on my way

There's something truly special about moments when things come together as a result of careful planning and coordination. All the hard work developing ideas and finding ways to implement them seems worth the effort, the time and energy, and even the stress and headaches that may have been a part of the planning.

Why, then, does it sometimes seem strange to see when things come together by some other means? I sometimes allow myself to believe, I think, that I am the only one working on plans for me. I make calendars and lists of goals, hopes, wishes, chores. I plan out times for grocery shopping, exercise, reading, cleaning. I determine who and what I will or will not allow to shape my moods, my feelings, my days.

Sometimes, though, those plans get derailed. Sometimes even hijacked. For a long time, I chalked it up to 'life.' Things happen--or don't--for many reasons, and though I always believed that the reasons must have validity, whether I ever saw it or not, I never really thought much about where 'life' was taking me. Instead, I would consider how this curve ball could be fit into my plan. I spent a good deal of energy on molding my own mud.

As I've learned about faith in general, and my own faith, I've begun to see things a little differently. For a time, I tried to find patterns. I was actively searching for the arrows on my path. I kept asking God to make the directions clear for me because I am not good at subtlety. After a while, I realized that wasn't getting me very far. Looking outward was not going to lead me where I needed to go.

So I started looking at the people around me. I cleaned house, so to speak, and seriously considered (again) who was in my life, in my circles, in my world. Some I began to share more with, and some less, and I thought I was finally on the right track. Until I realized that no one else was going to get me where I needed to go.

I thought I was back where I started, and I was a bit confused. What was I missing? I was working on focusing my energies, I was praying, I was talking to people so I wouldn't lose myself in that dark place in my head that I'd found myself in so many times before. Not knowing where to turn, I stopped. Right where I was, and sat myself down right in the middle of the path. "Where do I go now? What am I missing?"

Looking inside is harder. Understanding personal motivation is difficult; sometimes even painful. Seeing and hearing what comes out of one's own heart can be humbling, frightening. The only place for me to go, to move forward, was inward. I cut myself off a little, without withdrawing completely. From the shelter of my heart, I watched what was happening around me; listened to the sounds around me--voices, noise, music. As I watched, listened, read, I paid close attention to what my heart said, how I felt, what emotions and memories were stirred. And then I asked myself why. Why that memory? Why that emotion? Was the reaction expected, surprising, welcome? Some things hurt. Some things were surprisingly beautiful. Oddly, some memories that had always seemed painful began to feel joyful. Even more strange, I felt far less confused. Frustrated, yes; looking inside, it's easy to get lost.

About this time, probably because I was not focusing outward, I began to see connections. Still, I thought little about them, other than the fact that they were there, and I was seeing them. Nothing fancy or earth shattering, nothing truly exciting, but I did find myself sharing them sometimes with the people close to my heart. A couple of months ago, all of a sudden, I was overwhelmed with connections. My heart raced, my head swam, and I was terrified because I could see all these pieces coming together, but I couldn't see what they had to do with each other. It was like a hundred lights pointing at one spot in the distance, just outside of my range of vision. In a moment when I felt I needed a spiritual advisor or a prayer partner, I had no one to turn to. I wouldn't have known which to call anyway, so I texted a friend who suggested I start writing a list, and that I pray for courage.

Making the list somehow reminded me to be thankful for each point of light. And also helped me to see other connections. Seeing them doesn't overwhelm me nearly as much these days. Possibly because I'm allowing them to shape my mud. I'm remembering to thank God for the timing of things, for the unexpected, even for the painful. I still don't know where I'm going, but I don't really expect to know. For a long time, I thought knowing where I was going was the important part of the plan of me. I'm getting more comfortable with following, allowing.

I'm on my way.