I’m trying to hold my hands open right now. There’s a part of me that wants to hold onto all of my plans as tight as I can, even though I know that I have zero control over what happens, and what has happened.
I’m trying to hold my hands open, because holding onto these plans is going to lead to more disappointment if I don’t let it all go.
I’ve been in seasons of unknown before, unsure of where I want to go, or what I want to do. This is the thing though, I’m in a season of unknowing, and I have no idea what is next. I had plans, I thought that I knew what was going to happen. Now, I don’t even know what I’m going to do tomorrow, let alone this summer for a job, and what about september?
So, I hold my hands open. My plans laid out on my palms, free for the taking.
This hasn’t been easy, getting to this point of opening my hands. There has been a lot of questioning, a lot of tears. There has been a lot of prayer. And I’m still in the thick of the unknown. I’m still here. I’ll be here for a while yet.
There’s something that needs to be said about this time, is how it shows that we never actually held the control. I never once held the controls to my future, even if it felt like that sometimes, and an invisible virus woke me up to this fact.
I’ve sat with this page open for a while now, the blank white staring back at me. Reminding me that the next few months of my life look a bit like this white page. Me, begging Jesus to pick up the pen and write it. Put something down on that page, something concrete because nothing is concrete in my life right now. He reminds me through my asking of Him to pick up the pen, is that He is just going to write of His love for me all over these pages because that’s the only thing that is concrete. For His love never changes.
My prayers have been messy, often uttered under my breath as the bad news threatens to take over. The words spilling out of my lips, knowing that He’s still listening.
Knowing that He’s picked up the pen, and He’s writing of His love for me.
I don’t know what I am doing this summer yet.
I don’t know about next year.
I have a friend who reminds me that these “I don’t knows” are okay. You don’t need to know. It’s okay to sit with them, and not get an answer. These “I don’t knows” are okay, and I need to allow them. I know that I am not the only person walking through a forest of “I don’t knows” right now, most of the world is, and there’s something oddly comforting about that.
So I say amen. For He knows. For He’s still sitting in the “I don’t knows” with you.
Holding my hands open, allowing His breath to blow these plans into the wind. I can’t hold onto them anymore, for they were never mine to hold onto in the beginning. I was never in control, but now I reminded who is in control, and who always was.
So I say amen.