I've written before about how different songs have had an impact on different phases on my life. Music has always been a huge part of my life, starting with the songs my mom and her mom taught me when I was little—The B-I-B-L-E, He's Still Working on Me, Mares-e-dotes, Sunbeam, Jesus Loves Me...the list could go on for a while. In school, my first heartbreak came when I didn't make the elementary choir in 5th grade and one of my proudest moments came when my high school choir teacher looked at me in shock during my audition one year and asked, “Where did that come from?”
Music has a way of reaching all the way to my heart. I've fallen to my knees listening to a worship song that broke me, I've been lifted high by another that made my heart soar. I've had songs of all genres made a difference in my life. My now husband but then boyfriend told me how he felt about me with Coldplay's Yellow. I've sung along with songs that said what I couldn't—or didn't dare—say. I have lyrics from a song written in the scrapbook I made after Michael was killed. There are lyrics from another song that I hope to paint on the wall of my house some day when we finally have a house of our own instead of a place we're renting.
And today, when I was feeling overwhelmed, I was reminded of another song that's meant a lot to me since high school. It's by Sara Evans, and the chorus says:
“How do you wait for heaven?
And who has that much time?
And how to you keep your feet on the ground
when you know you were born to fly?”
I was searching through some of the blogs I read faithfully, looking for something that would speak to what I've been feeling lately. One wrote of being overwhelmed and overlooked, but she was talking about being overlooked by the world and handpicked by God. There is great truth in her words, but what about when you're feeling overlooked by God? I read another that was about having the wrong girl, about feeling like you've been called to do more than you're capable of doing, of being asked to run when you barely feel able to walk. Again, while I understand the sentiment, what about when you feel like you're standing still, growing stagnant? Yet another wrote about what happens when God calls you to do something hard. But what if you're trying to figure out what He's called you to?
What about when you feel like you were meant to do something, and you just can't figure out what that's supposed to be? How do you come to terms with feeling like you were meant to fly, but instead you're sinking below the waves?
I have a really hard time with the mundane. I joke that I must have gypsy blood in my background or something, because I find it really hard to sit still and simply walk through the everyday life I find myself in. Don't get me wrong--I know I'm blessed. I have a husband who supports every crazy whim, kids I would give my last breath for, and an amazing family most people can't even imagine. I teach a great bunch of kids in one of the most beautiful places around. There is a roof over my head, food on my table, and a gorgeous view outside my front door.
I've been blessed with way more than I deserve, and I know that.
But there's part of me that is still searching, still desperate, still longing. There's a part of me that wants to be used for something bigger than myself, something...more.
I'm sure it comes down to a trust issue with me; it usually does. I know that God is in control, and I know that He has a plan for my life. The thing is, I want to know right now what exactly that plan is. I fret and I worry and I stress, and I lose sight of the fact that all my worry is doing is telling God that I don't trust Him to work everything out in His timing.
Because, as hard as it is for me to admit, His timing is perfect. Looking back, had I been able to see what all God would lead me through I'm pretty sure I would have said Thanks but no thanks. Maybe, then, the waiting is all part of God preparing me for whatever He wants me to do. Maybe, before I can do something more, I have to learn to be content--to be faithful--in what I see as the mundane.
Let me tell you, that's a hard lesson for me to learn.