In suspense and incomplete

I’ve pondered many truths this year—great and small—but chief among them is the realization that my life has meaning not just because of what reason tells me, but because my heart also has something important to say on the subject.

I'm old enough to have surrendered the need for it all to make perfect sense. My pilgrimage has become a bigger mystery than ever, which I’m learning to accept without having to formulate elaborate explanations for it. The fact that I can’t see through doors is not the problem I sometimes make it out to be. It’s because of my creaturely limitations that I learn something about the comfort of his presence. I’ll be making no New Year’s resolutions because I want to be attentive to what’s important right now, right here. I seek to live in kairos time.

I’m blessed by who I have as a guide for my journey. My Christian faith is not just a social habit nor a mental exercise nor formal assent to doctrinal truths—although to some extent it’s all of those things. My faith is preeminently an act of surrender to the mercy of God revealed in Christ. I can’t reason my way through that. To my great surprise, I’ve arrived at where I am today with more peace than I imagined was possible early this year. It wasn’t logic or intellect that got me here; it was a release of control. This choice frees me to receive but it also renders me vulnerable. I can’t tell you why I’m here with the health of body and soul that I possess. I wish I could. To live this way, I accept the anxiety of feeling myself in suspense and incomplete. I simply trust that God will make good on his promises. He guides me when the gloom descends as much as he does in the bright light of day.

I strive to remain humble about what I understand about God’s purposes for my life. My heart leads and, reluctantly, my head follows.