This is enough.

Even if this is all there is, it is enough.

Even if winter were the only season.

Even if every meal was a pack of cheap Ramen.

Even if there was no bed to sleep in.

Even if getting married isn’t part of the story.

Even if that book is never published.

Even if returning to Africa is never more than a dream.

Even if…(fill in your own unmet desire).

What you have right now, it is enough.

Do you believe that?

It’s hard to say out loud, and even harder to truly believe. Our hearts and our minds betray us, running wildly off the leash if we let them. Loudly they yell, trying to convince us we will finally be content when we get that promotion, buy our first home, or own a KitchenAid Mixer as if somehow working more, being a homeowner, or baking scones will solve our every problem.

Finally content when…

This morning, the light was both deep and airy, the perfect mix of streaking pinks, invading blues, and wispy whites joining in a chorus to welcome the day. My lips curved upward as I took in the sky beyond, and then, just a few seconds later, I felt a furrow in my brow as my gaze focused from the sunrise to the streaks and spots on the window I still hadn’t cleaned (maybe I need to reread my blog last week about procrastination, lol). Both the inside and outside of the window need some elbow grease, and the screen could do with a good spray-down, too.

But as usual, this little moment soon had me contemplating life - I’m wondering if that’s a quirk reserved solely for writers, or if everyone does that? Anyway. Here’s what’s God painted amidst the steaks of my window and in the sky beyond it: we must attend to the things that are here - the right now, in-our-face things - before we fully take in, let alone arrive at, the distant things, and when we work in the present, we have a clearer vision of what’s to come, even if it all seems really far away or impossible.

Last night, I drove out to visit some family, and when I got home, I was promptly greeted by the pile of dishes I’d left from breakfast and lunch. I’d planned to “do them later,” and now that later was here, I found it still wasn’t late enough (tomorrow sounded better). Instead of plunging my hands into soapy dishwater, I beelined for my nighttime serums and my toothbrush. Then, realizing I was thirsty, I found myself back at the sink again, staring at a mess I didn’t want to clean up and knowing that dirty dishes in the sink overnight will summon creepy crawlies, but a clean kitchen in the morning really does make for a happier Mia.

I resolved to do the dishes, cleaning up a mess I’d rather have left until morning.

Please tell me I’m not alone here.

Imagine: your fingers are white-knuckling the edge of a cliff; you stare up at the sky, you picture the water and craggy outcroppings below and say you won’t let go. Without the strength to pull yourself onto solid ground, you wait, your hands growing tired and your heart dreaming of the feeling of new grass beneath your feet.

Chances are, you can relate to this, not in a literal sense (if so, you must share), but rather, the thing you are grasping so tightly might be an idea, relationship, or a job, and the thing you are dreaming of while you hang in the air is something else entirely.

Craving security is natural, it is something that has been built into our essence from the moment we were given the breath of life. The tragedy of the story is most people navigate life with a warped sense of security, clinging hard and fast to the things they believe will bring safety and protection. We crave security as a byproduct of our design for intimacy with Jesus, the one who created us, the only one who can truly keep us safe.

There’s just something about the ocean, don’t you agree?

Maybe it’s the approach of summer, or maybe it’s the fact I saw a beach on TV yesterday, but regardless, I’ve got the coast on my mind. I can almost feel my feet atop the wet sand, a wave rolling in, leaving them covered for just a moment before retreating.

The waves seem to call us into the deep water. Beckoning, leading the way. And as we follow their lead, out past where they break, if we submerge ourselves, it’s as if we find a stillness though everything around us is moving. Like the ocean’s surface, the world is always moving and crashing, which is why we need a constant, steady, unchanging, trustworthy source of peace and love and hope.

Consistency matters.

That’s the thought that woke me up at 3:50 am on a Tuesday morning. Full transparency: this week, I had given myself the grace and permission not to write a blog. A move to a new state is not a small thing, and tall towers of brown boxes are casting mighty shadows in the lamplight while I type, whispering their competing priorities as I struggle to get some words out.

