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…