When it doesn't make sense...

Back in the fall, I was discontent. It was growing out of control. I wanted out—out of Tennessee, out of my job, out of this neutrality. I wanted to go home to Texas. No, desperately wanted it.


I talked about it, prayed about it, and thought about it to an unhealthy, annoying degree.


But it made complete sense to me. My parents are getting older and I want to be close to them. My brother and his fiancee are settling down in Dallas. My favorite church and pastor are located there. And I love Texas. No, seriously, I really, really love it, y'all.


This was my chance.


So I told God what I was up to and began hunting. (Funny = I told Him what I was doing, yet again. Sad = He didn't stop me.) On my "hunt" (keeping with this theme while acknowleding it's wildly inappropriate and gruesome), I only went straight for the throat of one particular church species—The Village Church.


I attended there before my move to Houston and subsequent move to Nashville. I loved it. I didn't get enough of it. I still dreamed about it. I podcast the sermons and listen to them regularly today.


So I contacted them, sent my resume, and crossed my fingers hoping something would be open. And, I'll be doggone, if something was available.


The HR lady said the position opening up was similar to what I'm doing in the current church where I serve. Praise God—an open door.


The ball started rolling fast. Really fast. I set up an interview over Thanksgiving when I went home and had the most fabulous conversation with two of the Communications Team members. They were wonderful. I was enamored. I felt at home. But, then, I also didn't. 


Something wasn't settling right inside me. Almost like when you eat the wrong kind of Mexican food and it stays with you overnight (and sometimes for a few days). Ew.


I couldn't put my finger on it, but I pushed through. I began talking with them about coming there, visiting again over Christmas to meet other staff members. I was excited. I was finally going to get what I wanted.


But I couldn't sleep at night. Something was off.


I sought counsel from those I love most here. They were against it and it annoyed me to no end. Why wouldn't they support me? Why wouldn't they want this for me? Why wouldn't they be excited about a new adventure?


My parents, on the other hand, were silent on the issue. I'm surprised they didn't disown me after all the late-night emotional calls and frantic text messages I sent. I later found out, being the spiritual giants in my life that they are, they only wanted God to guide me and not their counsel.


But I knew. I knew what the answer was. I knew what I had to do. I knew where this was headed. I just didn't want to believe it.


The Holy Spirit works that way. He's like an itchy fungus (in a holy, reverent way, of course). He'll pester and bother and taunt me until I finally scratch and say, "Alright! Fine. Have it your way. You win."


In my final over-dramatic, desperate attempt at getting a word from Him, He said: "I could bless you in both places. I would use you in either job for my glory. The choice is yours and there's no wrong decision. But... if you really trust me like you say you do, if you really want to obey me in all things, if you really think I'm good and for you, then listen carefully. Wait. Stay where you are. Don't move. Live, love, and be right where you are. I'm not finished with you there. Trust me."


I asked for it. I wanted a firm answer. But, naturally, my response was: "What?!? Are you serious?" (Insert seriously distorted, confused face here and some serious head shaking. I still take on this posture when I think about it just as I'm doing right this very instant.)


It didn't make sense in December and it doesn't make sense now.


When I made the call to back out, I told the Communications Minister it was about $$$, but it really wasn't. That didn't matter—and never really has—in the big scheme of things. No details really matter when it comes to God's place for us.


It just happened to be the only logical excuse I could think to tell him. I couldn't put into words and explain what God was telling me to do because it sounded so abnormal and puzzling. I was afraid he would've thought I was crazy too.


But I had to do it.


I cried for days after that. I still ask "why" every day (more to myself than to Him). I still have occasional panic attacks, asking myself, "Oh no... did I do the right thing? Did I give up my only opportunity at my dream job, dream location, dream situation?"


Bottom line: I'm a screwup. I've made the most jacked up decisions for myself in the past—having turned my life upside down. But He's never steered me wrong when He's in the driver's seat. So what have I got to lose? Everything. Trust me, it's almost happened before. That's why I trust He knows what He's doing.


Why do I tell all these intimate details of my life? Because you need to know that God's ways don't always make sense, but we need to trust Him enough to be obedient.


I mean, He made it extremely clear: "My thoughts are nothing like your thoughts. And my ways are far beyond anything you could imagine. For just as the heavens are higher than the earth, so my ways are higher than your ways and my thoughts higher than your thoughts" (Isaiah 55:8-9).


I'm no saint. I'm not saying you should pattern your life after mine. God help us, please don't do that. I'm just saying He's good, He's for you, and His ways are better than yours. And we need to tune our ears to His heart to know what those ways are.


He's the "shield around us" (our protector), our "glory" (the One who grounds us), the "one who holds our heads high" (Psalm 3:3). Glory to God in all things—whatever He decides for our lives.