Lately, I keep having this recurring dream where I’m standing in the middle of a giant, bright white room with black pieces of paper flying around me in a whirlwind.  On each paper, written in white chalk, are questions.  Here they are:

What if it doesn’t look like what everyone expects?

Did I hear God correctly?

Have I genuinely listened?

What happened to the girl who used to always smile like she had a secret?

What if I’m really bad at it?

 How can I call myself a believer but struggle with this much unbelief?

What if my heart can’t handle continuing to wait until he’s ready?

What if I’m really bad at it?

If I KNOW I’m right where I’m supposed to be, then why can’t I rest in that and just where is the peace that passes all understanding?

How did all that I know to be true get so jumbled?

Is something wrong with me to question this much?

Should I have said yes five years ago?

Am I enough?

Am I too much, overwhelming?

How am I supposed to know that I know if this is truly God’s best?

Have I bought into a really good looking lie?

If God often speaks in a whisper and I’m supposed to hush and listen for it, then is it wrong to pray for the burning bush instead?

I tend to wake up feeling incredibly overwhelmed, even though I know it’s just my heart being fleshed out before me.  While I also already know the answer to most every one of them, I’m longing for the day that I’m bold enough to say them out loud…