This post comes at a time when doubt is beginning to creep in, when the shine is wearing off a new term, a new apartment, a new routine. The everyday is settling in; my optimism is rolling back. Is it possible to get everything done? Is it worth it? What is worth doing, and what is worth not?
Am I even doing the right thing?
The world is such a broken place. How does my one little corner, full of words and books and classes and a few hours in ministry, accomplish anything? How can I do such small things when the need is so big, so huge? I’m an ant before a dinosaur; smaller. The day is so long and yet so short, filled quickly with work and class and cooking and spontaneous conversations, and at the end of the day… what have I actually accomplished?
Yet what else can I do? I have been called here. After a few years of trying to finagle my way out, I’m quite sure that here is exactly where I’m supposed to be. And I am a writer; not because of anything I’ve published, but because words just keep on coming out, crying to be put on paper. Because Writer is a title stamped on my heart, right next to Child of God.
Who am I to argue with where God has placed me? It may not make sense, but I trust. I’ve gone off on my own before, and that’s never EVER gone well. I’m going to keep doing what I can, and give the rest to God; for God is always by my side, helping me out when I can’t manage. Which is pretty much all the time.