God’s a Trailblazer: On Fear & Future

The future freaks me out.

I have no clue where I will be a year from now.

My thoughts pour forth a never-ending list of questions: What will I be doing? Who will be my friends? Will I even have friends? Do I actually need to learn how to cook?

At the rate I’m going, post-grad looks like crashing on friends’ couches and living out of a backpack, refusing to grow up and extending my stay in the glory days for as long as I can.

I am closer to growing up–or something like it–each day. Though the thought makes me queasy, I can find peace in trusting God, the ultimate trailblazer.

There weren’t trails in Escalante.

During my backpacking trip, the seven backpacking newbies greatly relied on the three guides to map out and pave a way for us to walk.

Sometimes our guides would leave us put, telling us to wait for their whistle that promised a reliable route to our next destination.

Sometimes they would be gone for a good while only to return and report that they were still searching for a way out.

But after leaving us behind and trekking ahead, after trudging through muddy sand and winding rivers before us, after trial and error, they’d manage to make a functional path.

Though the trails weren’t always ankle or arm-friendly, with thorny brush and prickly plants, we never failed to make it from Point A to Point B if we followed their trustworthy guidance.

God blazes His paths before us.

When we can’t see a year, six months, or even a week ahead, we can trust that God has gone before us. He has paved a way for us to follow to the next stage in our lives.

He beats down brush and scales large boulders to create the most effective path for His great plan.

When thorns scrape our ankles and plants sting our arms, we forget that He considers all of the alternatives and knows which route is best.

We don’t need to know where we are going.

We don’t need to know when or how we will get there.

We just need to follow.

He guides me along the right paths for His name’s sake. –Psalm 23:3

Temporary Home.

Father God, the earth is yours and everything in it. Thank you for this temporary home.

The Wild Part 3: God is the river.

I got back from Escalante three weeks ago.

Waco is pleasant. But Waco isn’t Escalante.

The first week back looked a lot like the lion’s den: three tests and one essay, two events and two meetings.

My paradise was 1,000 miles away. Reality hit.

Sometimes, we have to search a bit harder to find God.

During our trip, we students joked about the guides leaving us stranded in the wild. We brainstormed how we would find our way back without them.

The trick to getting back was going down in the valley, locating the Escalante River and following it upstream. The river would lead to civilization. The river would take us home.

Sometimes–not always–when I don’t feel God, I don’t think I’m trying hard enough.

I’m not on the mountain and the view isn’t expansive.

Sometimes it’s a challenge to see His face and beauty.

God calls me to retreat to the valley.

I hack through knee-high brush and storm through thorny bushes.

I climb over large boulders and traverse through prickly cacti.

I spot the river running with peace and life and promise.

But when I come to the river, I know that I will make it home.

God is the river. God brings us home.

The Lord is the river hidden deep in the valley.

He is full of peace and life.

He is the hope of tomorrows and the promise of all things good.

He is found in the mountaintop views.

He is deep in the valleys.

The strong mountains scream His glory. The dark valleys cry out His praise. The living rivers sing His promise.

Find the river. Follow it. And be welcomed home.

Let the heavens rejoice, let the earth be glad; let the fields be jubilant, and everything in them. Then all the trees of the forest will sing for joy; they will seng before the LORD, for he comes. Psalm 96: 11-13a, NIV

The Wild Part 2: God Provides

Photo credit: Stephanie, the coolest adventurer and best blister-repairer ever.

There isn’t much in the wild.

Correction: there isn’t much in the wild that you normally find in big cities, average suburbs, or quiet rural areas.

There are not toilets or TV’s. There are not refrigerators or microwaves. There are not outlets or automobiles.

But there is God, who provides what we need.

I wanted a porcelain throne at our campsite. Instead, I found secluded trees with thick leaves.

I pined for Chick-Fil-A. Instead, I heated ramen noodles swimming in river water over a portable stove.

I longed to check Facebook and Instagram. Instead, I connected with new friends on the trip via face-to-face interaction, The Lord through admiration, and myself in silence.

When we seek more, we burden ourselves.

One day, we found an isolated, one-room cabin complete with an iron bed, coffee can, and mason jars.

I almost stole a mason jar.

But before questioning the potential germs in the cabin–ew–and snatching the jar, I considered its weight. The jar was roughly half a pound.

I was already carrying 30+ pounds on my hips and back. The jar wasn’t worth it. I walked away empty-handed.

Empty hands are asking to be filled.

They cup fresh water to wash off dirt. They grab Clif bars to devour. They grasp other empty hands to encourage and lift up.

Empty hands spread wide and high to show surrender, praise and thankfulness.

Empty hands lack more for the possibility of gaining everything.

Empty hands fully trust in a Giver that promises to provide.

What if we empty our hands?

An empty calendar can lead to a world of opportunities and adventures.

An empty wallet can lead to just enough to pay for one’s daily bread.

What if instead of grabbing more, we take the bare minimum that God provided?

We move when the sun is up. We sleep when the stars come out. We drink when our cup is full. We eat when bread is on the table.

We don’t look for more, but say, “Thank you, Jesus” no matter what our plates look like.

What if we stopped proclaiming our trust with the words pouring out of our mouths?

What if we showed our faith with nothing in our hands?

The Wild Part 1: God is BIG.

Two weeks ago, I was waning.

I was worn out from classes and work, attempting to please people, control my future and create my own peace. I needed spiritual and physical rest.

So God sent me into the wild.

Last week, I backpacked in Utah’s Escalante National Monument with 10 other campers and guides.

We hiked about 6-10 miles each day, up and down canyons, through brush and thorns, on rock and sand.

We delved into deep valleys, soaked our socks in muddy, freezing water. We trekked up steep mountains, drenched in sweat and pining for water.

With every step, God spoke loudly through His silent creation.

God is big.

He created the twinkling sky, overpowering mountains and billowing plains.

He created the entire universe: dark and light, waters and land, plants and animals, in just six days.

His creativity is big. His handiwork is big. Everything He does is big.

God is big, but works in small ways.

He didn’t strike me with lightning or speak through a mountain lion–which was a definite possibility.

He didn’t shout with a booming voice from the clouds while I stood on top of a peak.

He whispered on the wind, “I love you. I made this for you.” And that was enough for me.

God is big, but works in small ways, and through small people.

He doesn’t only choose world leaders and presidents, He isn’t exclusive to pick celebrities or mega church pastors.

He calls the kindergartener on the playground, the teen mom at home, the college undergrad at Baylor University.

He seeks out the man with terminal cancer crying for a cure, the homeless woman begging for breakfast, the orphan praying for a family.

The bigness of God is not a small matter.

With an invisible God, it can be easy to forget His absolute magnitude, power and strength.

In the wild, all I could see was His absolute magnitude, power and strength.

I felt small. I looked small. I am small.

God’s creativity and artwork are mountains bigger than me, but He magnifies the small skills, passion, faith and trust I bring.

He is big enough to use a small, weak, pathetic little girl like me to glorify Him.

If that isn’t a big deal, I don’t know what is.

Escalante, UT.

Saying goodnight to a beautiful day of traveling along Highway 12 through Utah. Spring Break blessings.