I waited all day to come here, waited all day to write and tell you all about… well, life, I suppose. But it’s 11pm now and The Roommate’s asleep on the other side of the room, and it all seems too very much to write.
I almost started with “I wish”, but I’ll not fall to that, because I wish is the antonym of content, and sometimes it feels like a very tender balance inside of this heart. I suppose it’s human nature to wish for. But contentment with the enough, the more than enough, that God has poured boundlessly over my life is not the only balance I’m trying to find.
There’s another balance between excitement and a deep, creeping fear. Being a teacher someday, a someday that will become today in an all-too-short blink of the eye, is an exciting concept when I’ve done my homework and the reading report is ready to turn in and I’m working right along on the paper. But I sat in the second row in class today, and I’m looking at the backs of heads that must know so much more than me. And we’re talking about education standards and curriculum and I’m so inadequate and overwhelmed pours oil on the fire of fear that’s building in my heart.
The president of our school preaches Chapel twice a month, and today was one of those treasured Tuesdays. And I was so very happy, relieved maybe a little, too, when there were mikes and guitars on stage, because my soul craves God time in worship with song, and after we’ve sung, this school president is a wise, wise speaker. He’s teaching on Esther and emphasizes decisions, and my notebook’s open on my lap, I wrote “God Orchestrates” in the front page, even as Dr. Nyquist spoke about a sovereign God whose ability to know and care and design far exceeds my own estimations of Him.
I’m sitting in bed now, feet perpetually cold tucked under my comforter, and writing brings back snapshots of a day still winding down. But without realizing it my eyebrows are sinking deeper and deeper, a frown taking shape in the light of my computer screen because I just can’t make sense of it all. There’s no way, really, just not a chance, that God could use every decision, every experience of this day that feels so fragmented, to work in my heart and bring truth to a plan that He set in motion when time began.
I know in my head that He’s wise and sovereign, and that His rule extends far beyond my ability to comprehend anything about Him, but my heart hesitates because I really just don’t see how. I have a little mind, and a little faith to go with it, and if I can’t conceive of how He could bring good from the small bits of chaos that chain together to form my life, then how could He?
But The Roommate prays first and God Orchestrates is on the wall now, cardboard reminder of truth I’m not sure I always believe. And The Roommate prays Conductor, because He gives cues when we need, not a second before, and He’s looking at the whole picture, the whole piece, and He knows where this melody is headed, and He’s doing exactly what’s needed to bring us exactly where He wants us, to turn this confusion into a concert.
And she doesn’t know, but feet away, tucked into her own bed, soft blue eyes closed, she’s praying peace and hope into a life, a day, a heart phase, that’s not terrible, but none too wonderful, either. I’m balancing on one leg between hope full of peace and chaos swirling confused, and with words she’s praying right back to Him, The Roommate pulls layers of doubt back from a life that He’s deemed for Him, and it’s pouring this is right, this is good, back into my life.
Because there’s a balance in life, that I’ll probably be seeking the rest of my life. But God doesn’t wobble over fear and trust, doesn’t raise eyebrows and question why that was necessary. He doesn’t doubt, doesn’t wander, doesn’t hem and haw and eventually just stop for a moment, because it all just feels a little off. He doesn’t do any of that.
Because He’s the Great Conductor and He knows it all and orchestrates it all, and His hands mold my life like they’ve molded history since time first blinked, and His plan is so incredibly rich.