When I was 16 years old, I had a definite plan for where my life was headed.
Granted, I was young and still very unaware of the realities of life and Agnostic like whoa and just out of an unhealthy relationship. Regardless, I had a plan.
I was going to graduate high school and get the hell out of my house. I was going to go to college, find a fabulous roommate, make a ton of friends, and take all kinds of media classes I would love. Then I was going to graduate college, move to New York City and become Tina Fey. Yes, Tina Fey.
When I was 18 years old, I had a definite plan for my life.
Granted, some details had changed and some lessons had been learned and I was sitting on a bunk bed in Thailand in a pool of my own sweat and fresh out of an unhealthy first year of college. Regardless, I had a plan.
I was going to go back to school and make the most of my new major. I'd pursue a PhD in modern literature and teach college courses and be a female Robin Williams ala Dead Poet's Society. My heart had been taken by a Savior and broken for college freshmen, and I had a plan to do something about it.
When I was 20 years old, I had absolutely no idea what was happening in my life.
Granted, I had a lot of promises laid out ahead of me, but despite their source in a perfect Savior they all seem so incomplete, like puzzle pieces or wisps of vapor. I can't hold them in my hands and secure them.
See, this year was supposed to look different. It was going to be the year that things went right, that roommates worked out, that relationships made sense. It was the year I'd finally find a major I loved, leadership roles I'd excell in, and a guy who'd really love me. It'd be the year that made up for all the others, all the bad choices, all the broken pieces.
Well, the semester is coming to a close and I've found that most of my time is spent in frustration over rumors or stories, sharing a home with three strangers, and poured over books on subjects that don't interest me. On top of that, I made a commitment when signing up for the Race to stay single until I'm two months shy of 22.
My friends are all making post graduation plans and getting engaged. I'm pinning pictures of tattoos and bookmarking page after page of gear from REI.
You know that moment in the cartoons where the animator forgets to draw the next scene, so the character just walks into this big, white emptiness?
That is how I envision life after the Race.
Before anything else, let me just get one thing clear: I know that life post-Race isn't something I need to worry about yet, especially since I don't launch for another 9 months. But when you're a planner surrounded by people making plans while you are rendered incapable, something deep within your core tells you it is time to panic. There is something unnerving about the idea of being fresh off the Race, 22 and single, while your friends are starting their careers and families and some kind of foundation for themselves. I see myself at 22, all tatted up and sporting my long-anticipated dreadlocks (and let's be real, probably a parasite or two), coming off the last plane ride of my journey with my year's worth of belongings on my back and being that cartoon character. Big, white emptiness.
There is no way to tell what the coming two years hold. It's preparation and fundraising and TRUST and FAITH, then community and ministry and a whole new level of dying to myself and rice and humidity and Chacos. At the heart of it, it's 11 months of being forced to choosing to pursue that next step, authentic, intimate relationship with Christ. That changes everything. In the coming two years, I know things will happen that will cause life to look NOTHING like it does now, rendering any plan I make now useless in the end.
At the heart of it, I know that no matter how much I freak out, God is good. Somedays it is a lot harder to remember and others I'm the first one to adamantly say otherwise. Really though, who am I to think that one selfish outburst of mine is enough to change the very nature of the sovereign, living God?
No matter what I tried to do or plan or say or think, ultimately He knew where things were going. He knew at the beginning of time where my life is headed, and when I actually bother to take the time to sit down and listen to Him, I find that He is waiting, asking "Daughter, would you just trust me already? I've got it under control; take a breathe and just live,"
When I was 20 years old, I had absolutely no idea what was happening in my life.
However, I chose to hand it over to the One who gave it to me in the first place, the One who made me in His image, the One who made me with a plan and purpose.
And even when it all seems crazy, like I'm walking into the big, white emptiness, I am trusting that He has a plan and He is good, and with that I don't have to know what is going on.
Because His plan is so much better than any of my own, even when it seems like just vapors and pieces.
