All I'm doing is...


It’s been an interesting season of fruitfulness these past few months. 

So much of what I’d been praying for is happening. I’d asked God for a few things that I thought would help “stabilize” the season of uncertainty I was walking through. 

What I was really asking was for control. 

I wanted a more “predictable” way of living. Which let me be clear is not a bad thing, but for what God was trying to teach me – maturity that comes from dependency – it was not the best thing for me. 

So I sat in the chapel. And sat. And prayed. And sat. And at times yelled at God – what are you doing? All of the degrees and years of experience you provided for me and now I appear to be wasting it all way just sitting in this chapel? It’s hard to write those words now. I knew I was in the center of God’s will for my life but I didn’t understand what he was doing. And at times these sentiments were my honest heart before the Lord. 

He loves our honest hearts before him. It is a sign of a relationship that is growing in deeper intimacy. And this is a beautiful thing.

Jesus had given me the gift of time in the chapel and I was angry about it. Sidebar – I’d prayed for a “sabbatical” years before, just didn’t picture it quite like this one. Because I was not in control, and I was blind to what he was doing. I couldn’t see.

When our sight is hindered, that is the time we most need an up close and personal guide. 

Without the trappings of worldly successes I couldn’t fully appreciate the treasure of the season. But even in the moment, I had an inkling. I knew that today would come.

The day that I would look back with affection for the wilderness season. 

I would search with longing in my heart for the days of sitting, and dining, and crying and feasting with my Beloved. I would yearn the days when time was plentiful, like an extended honeymoon.

And I would lament the moments when I called it “wasted time.” 

Though it grieved his heart, it was more important that I understood the value of being vulnerable with him. To be bare before him. To be naked and unashamed (Gen 2:25).

I remember one day in particular I sat in my car and asked the Lord through tears why he’d brought me to this hard place of uncertainty. I cried out: “All I’m doing is writing!” That was in fact not true. I’d started an organization that was serving dozens of women. But I was prone to a bit of drama. 

In that moment I had a clear thought, almost as though I was feeling the Father’s heart breaking: “Oh, but I made you a writer.”

All I’m doing is writing. 
All I’m doing is praying. 
All I’m doing is speaking. 
All I’m doing is...

Fill in the blank. 

I’ve come to learn that at that moment of accusation when we say to ourselves: “All I’m doing is...” Or, we make judgments that the thing we’re doing within our gifting and calling doesn’t matter, you’re getting close to a breakthrough of revelation.

The very thing God created you to do is the very thing you will accuse of worthlessness. 

You will tell yourself what you’re doing doesn’t matter. You will lament the posture of surrender and dependency that is necessary for growth. 

All I’m doing is writing and praying and the chapel. 

Who knew that God was preparing me to receive writing contracts, to lead sessions on prayer and hearing God’s voice, to preach and become a pastor and consultant to churches and nonprofits. 

God will do far more than you can ask or imagine.

When I look back on how all these pieces came together, it points back to this little chapel in the woods. Where the Spirit of God drew me, a praying mother propelled me, a proud father encouraged me, a kind pastor opened his doors to me, faithful friends stood beside me, and I sat down…at the feet of the One who gave His life for me. 

I’m now on staff at that little chapel in the woods. I’m at the start of a new writing project. I’m consulting with organizations doing work to advance God’s kingdom.

And I’m figuring out how to “manage” these gifts and to keep my eyes on the Giver. The boat that was once empty is now overflowing with fish.

God is good. His mercies endure forever. 

I hope you’ll meet me in the chapel for Unveiled’s next cohort.

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