The appearance of wildflowers.

I’ve been stuck and not quick to admit it. I thought I could haphazardly pull myself out of this creative slump with reading and listening to music and Pinterest boards (first mistake), but I am seriously stuck in the mud and not wanting or willing to figure out what the heck it’s going to take to get out of it.

They say that comparison is the thief of joy. Well, expectation is right up there with it.

I have inconsistently tried to authentically come before Jesus. Ideas of 2 hours in prayer and Scripture every day, combating darkness, and having these long, drawn out conversations with Jesus have ultimately fallen through (hence why this is the first post in about 3 weeks). It’s easier to come before Jesus and tell Him we’ve failed Him than to step into society and display our failure, which shows the parts of my life that are idolized.

I pray for this simplicity and this childlike heart that draws me back to that desire of being deeply intimate and exposed to God.

So take me back, back to the beginning, when I was young, running through the fields with you.
So take me back, back to the beginning, when I was young, running through the fields with you.
So take me back, back to the beginning, when I was young, running through the fields with you.

When I hear these words, I am automatically wrapped in to Matthew 6:30-33 (the Message version has been rocking my world):

If God gives such attention to the appearance of wildflowers—most of which are never even seen—don’t you think he’ll attend to you, take pride in you, do his best for you? What I’m trying to do here is to get you to relax, to not be so preoccupied with getting, so you can respond to God’s giving. People who don’t know God and the way he works fuss over these things, but you know both God and how he works. Steep your life in God-reality, God-initiative, God-provisions. Don’t worry about missing out. You’ll find all your everyday human concerns will be met.

// MATTHEW 6:30-33 MSG

I think we all are drawn to the idea of being taken care of; some people just don’t show it, but it’s deep down there somewhere. These words settle me and calm me down because I know I have a God who has hemmed me in, before and behind. He cares for me. He cares for you. And He finds that to be such a beautiful and important job. I love that. He doesn’t want us to be jumbled messes or preoccupied with getting or worrying about if our everyday needs will be met. That’s His job. I imagine Him sitting up there like a caring father, watching us trying to do this whole life thing on our own, and He just chuckles at us, like watching a baby walking and falling for the first time.

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So I have continually prayed to God that I could just lay these expectations down at His feet because when I get wrapped up in expectation, I forget thanksgiving. My world becomes a lot smaller when I feel anxious and expectant for the wrong things and so focused on comparison. My mind instantly goes to critical and anxious and judgmental rather than gracious and joyful and grateful. And I think when I FEEL trapped in that mindset, I lose Him. I lose sight of His provisions. I forget how near He actually is. I forget how to be thankful.

And that part in Matthew 6: “Don’t worry about missing out.” We don’t miss out with Him. I know I’ve talked about it before, but He is a God of ABUNDANCE. He lacks NOTHING. He is more than ENOUGH, which means we lack nothing and we are more than enough because whatever God calls Jesus is what He calls us and I know that’s a mind-blowing concept but Truths have been doing that a lot to me lately (blowing my mind). There have been tiny moments lately where I realize how I see God a little bit differently or feel a little closer to Him because of some words someone said to me or something I realized I was grateful for that I had forgotten to be grateful for for a long time.

I think it’s really easy to get caught up in the dark, and even easier to stay there for a while and keep getting lost. It’s like being in a pitch black house where you wander aimlessly from room to room. There’s the anxiety of what you’re walking into, some doors are locked, some are open, and sometimes the only light you see is when your reflection looks back at you and you don’t like what’s in front of you. You get little adrenaline rushes of I-can-handle-this feelings.

I’d like to think it’s as easy as cracking open a window or turning a light. And at this point in my life, I don’t see this dark house as sorrow or grief or any form of depression. It really just feels like dryness. So it’s like the big dark house is in the middle of the desert. And I think different forms of imagery have drawn me closer to God, when I can imagine moments as metaphors where I get to interact with God in a super intimate or imaginary way.

I find Him in running, which I’ve been doing more of, and depending on Him for that endurance. I find Him in early morning runs in the rain. I find Him in late night runs when the sun is setting. I find Him in all of it. And I think that’s probably the most important thing right now: not that I’m going from being blind to Him to finding Him in absolutely everything, but that I can take one moment at a time and begin to rediscover what I find Him in.

So here I go again trying to predict what season the Lord is going to have me in, because I do feel a transition coming on. There’s a Shauna Niequist quote I have hanging on my wall that goes:

There is a season for wildness and a season for settledness, and this is neither. This season is about becoming.

And I want this to be a season of wildness. I don’t know what that means. I just know that I feel it. Wildness in a childlike heart. Wildness is actually doing what I want to do and not being afraid to say how I feel. Wildness in running for miles and miles and getting it back. Wildness in actually taking care of myself in a college (hectic) schedule. Wildness in knowing what it means to deal with confrontation and conflict in a Biblical way (<– this is a big one, dealing with conflict would be wild enough for me).

I don’t want to be settled. Everything in me is antsy and wanting more and knowing there’s more. I’m just finally willing to look deeper in myself and find it where the Holy Spirit lives, which is really awesome. And a lot of these words might have been a ton of rambling for you, but it helped me sort out my head and maybe it will help you too. Moral of the story: I don’t want settledness. I want wildness. I want my fire back. And the reality of living with a God who takes such delight in me trumps any expectation I could ever plant in my mind.

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