these will be yours.

Sometimes, I feel as though I've given up quite a lot to believe in Christ. I know that that's rubbish, but...

Inside of two years ago, I had a plan. I had an academic pedigree. I went to a great school, I had a neat little resume with a neuroscience fellowship, and I did my undergrad research with one of the world's top experts in his (and my) field. I was offered the opportunity to come to Missouri to work with another of the field's well-published professors, and I was so certain of the future. I'd go on for the Ph.D., and then do what every academic dreams of doing-- something fresh, something new, something that launches you into a career of teaching, and publishing, and speaking engagements, and being known.

And now...we're here.

Two years later, I have no real plan, and the plans I do have are entirely dependent on the prompting of an entity I cannot see. I find myself concerned with things like holiness, and broken over my separations with God. I'm making decisions that are terrifying, because they don't always make rational sense, and I wonder, "How can this road get me to that one when I can't see the connections?" I keep checking back into my own heart to find again and again that things have changed. What I once believed I no longer do, and what once seemed impossible to believe is now so true. Sometimes I'm failing, but I'm always coming back. And I know that I'm about to be pushed over into something new, into a bolder faith than what I've known. (Is it ok to be scared?)

Back in March, my church hosted Chris Tomlin. The music was good, Louie Giglio was awesome, but the point is that in the middle of it, God spoke.

Eyes closed, and arms aloft I sang--it was total worship, and totally wonderful. I opened my eyes. My friend to the left was lost in worship. When I turned to the right, I saw one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen. Thousands of faces, hands, voices lifted to heaven, bathed in golden light, entirely surrendered to the God I love. Friends. There aren't words. As I watched, God spoke. More clearly than I've ever experienced. He told me to get ready--"These will be yours. I'm giving them to you to care for, and to lead." The imagery was of a flock, it called forth a sense of protectiveness. The message was unmistakable--get ready, prepare yourself to do it well.

I know that sounds crazy. I know I'm completely unfit for any type of pastoral leadership, ever. I could be entirely wrong about that message--and trust me, I'm not too proud to know that, and if I am wrong, I will print out this page and literally eat my words. But that was the message. Not now, but soon enough. Not these exact people, but some. Prepare yourself.

That's not the first time I've gotten that message or something similar. It's also not the first time I've ignored it. Coincidentally, this is the first time I've been honest about it. Because I'm scared. Because I imagine that anyone reading these words will think that I'm foolish, will say, "Does she realize how completely inadequate she is in Christ to ever lead another person?" The answer is yes, I do realize.

But I also realize that I serve a God who changes lives from dark to light, and takes hearts that are broken, and arrogant, and foolish, and turns them to strength, and humility and wisdom. I know that I love a God who is faithful to His promises. I know that my God works miracles, and does not spread lies in the hearts of His own, but truths--whole, beautiful truths that would in fact be foolish or impossible without His power.

Now is the time for honesty, with myself and others. I've been hiding, and in that, I've been falling. I realized this week that my own unwillingness to do what He asks has twisted things, and taken my heart off course. I start to feel like I've given up so much--because I'm not stepping into all that I've been given. I have not allowed God into my life to be God--to do the impossible in my heart, my mind, my friendships, my work, my finances.

It's time to get ready.