The thing I miss most from home is not my car, books, or even my bed. It’s Google. Strange answer, I know, but that abundance of knowledge that was once so accessible now has becomes a once a week luxury. Instead of typing a question into the search bar, I find myself pausing. Thinking. Waiting. Trusting.
I don’t have to Google it to know that the percent of knowledge I have acquired is miniscule. I suppose I could find out, if I really wanted to, the extent of Google’s knowledge, determining how many web pages it encompasses. But what good would it do me? I can’t ask Google what my future looks like. Google can’t discern what knowledge and experiences I’ll need in my life. As much information as Google can acquire for me, it can never teach me how to use it best.
Those tasks all fall to God, who, difficult as it may be to comprehend, knows much much more than Google can ever hope to. And while all this is true, there still lies the struggle of not knowing, the anxiety from not controlling. These things I release every day, as I trust God and his plans for that day. Even though I’m pretty sure I’d run away faster than Superman if God showed me his whole plan for me, I still find myself thinking “If I can’t know, I’ll stay where it’s safe.”
But that’s not an option anymore. Because here I am, stepping out on that hazy, misted path, hoping I won’t fall down and become utterly lost in swirls of fog, and trusting that if I lose my direction God will spin me to face the right way again.
Walking in the garbage dump on Tuesday, I’m reminded that people live there. Little children wake to this reality every day. I know then, seeing the faces of those that need prayer, that I don’t want the safe life. Yes, it’s a frustrating path, but if I can make the difference for even one person, I will hold onto that truth. God wants me here, and who am I to question that? He’s more knowledgeable than Google, and more loving than any person can ever be.
I know that my hazy mess of a path is perfectly clear to Him. I know I’m ready to move forward, trusting that He won’t let me fall. As I learn to trust, some of the mists on my path move off, and I see that next step ahead. I become aware that I do have the Holy Spirit in me. That same Spirit keeps me trusting, keeps me hoping, and keeps me loving. How selfish can I be if I don’t share it?
Here is this life, God.
Take it. Use it. Change it.