But this matters.

The yes in the middle of “busy” and “too much to do,” matters.

My yes matters to God. He put dreams in my heart and purpose in my feet. Friend, we all have things to to for the Kingdom and the Glory, and chasing those things can require sacrifice. Sometimes, to give God our yes, we may get a little less sleep or have to skip that brunch or let the boxes stay unpacked.

I’m not where I thought I’d be.

When I was young, I figured by now I’d own a home and children and steady a career and a great love to share it with. Surely, I thought, I’d be settled by the time I was thirty-three.

Settled.

Murmured opinions surround us, coming from nowhere and everywhere, telling us we should settle down or settle into a groove. While those can be great blessings at times, there is something unexpectedly beautiful about living an unsettled life with Jesus.

There’s a sweetness in a life unsettled.

It isn’t insecure; on the contrary, it takes bravery to choose a life like that, and for me, that type of courage and strength comes only from understanding the power of my Heavenly Father.

Since early in 2019, I’ve lived in four different homes in four different cities, soon to be five. Lebanon, OH - Nashville, TN - Memphis, TN - California, MD - and less than two weeks from now, I will call Chenango Forks, NY my new home.

All this bustle and moving and change isn’t something I envisioned for my early 30s, but it’s where God has me now, and I will sit in it until it’s time to move, and then when I get where I’m going, I’ll be present there. That’s been the rhythm of things for the past few years - wait for a while; go now; wait again, but longer this time; go right now, immediately.

That’s also what my entire year of 2018 was like on my mission trip; I lived in 11 different countries that year - wait, go, wait, go, wait, go…

I lose my phone a lot; it’s happened twice today already. As annoying as it is in the moment, I don’t actually mind because I like feeling freedom from the grasp of apps and instant gratification and response. However, I’ll also say I’m glad I don’t have a running tally of the hours I’ve spent walking up and down the stairs, searching beneath blankets and couch cushions, and dumping the contents of my purse onto the bed to track down my phone. Here’s the kicker: often, it’s just sitting on the charger or nestled in my back pocket, predictable places.

When we misplace an object, that’s the first thing we do - we retrace our steps - but I think we do this when we’ve lost sight of something in our lives, too. We follow the winding path, going back the way we came through thickets and meadows, back to the beginning, revisiting bright spots and hard decisions and big let downs, hoping that along the way, there will be revelation.

This week, I’m going to share something I wrote before I had a blog. That’s right. About a year ago, I started writing blogs even though I had no website or no way to share them. I just wrote to write. In this writing, I muse about favor in the midst of seasons that don’t feel like your favorite, and as I go back and re-read, I love reflecting on how God has provided me with a job I enjoy, a roof over my head, and roommates to ride out the pandemic with. It’s cool to see how God has took me out of Memphis, and is preparing, yet again, to take me somewhere new. This blog feels just as relevant today as it did nearly one year ago, so I wanted to share it with you.

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As I write, it is a hot summer day in Memphis; the humidity is near 100%, COVID cases are back on the rise, and I am unemployed, living alone, and so far, unable to find work. About 6 months ago, I moved here out of faith and obedience to God, transitioning to a newly created position in a city to which I always thought I’d move back but, in the same breath, swore I’d never return. Confusing, right?

How do you feel about car shopping? I really hate it - it’s a game I don’t know how to play. Yeah, I can go through some of the motions, but I certainly know less than the dealers, both in terms of vehicles and what they are able to offer. My heart races at the thought of having to negotiate a lower price or ask a question. I don’t know why it’s so intimidating to me, but it is.

I’ve been looking at used cars because my car is starting to show signs of serious rebellion, and I want to trade it in before I can’t anymore. Cue the sweaty palms and sleepless nights of indecision, doom scrolling car websites and hemming and hawing about my budget. Y’all this is not an exaggeration - I’m a confident woman, but put me in a car showroom and I will likely agree with whatever someone tells me, and I may even leave with a car I don’t actually like.

