The Sequel to But Now I See:
Read it first by clicking here.
I sat in the chair at the optometrist’ office, staring at the letters on the wall. That’s the nice thing about doctors: they always give you plenty of time to stare at the wall, waiting and worrying about what they might say.
After being shaken back to reality in Georgia my mind was too full even to worry. I guess if Abraham needed a few reminders of promises that seemed too big, it’s okay that I need them, too.
As I sat, I thought back to the conversation I had with the recruiter of G42 (Read more about 42nd Generation Leadership Academy here). There were no neon signs and there was no audible voice. No, the voice was still and small.
A whisper.
A hope.
And the answer to a desperate prayer.
The night after that meeting I had poured over the application, writing and rewriting my answers until I was sure they must not make sense anymore. I waited for references to be written and sent, and I made all immediate decisions with the hope of acceptance.
Even so, I fumbled my way through the passing days as though my spirit really had gone blind.
My mind wandered to a sermon I heard in Georgia; the parable of the wise and foolish builders in Matthew 7.
Nothing special. Nothing new.
But as I listened to the preacher shout from the pulpit, my eyes widened. “The storm is coming!” he shouted. “The storm is coming!” I opened my journal and pulled out a loose leaf of paper. Back in Nepal we sat on a hardwood floor and asked God to give us vision for the coming months as leaders of U-Squad. My vision, the one I had drawn on that loose leaf of paper, was of a storm.
“The storm is coming,” I had written on the page, along with a passage from Isaiah 45.
The preacher went on to explain that the storm would expose the cracks and faults in those houses, representing our faith, and when it came we could leave the house in ruins or we could get up and, “build them strong.”
I gulped. Strength felt far away. So when the opportunity for discipleship, vision casting, and deep study was put in front of me with G42, the Spirit whispered, “yes.” Furthermore, in my conversation with the recruiter he said, “If the foundations of your faith can be shaken, they should be. That’s what we want to do.”
I said out loud in the empty doctor’s office, “Am I crazy or…..?”
It all seemed crazy.
Too real.
Too parallel.
And yet, that’s exactly how it had happened.
The doctor knocked once and opened the door. I only half-listened as he pulled the images of my optic nerve up onto the computer screen and circled the growth with a green line. There were more of them, now in my right eye. But the ones on the left had not grown at all, and my prescription had not changed.
I told him, weakly, that my friend had prayed. He smiled.
I left the office feeling relieved, and almost confident. “Of course, we will continue to monitor the growths annually,” he said, but the urgency was gone from the doctor’s voice. I thanked the Lord, but I also wondered why he didn’t just take them away?
When I got to the car, I called the phone company for the second time in two months. They had consistently overcharged me the last few months by $20 and sometimes added fees upwards of $50. I calmly explained the issue, again, to the representative and she assured me she would fix it. “I don’t want to be rude to you so I can get what I want,” I told her. “I just want you to do what’s right. If this happens again I will cancel the plan altogether and you will waive all of the fees.” She apologized again and I thanked her and hung up the phone.
As I headed up the expressway I made a mental tally of co-pays, paychecks, and deposits. If I needed to go to G42 in Spain then I needed to start working. A lot.
My old manager had offered me a job in retail and the school where I was teaching the year before needed afternoon help. I warned them both that I would be leaving in January and would only be able to work the next 5 months or so. They both agreed anyway, and I hoped I was telling the truth.
Life slipped back into a relatively consistent norm, and I slipped back into the jobs I had before leaving last July.
Scripture describes this life with Jesus as, “walking in the light,” (Ephesians 5:7-17), but my daily stumbling with him felt a lot less like walking in the light of the sun and a lot more like walking in the light of the stars.
I saw flickers of hope and glimmers of truth, but the lines that should connect all the dots were missing.
And the spaces in between were so, so dark.
As I opened the envelope of my first paycheck I reminded myself that I am worth more than any number I’ve earned. But that didn’t lessen the sting of being valued in dollars and hours. I did the math and factored the numbers. Spain would be impossible without a better paying job. So, I started applying, again, to factories and offices and schools, praying that the Lord would provide what I needed.
And, obviously, what I needed was a better paying job.
Interviews and applications came and went, and no one wanted me. I sat down to pray again and was convicted that I was asking the wrong question. I spoke plainly with God that night, “Either I need higher pay or I need lower bills. Which is it?”
I went to work the next morning, mulling over my prayers from the night before. Was all this planning and penny-pinching really necessary? After all, I was still waiting on reference letters, and I wasn’t even confident I would be accepted for the January term. 5 hours later I clocked out and headed to the parking lot and on to my next shift.
I held my keys in my hand and stared at my car.
I love that thing. Really, I do.
I thought of the independence I felt the day I signed my name on the contract and drove off the lot. I thought of the freedom I felt driving down the highway, hair blowing wildly in the wind, music pounding in my ears. And my heart broke when I realized the paradox of freedom it gave. “They promise them freedom while they themselves are slaves to depravity, for a man is a slave to whatever has mastered him,” I remembered (2 Peter 2:19).
