I dream of stability. I dream of adulthood filled with undeniable, unfading happiness in a place I'd want to forever call my home. I can often picture routine autumn walks to a coffee shop where creativity resides and thrives: doused in cool tones, wood finishes and calm, easing surroundings. I can see myself in a daily routine filled with enough joy to set the world on fire, surrounded by the most genuine and loving souls, plentiful of God's blessings and standing stable on the ground I'd laid claim to - the ground I'd call home.
One would think stability is relatively simple: dreams turn into priorities, happiness is second nature, the little, undesirable things slide by, sadness is trained to be wiped away and God's hand is held throughout the journey. For me, that sounded a lot like a formula to a life worth living, to one of those fairy tale fantasies I'd seen in movies. Only now, I've learned that while I was dreaming for stability, I was on my knees praying for the wrong kind, the kind that wasn't willing to hand God the journey.
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I had the idea that I'd find my place and lay claim to it, letting God write my story once I got there. That somehow or another, I would live a life that I'd jump out of bed every morning to live another day of - one I would be capable of filling incomprehensible voids on my own. I'd build my adventure and it would be one I'd reminisce on forever - the story I wrote while God held the paper.
I soon found that I was not near as capable and powerful as I thought I was on my own, that I could only be the best version of myself living the best version of life if I was God's version of myself, living God's edition of my life. In an endless search for worldly desires to fill voids and unforgettable adventure, I missed the fact that the adventure is the one God handed over everyday, the one I'd been consistently denying in fear of a mistake in the story.
I was searching for a place, a soul, a routine to lay claim to. God never meant for me to sit down my bags and settle here on earth, on the ground I mistakenly labeled "home." The adventure that He'd been pushing me towards all along was one with a chin tilted to the sky and blindly walking into fog: a future with an untold story. The adventure God wanted me to live was the one He was writing, no matter how out of the ordinary it seemed to me or those I'm surrounded by, or how different or full of hurt it may be. He wants me to walk with Him because no matter what the story holds, it is crafted by the flawless, infallible Creator that promises me that as the sky may appear to be falling, I always win with my right hand in His.
I have no idea where I'm going or what the fog holds, but there's something ahead engulfed in the love that drives all life, something that screams the word "holy."