However, this week I am grateful.

Today, this blog will be short because today, I am tired. After all, I am only human. I don’t feel like I have the emotional energy to write anything profound, but I think I can muster up the energy to write with honesty.

Maybe there is something profound in simple honesty.

I’ll start by telling you not to be alarmed or worried - I am completely fine. I’m choosing to be vague because the circumstances surrounding me involve the lives of those beyond my own. (Some events are even cause for celebration)! However, I want to protect my people, so I will leave the details out this time.

have to admit something to you. Last week, I thought seriously about the way I parted my hair for the first time since high school. Let me explain…

When I was a senior, I drove to Panama City Beach for Spring Break. Before we even made it to the hotel, my friends were poking their heads through the sunroof, “woo-wooing” and waving at cute strangers. I threw my head back in laughter - with a middle part, by the way (which will be important in a minute) - and turned up the Ying Yang Twins because I was a cool girl (hah). Just a few minutes later, a cop pulled us over and gave me a ticket.

Not knowing much about that title, I still knew I couldn’t think of a more perfect role for Cassie. She’s the kind of friend that listens with empathy, scrunches her nose with laughter at your stories, and cheers you on towards dreams that feel too big for someone like you. Turns out, a Chief of Heart (also known as Chief Heart Officer) is exactly that, and I know this is just her next step in a beautiful journey towards a purpose far greater than either of us can imagine. After a quick online search, I learned that a Chief Heart Officer is someone who feels the heartbeat of each person in the company, infuses empathy into the workplace with a fiery passion, and brings positivity and empowerment to the table of every meeting because they know that being a source of joy and inspiration is one of the best paths to servant leadership.

When I was younger, I loved to read “Choose Your Own Adventure” chapter books. In each book, I was the main character and made decisions that would determine my fate. Whether I was deciding how to outsmart pirates or avoid the hypnosis of a menacing doctor, my favorite thing was that I could keep trying, choosing a different path and making new decisions until I got an ending that satisfied me. Even as a girl, I was a bit of a perfectionist, hence the desire to find the perfect ending.

However, the thought of reading a book like that today is a bit less appealing, largely because I already have to make so many decisions each day…

It’s not lost on me that, for some, the past 7 days have been a breath of fresh air and a renewal of hope, and for others something more like confusion or even heartbreak. I don’t understand all of these feelings, but I think that’s okay for this moment. Feelings are for the people who feel them, and who am I to take away the space for people to feel?

However, though feelings are real, they are not always representative of the truth, and they were certainly never intended to take truth’s place. Existence of a feeling doesn’t validate our reason for feeling that way. Truth is the only real validator. In fact, truth transcends our feelings, and that’s where I hope to sit today. In truth. 

Many days, I begin writing without knowing what I’ll write about, and today is one of those days. My mind is a bit blank, but I find that Jesus always meets me here, filling that empty space with His words for me. For you. There’s something in the simple action of beginning to write, even without an outline, that feels like discipline, and ever since I was a young girl, discipline was rewarded. And off we go…

A cackle. That’s the only way I can accurately describe the laughter of my 8-year-old sister. It fills the room with a sort of maniacal joy, making even the stuffiest adult let loose a snicker. Maybe something about the sound itself makes everyone laugh along with her, or maybe it’s the way we can see the emotion move like a wave through her body. Maybe it’s because we miss the days when laughter came that easily to us, and just for a moment, we want to remember what it felt like before we became too grown up to freely display our joy like that.

Much of my adult life has been spent seeking a logical brand of security out of a fear of the wild where my dreams roamed free. I was afraid of a world without a structure, favoring one that could be easily predicted and controlled. The wilderness of my dreams felt indulgent and uncertain, impulsive and untamed. In due time, I became the queen of, “That’s not a rational decision,” and, “You have a responsibility to uphold,” and on and on. I built a fence around my field of duty and pragmatism, painted it white, and endorsed it as truth. It took me years to realize my fence was built in response to fear.