolution to not be swayed by someone else's humanness or failing, or slammed doors, or anything else.
But all that has to be started with a foundation laid. It has to be started with the tennis match and back and forth. It has to begin with asking the hard questions. It means you can't be resolved to an answer, before you ask the questions, or not willing to admit to the pros and cons of the path or dream. It means you have to do the work, to ask the questions you aren't sure about, until you get the peace.
But once you get the peace, it becomes about trusting Him more than ever. Opposed to popular thought and theory, the journey only starts at the "meant to be." That's the hardest part. If something is really "meant to be" that means that all the pain, hurt, frustration, joy, fun, greatness and everything in between are apart of it as well.
I'll never fully understand. I'll never fully see. That's because I can't. I'm not supposed to. At the end of it all, I am apart of a body, and I can't always see what is happening in the other parts. It's not always about me, or what I could have, or should have done differently. My world is just spinning in a universe I can't fully comprehend. Who knows why the door was shut so tightly, or the mountain was so unmovable and it doesn't matter. I don't know what the Lord is doing behind it, or what volcano the mountain is. I'll never understand why I was so diligent, heard one thing, but another came about. And I guess I'm not supposed to. The bigger picture is just that, a bigger picture. I don't have all the answers and I don't always get it right. That's what makes Him God, and me... well me.
But that doesn't mean I can't learn. That doesn't mean I can't grow. It doesn't mean I can't heal. I can look back and see what I did wrong, the lessons I can learn. Like learning that loving doesn't mean getting what you think you want, but sometimes it means turning around, sitting down before Him and waiting rather than pushing the door down. Maybe the lesson is trusting His voice more than the voice of someone/something smaller than Him. There is no mountain He can't move, there is no door He can't open and truth be told, He not only doesn't need my help to do it, but getting out of His way is more loving. Sometimes patience looks like silence, and trust looks like encouragement. When the scary parts came, I should have run to Him and let treat my wounds rather than trying to make the dream fix them.
So now, heart broken anyways, dreams having died anyways, but now carrying the burden of having scorched and dented the door, or having scarred the mountain, I turn and finally walk back to the Source and ask "What now?"
Pieces of me in hand, head hanging, tears streaming, I have to turn, pull out a picnic basket, grab a bottle of wine and cry with Him while I watch the sunset. The mountains gone, the door has disappeared, but with it, the path I had asked about, the dreams I had started. I cry because of what I thought was "meant to be" I cry because I don't understand, I cry because what it was, was so beautiful. I cry because I loved and lost, because I tried and failed, because I couldn't see my mistakes before it was too late, and even if I had, it may not have changed it. The door may never have opened now matter how long I waited. The mountain may have never moved. I cry because I was human and no matter what I could have or should have done, it was meant to be. It was meant to be exactly what it is.
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