What are you passionate about?
Is it music? Sports? Art? Science?
Or maybe your passion is something less tangible, like serving or helping others. Whatever you dream about, it clearly means enough to you to get out of bed in the morning.
I believe we were all born with something that sets us apart from “everyone else,” no matter how humdrum or ordinary you might consider yourself to be.
If you know me even the tiniest bit, you know writing is one thing that gives me a zeal for life. I always assumed I would find a way to make writing my life (and maybe I still will), but right now all I feel is fear.
Allow me to give you the inside scoop of typical dialogue between God and me. It goes a little something like this:
Me: When? How? Where? How long? Why?
God: I’ve got it.
Me: But what about this? And what if–
God: Already on it.
Me: But if I can’t do this or don’t get that opportunity, nothing will happen and–
God: Stop. Worrying.
Me: I can’t.
God: Yes, you can. You can trust Me.
I wrestle and I complain and I badger and I whine and I squirm uncomfortably in the waiting. When I look through the eyes of Christ, I recognize my worries are fruitless and a waste of time. Yet, I still feel as though my doubts will somehow keep me in check– that if I allow my mind to float on cloud nine even for a fraction of a second, reality will swiftly knock me back down to the ground and I’ll be left feeling even more hopeless that I felt before.
To put it simply, I am highly hesitant to hope.
I’ve been a prisoner– confined, restrained, barely breathing as I stare at the same four walls I built around my mind years ago. The battle is between grace and pride, and I am but a mere mortal that plays host to their endless contentions.
Pride convinces me I must live in a box where everything is predictable, safe, and letdowns are lost in translation.
Grace tries its best to show me the light, where there is freedom in dreaming and disappointments are only minor setbacks in the grand scheme of life.
Therefore, my frail human brain comes to the conclusion that I must choose between maintaining high expectations or expecting nothing as protection to my heart.
I’ve been wrestling with the answer for a couple of years now, and I’m sorry to say that I still won’t have a tidy resolution by the end of this post.
Depending on how you see the glass (ie, half empty or half full), holding high expectations can either set you up for inevitable disappointment or breed an immovable sense of optimism.
Expecting nothing, however, leaves you with the whole world to gain. The only drawback is a lack of hope can breed low self-esteem and disbelief in the abilities of friends, romantic interests, opportunities, and dare I say God to follow through with their promises.
High expectations open your heart to the possibility of love. Expecting nothing keeps you grounded. After all, if you don’t open your heart, it can’t be broken.
Now, please hear me out: The purpose of this post is not to paint this image of me as a bitter, crestfallen cynic hunched over my computer writing hate mail to all the people who’ve let me down.
No, I am not a cynic. No, I am not hopeless, despondent, or eternally pessimistic.
On the contrary, I am filled with hopes, dreams, and aspirations for the future. But sometimes, it can get hard to believe the desires of my heart will be fulfilled when I’ve been waiting…and waiting…and waiting…with only a worn heart that lost its flame a few heartbreaks and rejections past.
I’m currently residing at home for spring break, and if I had a quarter for every time a well-meaning friend or relative asked me what I expect to do with a communications degree, I’d have enough quarters to do laundry for the rest of the semester. I answer with a *shocking* “I have no idea” and attempt to redeem myself by announcing yet again my plans to minor in writing. But just between you and me, I haven’t even declared my writing minor yet.
Don’t get me wrong– I want to. I want to more than anything. The thought of marching to the records office (or wherever it is that important things like declaring plans for the next three years of your life take place) gives my heart a spark again. I don’t know what keeps holding me back– that is unless my heart is telling me to go big or go home.
So, riddle me this:
If a prominent measure of thrill ensues from the mere prospect of announcing to the world that I, Hannah Rose Roberts, will be pursuing a minor in writing, wouldn’t that make my desire for a minor in writing more outstanding than that of my actual major?
And by definition, wouldn’t that make the degree I’m actually pursuing a waste of time because it does not set my heart on fire in the least bit?
I’m not asking you to tell me if I should change my major. I’m not asking you to explain to me the difference between a prudent career choice and a passionate career choice. I’m not even asking you to encourage me to chase my dreams.
I just want to sit in this for a while and ponder. I want to see this period as a time of examination and a weighing of the what-ifs.
What if I chose to make my entire degree, the very essence of my education, based purely on my passion for writing?
What if I took these next three years and designed my schedule filled to the brim with creative writing, literature, and rhetoric classes?
What if I threw all my hopes and high expectations into the fulfillment of my dreams and didn’t stop long enough to consider what could go wrong?
What a life that would be.
I’m not sure what I’m going to do yet.
All I know is that I want a lifetime of butterflies in my stomach. I want seventy years of smiling at the career with which I toiled all day long, but what didn’t feel like work. I want a burning heart that blazes for the things too baffling and beloved to be ingested instantaneously, unlike the rapid speed with which information is processed in this age. I want a burning heart that won’t relent and will continue flaming for God, words, people, traveling, and on and on for the rest of my days.
I’m still in the process of figuring out how to silence the malicious misgivings that threaten to steal my hopes daily. I long for a life where my flame isn’t contained– a life that lets me love beyond myself and let down my shield.
I wish to hope with peaceful assurance that I could be let down or that something absolutely unexpected could happen…and that I might maintain a fervent boldness that the Lord holds my right hand, with His right hand, through it all.
I read in a book recently (Wait and See by Wendy Pope– 10/10 would recommend) the way Scripture paints a beautiful picture of God holding Israel’s hand in Isaiah 41 verses 10 and 13. He holds Israel’s right hand with His right hand. Pope notes that the only way this is comfortable is if the people of Israel are standing face-to-face with God.
fear not, for I am with you; be not dismayed, for I am your God; I will strengthen you, I will help you, I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.
For I, the LORD your God, hold your right hand; it is I who say to you, “Fear not, I am the one who helps you.”
We can dare to hope and dream without fear of the Enemy because we are standing before the Lord in complete confidence that He places good desires on our hearts to be dreamed upon, wished for, and chased after, and that He will fulfill those godly desires in His timing.
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