By nature, I typically tend to be pretty driven. There has always been an inherent need that typically screams within me to know where i'm headed. To know what i'm about, to know what i'm doing, to be moving onward, forward, in a positive direction. 

As i continue to settle into my life here in Portland however I'm experiencing less and less of such clarity. I find as i look deep into my heart, the only clear cries of my heart are not alined with the timing and rhythm of my life now. For a girl that loves a plan, this has become a steady source of anxiety.

In a world of fast moving and individualistic westerners, successful young business men and women, and young families with beautiful babies, its so to forget my own sense of worth. As a believer, i know my identity doesn't rest in my season of life, my accomplishments, successes, or even my relationships, but rather in the Father. A profound truth, but a truth that is hard to live out in the busyness of all around me. 

This season continues to be one of learning to dream. To stay calm, and quiet, and slow, and sensitive to the sublime of everyday ordinariness. This season for me is not of success and clarity, but rather a gracious uncertainty. The Lord is challenging me to pray big, to learn to dabble, to hope for things that are beyond my control. 

I'm learning to simply "be." I'm learning that sitting in the midst of uncertainty, big questions, a lack of clear direction is actually a very peaceful place. Perhaps its because i'm learning to accept how little power I actually have to arrive where my heart so deeply wants to be...in the center of Gods will for my life - the calling of His ministry set aside for me. To arrive there requires waiting well. Waiting well in joy and hopeful expectation for the 'good things' He has called me to and set aside for me all while living fully present in the moment. . 

There is great joy in this season of uncertainty. This lack of direction and abundance of closed doors has brought freedom, not captivity. In an effort to learn to be and to help cope with the anxiety that does arrive in the small moments, i decided to practically pursue a long time goal of mine - running a full marathon. It's a journey that started years ago, representing so much more than just physical stamina. Its been a journey of healing, promise, beauty, and renewal. While training last week, I spotted a leaf on a branch strongly resembling a heart. It was small, but it reminded me of a God that is pleased to make me His child, who delights in me, that willingly longs for me to share in His great inheritance. It's in this season of gracious uncertainty that I cannot deny the stability and affirmation that comes directly from being in Christ. On its own, it's just a leaf, but for a heart that so desperately needs affirmation that all will be well, it represents a promise of a God who works all things for His glory and my good. 

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And as the holiday season approaches, i again am reminded of Mary who wrestled and lived in so much confusion and uncertainty and question leading up to and after the birth of Jesus.

I wonder if what kept Mary trusting stemmed from Elizabeth's words to her after the Angel appeared, and Mary graciously accepted her calling. Elizabeth admonishes Mary by saying "Blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her from the Lord." (Lk 1.45)

Such a great calling was placed upon her, and with trust and grace she walked in what the Lord had for her. In the peculiarity of it all, from the wiseman, to the barn birth, and the shepherds, the lowly entrance of the King of Kings into the world , scripture says "but Mary treasured up all these things, pondering them in her heart" (Lk. 2.19)

The reality is the flourishing, living, action filled, purposeful, and profound plan of our Heavenly Father is happening in the backwardness of our lives, in the hideen, the silent, in the season that feels dark and uncertain. We cannot see, so we do fix our eyes, our pondering hearts, on Jesus who is the author and perfecter of our brokenness, our conqueror, healer, and redeemer. 

In the stillness and smallness of what looks like a dead and motionless season in my own life, I've never been more aware of these realities.