I think I just went a whole year not knowing who I am.
I was gonna be a missionary. I was gonna be a flag-carrying, stereotype busting, warrior for the Kingdom. But I chickened out. My dad threatened to disown me. My sister stopped speaking to me. And I just said, “Okay, never mind.” Thats what I said! I swallowed all of their doubt and hoity toity understanding of my Jesus and ran from any certainty in his voice.
Now, I’m a teacher. I think I circumvented some lessons Jesus wanted for me first but I’m a teacher. i love my kids, so much. it hurts sometimes. I fail them constantly. I am running on every reserve piece of grace and patience and unconditional love I stored up from when I actually followed his voice.
I’ve got a thing for voices. I can fall head over heels with a smooth, deep comforting tone. Ask my country phase circa 2007, rooted in Josh Turner’s “Would You Come With Me?” The mistake I’m making now has a voice that feels like ivy league humor and rum and some kind of home in new england i’ll never be good enough for. I had hitched myself to the voice of the Good Shepherd. I had said for better or for worse, I will follow the voice i so desperately try to hold onto. the one I am sure of in the corner of a house church and am crying to remember the sound of in my car. I just want(ed?) to sit in it, you know?
Now, I’ve spent the better part of this year, not speaking to him. I journaled some. I prayed a little. I cried a lot. But I haven’t lost myself in the croon of my Creator since I let doubt hijack his voice. And I don’t think I know who I am without it.