If I wanted to eliminate bills, I knew this would be the surest way.
I pulled out my phone and dialed my mom. “Hey, I know this is random, but I’m thinking about selling my car.”
I laughed as the conversation went on from there. She explained that she had just spoken with my dad about purchasing a car for herself: mine, to be exact.
The next morning I logged into my bank account and, sure enough, there was a charge from the phone company: double my contracted bill. Again. I rolled my eyes as I remembered my last conversation with the representative.
I considered what life would look like without a cell phone—some peace and quiet would be nice… and also lonely.
“Lord, I told her I would cancel and I need to keep my word.” It took me 13 minutes to reach a representative, another 5 to reach a supervisor, and another 10 to reach an exit coach. After explaining the issue for what felt like the hundredth time, the woman apologized and relented. I hung up the phone and hurried to find some time to pray before work.
As I talked with God about the past few days and the desires of my heart, it did not go unnoticed that the topics of our private conversations had become moving pieces of my daily life; first my car and then my cell phone.
Both seemed to be moving in the same direction.
My head spun—if I sold my car and canceled my phone, how could I hold a job? How would I get there? Would I have to move somewhere I could walk or use public transportation? Is that even safe? Would I need to buy another car without a monthly payment?
When my manager hired me back into retail, I told her I would stay through December or until she promoted to another store. I couldn’t reconcile going back on my word, so I left all my thoughts hanging there in the balance, and went to work.
The next morning, I got a text from my manager, “So, I could be leaving sooner than I thought…” I read the text twice before replying. The woman holding her position had quit, and they were opening interviews for the promotion.
My heart began to pound.
“Quit my job?” I prayed silently, “What would I even do? I’ve already applied everywhere else…”
But the Lord knew my heart more intimately than I could even explain.
I never told him outright, but he knew that I was stuck.
Trapped by the bills I had incurred attempting to purchase freedom that he gives freely.
Trapped by the fear that January would come and go and I wouldn’t be able to work hard enough or be valuable enough to earn the money to go and be mentored in Spain.
Trapped somewhere in between the light of the stars, lost in the dark space where faith is both confident and blind.
That still small voice kept me up at night thinking about it, praying about it, hoping against all understanding.
But fear choked the hope I held onto so tightly.
I reminded myself over and over of the simple truth found in Scripture:
“The Lord makes firm the steps of the one who delights in him,” (Psalm 37:23).
These steps seemed so firm, but as I reached out in obedience fear stole my footing and I stood still where I was.
When I think of the fears I hold against Jesus, I can see how they stem from the ways I’ve been hurt by people. Men in my life have done horrible things to break trust, steal hope, and leave me shamed and alone. To protect myself, I started making generalizations and building walls around my heart.
And you know what happens when we start building walls: inevitably someone or something gets locked out and we realize, probably too late, that they belong on the inside.
For me, that person is always Jesus.
I make these generalizations in my mind and I forget to make room for the exception.
There’s always one, you know?
And it’s usually Jesus.
I guess that’s partly why he said, “Do this in remembrance of me,” when he broke the bread and dipped it into the wine (Luke 22:19).
We have to remember him, or else we’ll forget him.
Fear causes me to forget him, and forgetting him causes me to fear.
I tossed and turned at night as faith and fear waged a silent war. It all seemed so clear: I had asked God about my car, my phone, and my job and—one by one—each had fallen into place.
I went to work in silence that week; praying and thinking and wondering if quitting was really the step that would bring me closer to hope instead of further away. But the Spirit reminded me of what fear made me forget:
“Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and lean not on your own understanding…”
(Proverbs 3:5).
Trust.
Sometimes it takes all the strength I have to simply let go of control.
I remembered Abraham again: “And Abraham trusted God, and he counted it to him as righteousness,” (Genesis 15:6).
And, of course, we all know how the passage in Proverbs 3 ends: “In all your ways submit to him and he will make your paths straight,” (v. 6).
What else could I do? Monday morning I sat on the floor with my manager, scanning boxer briefs and hanging socks in the men’s department. I told her everything and handed in my two weeks’ notice.
As I sat in the office at school that afternoon, the director came in, asking about a full time position she had offered me the week before. Hesitantly (and with all the faith I could muster), I declined. “I don’t really know where God is taking me or how he is taking me there, but I know I can’t stay here,” I said.
Lisa laughed and said, “Yes you do! He’s taking you to Spain in January.” We joked about the thought and I wondered if my faith was big enough for all of this… or if I should start going to therapy.
Half an hour later I walked into my classroom and my phone started ringing. I looked and found a long list of emails from the G42 admissions coordinator.
I opened the first and read:
“Welcome to G42, Amy! … This email is your official confirmation of acceptance…”
Tears sprang into my eyes as I scanned the rest of the page.
“You have been accepted to the October 2016 class.”
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Read Part 1 But Now I See by clicking here.
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Donate to 42nd Generation by clicking here and typing “Amy Williams” into the [Appealed By:] box under “G42 Ministry or Missionary”
