Part of the Plan

Every once in a while I am proved so wrong... and it's beautiful. My greatest fears of late have not been losing someone, they have been losing faith. For a brief moment, for a held breath in time, I wondered with deep insecurity whether or not there is purpose, meaning, direction to the crazy life we live, the decisions we make. Is there any pattern in the random chaos, or is it just that, random chaos?

I've spent the greater portion of my life walking a very strict line of belief. Dogmatic in the language, varying in the expression, hopeful in the lessons, perfection in hindsight. That may not make sense, but think of it this way, always speaking the belief, sometimes acting on it, but always seeing the conclusion in the rearview mirror. But in the last few months that sort of formulaic way of excuses has failed.

The older I get, the more cost there is to the decisions I make. I realize the endgame is so much more fragile. So when I make a decision, it's fraught with meaning, analyzation and slight paranoia. The OCD of thought, I would probably make a great chess player if I knew the game, and had a higher IQ.... I guess that means I would actually suck at it, but whatev. Point is, when I make my decisions now, I don't have the carefree easy justifications of time, ignorance and bliss I used it. Now, it means something.

So when I took a leap and came home, leaving behind one dream for another, and then both died, a piece of me died with it. The ignorance and bliss piece, I guess. Catapulted into circumstances that made me question the very way I see the world, my roots where shaken, my heart rendered. After everything I had been through, did I have the faith to hold on another day? No, I didn't. There seemed to be no purpose anymore, no justification for the loss, no real reason for my faith not proving itself through redemption. I had nothing to hold onto besides an over analytical mind looking for proof of life, while there was no pulse. In a world that has been infiltrated and subjected to death, it's hard to hope for life.

But tonight I was proved wrong. I spent hours praying today. Well, I guess that's everyday, but today was different. I had been struck by a terrible migraine which I get under bouts of intense stress, intense weather change, or female issues. Since the weather has now dipped to record lows from record highs and my stress level has been through the roof, two out of three was enough to send me into the blinding overdrive of neurons gone haywire. After a few specialized pills and some serious sleeping, I recovered enough to feel the gnawing pain of deep metaphysical questions... also known as doubts. Coming back to reality can sometimes feel like waking up into a bad dream. My everything is topsy turvy. That tends to rock a world.

So as I sat in worship tonight, I realized certain questions had been answered, even if they weren't. I could handle the idea that I may never know the why. I could handle the notion that it may never make sense, that I may never know for sure who's voice I heard when I decided to move home. I could even stop blaming my ex, myself and God for the end of every dream I had. What I couldn't let go of was the deep fear that it was all for nothing.

When my ex walked away, it was so easy for him. For me, it was earth-shattering. It had been worth everything for me, not just because I loved him, but because my faith had deepened that love. Time and time again, the wisdom from heaven, my trust in God, my love of Him and honesty with Him had led me back to my ex. My relationship with God seemed to deepen through my relationship with my ex. It was so symmetrical and beautiful, that's part of the shock of it ending. What seemed to make so much sense to me, wasn't enough for someone else, and on top of that, God was letting die as well.

I had given every bit of love I had, and more it felt, and sacrificed it all. For what? For only a few short weeks later to have it all end? The reality, in my realm that is, looks empty, vain, heartless and callous. My heart had been pure, even if the expression of my love was flawed and human at times. Where was my justice? You can't make someone love you, but this was more than just that, now it was an issue between the Lord and I. Where was He? Where is He? Was it all random, once again? Was it just a clash of a woman in love and a man afraid to commit? Could my heart and sacrifice be simplified down so much?

When something good dies, there is a need for it to be justified. There is a deep need for it to mean something, to not die in vain. A soldier on the battlefield, a child with a disease, it needs to have meaning, to be something more than senseless. I needed that here. All I had wanted to do was love someone, to love the Lord, to live that life, to fight that good fight. It wasn't enough to rage against the fear, the resentment, the hurt of another, and to me, that was the worst sort of loss; one that in the end meant nothing. And He wasn't there to help me fight it. Instead, He felt distant, quiet, unconcerned with my pangs and the doubts that were swirling, threatening to pull me under. Where was the goodness I had banked on?

As I sat in worship tonight though, something great happened. I worshipped again, squaring away all of my fears, expressing them out, then asking for a faith to sustain. I sat down, questioning my decisions, my frustrations, my loss of dreams and realized, maybe that was part of the point. If there was a purpose at all, maybe part of it was to destroy my dreams... and maybe, just maybe He would replace them with His. Maybe He would take my life and what I thought was the epitome of great and destroy it, to return something even better. But that hinged on whether or not any, if not all of it, was purposed. If He really did mean to take my life and completely shatter it. Ironically enough, I would prefer that to random accident.

I sat down, and the next thing I knew a friend sat down next to me and started praying. He prayed that I would know God had a path, that as I cried, the Lord heard me, when I asked where He was, He was saying close by, that I would see the path however narrow, that I would know I was worth it. He prayed God would show me His will and the doubts would be erased. He prayed that Jesus wouldn't just show up in some sort of emotional way, but in a real and meaningful way. He said he knew God wasn't going to leave me in the shadow of death. He said the Lord was going to show me a plan, a path, He was going to work this out in a way I could see, but would be continually surprised but, that was out of my imagination. He would do it better than I imagined. I kid you not.

If I hadn't written most of what he prayed for in my journal ten minutes before, if I hadn't blogged it all two hours before, if I hadn't been praying it ten seconds before, it wouldn't have meant as much. I asked my friend later if he had read my blog, he said he didn't even know I had one. I wasn't even offended. It was the answer I had hoped for.

I don't hold much stock in prayer for miracles, not because I don't believe in them, but because I believe we may not even need to pray for them. God is capable of above and beyond and when He wants to show up He will. Peter never prayed before he told the cripple to get up, he just told him to. I hadn't been asking for a miracle, I had been asking for faith. Receiving either, is a miracle, but then again, so is showing up and hoping when everything tells you not to.

My head told me everything would fail with my ex. I followed my faith and my hope and tried anyways... and it failed. My head told me God wouldn't show up, but I followed my faith and my hope, and He did. It's not the word for word of a prayer that seemed to have read my journal, it's that my faith, my heart, my wounds, they are important to Him. He is with me, even when I don't think He is. He's standing right next to me, and my faith is more important to Him, than it is to me. My heart, what it can give, how much it can love, how much it wants to have faith, believe and press on, it means more to Him than it does me. I'm less surprised by His miracles and more and more surprised by His desire to strengthen me. His heart is for me, is for the relationship. I wish with more than anything that I had the same strength He did, but then again, part of me falls back realizing it doesn't matter anyways. When I reached the end of my rope, He starts a new one. For a moment, I gave up on faith, but He never gave up on me.

It's not a relationship with faith I have, it's a relationship with a God. It's not a belief in fate, but a love for One that exists, that is true, that is good. It's not random acts that I believe in, but a being that lives above time. I forget that at times. I'm glad He doesn't though. See, He is greater than my unbelief, just as the walls I see are nothing more than sheet rock between myself and the outside world. Sometimes I forget they are just thin veils blocking the view. When Someone walks through them, they become moot point. It's just like God, a small miracle that sets my tilt-a-whirl spinning again. Long live a dedication in knowledge that everything is ordained and nothing, nothing is ever not part of the plan. Amen.