The above image depicts my life right now. The road is moving quickly beneath me, I can only see exactly where I'm at, and everything around is shrouded in darkness and fog renders the distance unclear.
People don't generally respond kindly when you answer their question, "Why did you quit (insert activity here--whether it be school, work, a pastime, behavior, or what-have-you)?" honestly with, "Because God told me not to."
Ok. That's oversimplifying the case.
But how do I get into the depth of my divine intuition and connection which guides my life--which I seek and strive for daily--to ensure that I'm living the kind of life I want to live across simply and clearly?
I'm not saying that everybody has to get on the path to Jesus (it's not a bad path, I'm not naysaying either), or that they have to be in order to get where I'm coming from. Can I just say, "It's not what I was meant to do." And leave it at that? I only wish. That leaves me open for the onslaught of questions, "Why not?" "How did you come to that conclusion?" "Did something cause this?" Or, my even less-favorite: the directives and thinly-veiled doubts. "You're so good at it, just do it anyway." "Someone with your talent can't quit. Maybe you were wrong."
Here's where it comes down to for me: I fully respect everyone else's right to not believe in God, to not believe that He speaks, and that our lives are not directed/protected/enhanced by any Higher Power of any kind. I unequivocally concede that. I merely ask the same courtesy be extended to me. I do believe. I also believe I have a close, personal relationship with my Heavenly Father, and I believe that He watches over and gives me direction when I need it and as I seek it.
So when you find out I quit the teacher education program with only student teaching left to finish, and all you want to do is ask me, "WHY?!" My answer is simply this: I wasn't meant to do it. And when you want to follow up with, "So what are you going to do instead?" I'll probably shrug and whisper, "I have no idea. I only know what I'm not supposed to do. And I know I'm not supposed to student teach."
Because you see, the funny thing about being a woman of faith is that I don't get all the answers at once. I get one piece of a very large puzzle. I don't know where it goes, I don't know how it will fit in. I only know that I have it, and that it will go somewhere, and that it will all eventually fit together, and somewhere down the road I will look back and say, "That's why. That's why."
It also means I don't drive forward looking into the rearview mirror wondering "Whatif...?" or musing on when the course changed from what I thought was supposed to happen. I get to turn my gaze completely forward.
So for now, I speed into the unknown future. I do not doubt. I do not fear. The road is not unknown, it is simply unknown to me.
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