When there still isn't a plan...

Be present. Be still.

But I don't want to.

On almost a daily basis, I hear the question, "So what is next for you, Christy?"

I have no clue. And I hate it.

But I guess, I should be more concerned about the day people stop asking me this question. So why should that concern me? 
Pride. My reputation. 

No, I don't want people thinking I am done trying to figure it out, giving up on big things to come, closing up shop. Just because I don't have a specific dream to pursue in the moment, does not mean there isn't a story to tell, or a goal to achieve.

What is that goal? Well, in the moment "being present and being still." And it is tougher than one would think...going against everything this girl is used to. 

Stop gabbing, quit whining, and soaking in a bath of self pity (I am only speaking to myself).  I am terrified that I have been wasting the present relationships and opportunities I am facing today, by focusing so hard on making a plan...setting a goal...finding a purpose, just so I can feel better about the chaos of things right now. I know what the desires of my heart are, and where I see myself, but the timing and structure of what God wants has to be the primary factors encouraging me to take that step. I have to be "ready", meaning,  several things must line up. No I don't mean that I am waiting for perfect details to line up, all set in flawless place. And no, my restlessness doesn't count as a factor giving me the thumbs up to move forward. My pride being squashed in this place of "rest" has a purpose too, whether I want to admit it or not.

Be present...it's what I keep telling myself. Don't disconnect...don't put up walls...don't overlook those faces He has set in my path. There's a reason I am amongst them. 

Stop focusing so intensely on the horizon...today is only here once.  
Be still. Stop. Slow those legs down from carelessly flailing about...cause with no where to run, they are just using up energy, and losing steam.

Listen.

And wait. God hasn't forgotten. 


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