Course correction

I don't mind the dark. I'm serious. When I walk into places unknown, I embrace the fear and the reality that I don't know where I'm going. It's fun for me to fly without a flightplan. But when the lights click on, that's when I'm disquieted. I fidget, and I can't sit still for the life of me.

Maybe walking in the dark leads me to believe that God will provide everything I need to live the way I think he wants me to. Of course, he does provide, but not always what I want. And when where I thought I was going becomes a lot farther away, it's easy for me to be discouraged. Optimism is easier when you can't see the destination.

Then, in the dark, I don't see who I am. I assume that living my life that way pleases God, because of the chances I take and the trials I face. I can tell myself that the way I've set up this furniture in my room has a special spiritual method, and it's good because of how my life happens around it in the reaching dark. The light reveals how completely unsatisfied I am with this room.

Don't take this the wrong way: this is not some kind of existential crisis. I know who I am, and I know where I came from. But I feel like where I want to be is even farther away than it used to be. Was this planned, or was this because of my lack of a plan? Time will tell. In the mean time, no matter how tired I am, no matter how the path is revealed, no matter how sick I get, I can continue to run forward. And I will.

Changing direction, I think, doesn't mean I was rebelling-- it means I was going somewhere. The wrong direction, though.