Something's Gotta Give

But when do we get it back?

I submitted my first manuscript. 13 chapters. 48,929 words. 100 google doc pages. It’s the reason some of you are here - you’ve read my writing in the past and it gave language to something you had yet to find words for. It’s also the reason some of you are like “Who is this chick and when did I sign up for this?” because I’ve had no additional words for much else over the past few months.

This is a dream come true for me, becoming a published author. I’ll share more about the process as we get closer to the end goal of it living on shelves wherever you live. While I wait for my editor to read it and get back to me, my instruction is to put it away and not think about it. (And I don’t really know how to do that.)

As my Peloton and Duolingo apps keep reminding me, something had to give for me to get here. I lost every bit of progress I’d been making in other areas of my life. I’ve said no to coffee dates and pool lounging and showing up in online spaces just for fun because the book - gladly - became my priority. I’m an accomplishment girlie so it’s not super motivating for me to see all these 0 day streaks, but when I take my eyes off the goals, I kinda like it. It feels like freedom.

Seasons of waiting often get a bad wrap, and sometimes for good reason. You’ve put in the work and you’re ready to see the fruit of your efforts. You’ve prayed the prayer (and been praying the prayer and asked other people to pray the prayer) and you’re waiting on God to do his part and show up. You’ve voted and petitioned and advocated and marched and called your senators and you’re desperate for just one of them to find some compassionate courage to make necessary change. You’ve apologized and vulnerably done the repair and you’re waiting for things to feel like they used to. You’ve been brave enough to learn and mature and let yourself change and you need to find likeminded people you were promised are also out there.

But I think what makes waiting seasons hard is the longing for what’s next or for what was.

In 1 Kings, Elijah was doing it up. Calling fire down from heaven, handing Baal worshipers’ butts to them, really doing it all with a flourish. But then he got scared when things took a turn and he was literally like “I’m done God. I know you just showed up for me in the most spectacular way possible but now these people don’t like me so can you please just take me out?” So God DoorDashes him a snack and an angel who tells him “The journey is too much for you” then has him nap in a cave for 40 days.

Something had to give while Elijah was in that pause. Who was playing telephone between God and the people? Who was guiding them in how to avoid Jezebel’s men? What happened to him physically and mentally while he did absolutely nothing but wait? Something had to give for you to get here, too. Where you are right now, no matter how long you’ll be in this space. Before you go reaching back for what was sacrificed - look around. Do you really want it back? Do you really need it? Or do you just feel a sense of comfort or normalcy (or fulfilled duty) by having it? Often we’re okay to sacrifice one thing for the promised trade of something better. But what if the absence it leaves behind is actually the gift of margin? Room to stretch out a bit and breathe. Even relationally, the absence of a once-consistent person can give you room to think and process and remember who you are, detached from any validating affirmations. It can give you time to refresh and refuel, to listen to God’s voice and gain insight you’ll need next. I imagine it gave Elijah time to refocus his eyes, releasing the fear that sent him into a spiral where he temporarily lost his grip on reality.

When God showed up to transition Elijah into what was next, he didn’t do it as Elijah expected. He wasn’t there in the earthquake or the fire. He didn’t speak to Elijah in the ways Elijah expected God to speak, or even in the ways God had spoken to him before. God spoke in a gentle whisper that was only heard in the absence of everything else.

I’m not advocating for a minimalistic life. Y’all know I do too much for that. So I’ll go back to my apps and goals and accomplishments. I’ll fill my calendar back up and give more time to being in these online spaces with you. I don’t think God is asking me not to. But first, I’m going to take a few days to intentionally listen for God in the blank space. In the first lighting of the white pumpkin candle. In the peace that comes mentally from cleaning out the physical chaos that has piled up in my home. In the thoughts Holy Spirit deposits when I go for a walk. In the lessons I learn from reading fiction stories. I’m going to listen for God’s voice in the unexpected places instead going back to what was or rushing to figure out what’s next. And I’ll be praying the same revelations for you.