It’s been exactly 60 days since I dropped nearly all my clients and stepped away from my copywriting career indefinitely.
To anyone who asks, I respond that I’m taking a “soul summer.” Spending more time with Nick and the kids. Soaking up some sun. Freeloading instead of freelancing. Oh, how lovely and whimsical. Even brave. Admirable. What courage! What pluck!
But it isn’t quiiiiite the whole truth. Because the whole truth sounds fully insane.
(And here it comes…)
Why did I quit my steady freelance work, risking my family’s finances right at the dawn of a pandemic recession? Well, because God told me to.
I know. It’s history’s most over-used excuse for justifying something purely selfish and stupid. Still, the fact remains that in late February/early March of 2021, I began having a series of dreams inviting me to exit the “prison” of my current work situation.
So, after some prayer and discussion with my unreasonably understanding husband (who may not fully trust the whole “God” thing but is willing to entertain my interpretation of it), I did. I walked right out the door and into… a whole lot of nothing happening.
Have you ever noticed how incredibly uncomfortable it is to wait on something? IMAGINE how much harder that becomes when you’ve convinced your husband to “just trust you” that God has everything under control *winky emoji* (i.e. “He’s going to make us magic millionaires overnight”).
Oh, it’s all so romantic to hear God and follow His voice on Day One. You imagine yourself climbing into that white limousine and cranking up This Girl Is On Fire as you drive away into your destiny of fame and fortune, spraying champagne out the sunroof. It’s a bit harder to stomach 60 days later, when you’re wandering the barren wilderness in the tattered remains of a champagne-soaked cocktail dress, eating sand and stumbling toward every oasis mirage.
The truly crazy thing? Although I have no further insight into “what’s next” than I did on the day this all started, I know He’s leading me somewhere.
I can sense it in my spirit, the way you can tell someone is coming up behind you on an escalator (God, those people — congratulations, you reached the top 5 seconds ahead of the rest of us, bravo). Even today, all signs point forward. His voice is still there. Hope is still very much alive, albeit a tad shriveled. Like a snail in the sun.
And despite my trying to make “this” or “that” my new Purpose and Identity, to efficiently solve The Riddle of His Grand Plan so I can escape the confines of this damned waiting room, He continues to faithfully shut doors. This is, ultimately, the greatest kindness: to keep me from spinning my wheels in an area where I’m not destined to prosper.
He knows my tendency toward desperate straw grasping, my all-too-predictable attempts to find solid footing and self-esteem in every well-worn area of my life, from writing and entrepreneurship to motherhood and singing. He ceaselessly strips away my understanding of what’s going on here — who I’m supposed to be right now — preventing me from turning what I DO into who I AM.
I may write, but “who I am” is not a writer.
I may have built a business, but “who I am” is not an entrepreneur.
I may have kids, but “who I am” is not a mom.
I may sing, but “who I am” is not a singer.
Honestly, it’s frustrating. Tiring. Scary, yes. The uncertainty is killing me. The fear of letting down my family because I “heard wrong” is real.
But His voice, which comes to me as it always has — a sharp thought in my mind that resonates through my gut, like intuition or warm soup — is near all the time. Through His Word, other people, even songs and television shows, He orchestrates “coincidences” that are anything but.
So, I’m listening. Waiting. Watching. I mean, what else am I gonna do?
But also, somehow, the writer in me recognizes the workings of a good story: a Master Storyteller piecing together the plotline with purposeful precision. Editing out entire sections to keep the readers guessing. Introducing new and unexpected characters alongside old familiar faces.
This process is NEVER painless. I know that intimately. It takes an endless labor of love, consistent cutting and reworking, careful attention to fine details, painstaking effort. And TIME. Something I feel viscerally every day — the passing of seconds and minutes, hours and days when no answers have yet surfaced. It’s easy to view this season as a waste, to wish it away.
Ah, but I have learned in many different phases and roles of this life journey that the richness of the story is cultivated right here in this middle part. Without it, the “end” would never touch so deeply or mean so very much. There is sweetness here, important character formation, little nuggets to gather that foreshadow the coming greatness.
And because the Author of the Universe writes my story, I trust it’s going to be a real jaw-dropper.
