For three long days I have been yearning to sit down and write.

Write because I know something is stirring in me. It’s hopeful, it’s peaceful, it’s strong, and its sure. My thoughts always bleed better through my fingers, so finally, here I am. In my room, surrounded by 3 water bottles I can’t decide between, my sippy cup from last night, a glass a green juice from Trader Joes, a tummy filled with tuna, and a happy heart to just sit and be and relax. The apartment is quiet and alone and I am thankful.

I was offered a promotion at work. That sounds nice, and it sounds like the source of the excitement. It’s not. This promotion was the step I wanted to take when I applied for a position I was over qualified 11 months ago. It’s the one I’ve been actively waiting for while persistently working towards since I started that long time ago. It’s been teasing me since January, and finally, ffffiiiinnnnaaaalllllyyyy, it was posted before my vacation to the Big Island.

I had my “interview” before I left for my beautiful Hawaii and it ended in discussion about hours and pay scales and scheduling preferences. The interview breathed a bit of hope into my pending career – like I was about to fall onto something that would fill and satisfy the ache in me to live more in line with who I am. Something that wouldn’t feel so mundane and would bring about challenge and change – two themes I’ve been so desperate to cultivate in my life.

Much to my naïve glee, it only lasted so long. The follow up conversation happened, in which my growing suspicion of just how unorganized the system is was confirmed. A change of plans. A split position with a three-month rotating schedule. The verdict? Supervising 3 months of overnights (I did ask for clarification that meant I went into work at 11pm instead of 11am...don’t they know I hit ‘pumpkin’ status like Cinderella’s carriage at exactly 9pm??) to switch to 3 months of days. Not exactly the promotion that was promised or led to believe.

After several days of mourning, margaritas, buckets of chips and gallons of salsa, I decided to take the position. I wrestled and cried and decided to commit this time, specifically my coveted summer, to sleeping during the days and living at night. Frodo did this, but he had Sam and adventure and elves and swords. I choose view this time as a learning opportunity that will bless me in more ways than earning a good reputation or title with my bosses. This attitude shift is so much more spiritual than circumstantial.

After my initial negative reaction to the situation, and much to my surprise and delight, I haven’t fought this shift like I’ve been fighting disappointment in recent years. And for that, I am so grateful. I have spent so much of my energy violently, desperately, warring against my circumstances. This willingness to allow my life to take a shape I haven’t dictated is beyond a small step of growth. Miracles, my friends, happen.  For the first time in years, I feel my spirit a strong desire to lift up my fears of the changes and the implications of my  lifestyle to the Lord, and let him use them for a greater purpose than I can see. That is not my demeanor normally, and I am so thankful the Holy Spirit has worked so evidently within me despite myself.

Big theme I’m learning through this drastic lifestyle change: What it means to live in the process of developing. Develop -  grow or cause to grow and become more mature, advanced, or elaborate.

Developing. Learning. Process. All these ideas have nothing to do with knowing, completion, certainty, a finished product. Not fully matured. Not advanced. Not elaborate. It’s like I hear the Lord finally sighing a little. Because I’m finally letting that be okay. I’m finally letting go to the weight of living up to this standard of perfection, of knowingness, of certainty and clear purpose I’ve been holding so close for too long. In my search for purpose I have lost myself. I feel more free today than I have in years.

I’m a little more okay with who I am today. Maybe dating has helped this. To know that others find interest in me, value in me, who desire something in me that is imperfect. That I don’t have to know, and rather, there is much beauty in the unknown. Its healed me. It’s breathed in a desire to wait, and anticipate, and an attitude of hopefulness toward partnership.

I’m learning that you know what loving yourself means when you are able to give yourself heaping spoonfuls of grace in the thick, confusing, uncertain, dreadful moments that surface in our days. I know I love myself when there is grace to accept myself within the process of figuring me out – figuring out passions, jobs, direction, purpose. In so many ways, this dreadful, horrible journey of discovering ‘who we are,’ more commonly known as mid 20’s to early 30’s, is actually healing me. Restoring my relationship with Jesus and restoring that passion in my heart for mission and friendship and life. Process is healing me.

The Lord is working out His purposes. I am fully convinced with a concrete sureness I have not had in years that this season is the means to something greater. This isn’t the end of the story. 25 is so young and this is the beginning. That mindset, it’s a miracle too. We all live in a culture that is obsessed with the immediate, couples, big romance, convenience, super succe$$. The heart of Jesus is to meet us all right there – and that is beautiful. He governs our process.