wild.

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If you were to ask me my biggest fear, I'd say it is not living out my calling. I’ve always been haunted by this fear that I won’t figure out what it is God wants me to do and that I’ll miss it, that I’ll spend my life on worthless things instead of the most important things.

God has been working on me, making me chill the heck out about that. And that fear has calmed.

But when one fear backs off, another gets right up in your blind spot and tries swerve into your lane.

I’ve been trying to focus. To stay grounded. To stop wishing my life away and live in the moment. To live where I’m planted. To keep pursuing Him and using what He’s given me, even if that looks or feels small.

So I’m here and I’m trudging along, taking one step at a time, when these things just start dropping into my heart. Ideas. Dreams. Paths. Purposes.

And I’m scared to even look at them, to give them any time. Because I’m scared that I’m not supposed to want those things. That I should be content with what I have and where I am. That I’d be selfish to want more.

It’s like I’m afraid it will take away my desire for more of Jesus in my life. I’m afraid to dream because I’m scared those things will somehow get placed above Him, that my focus will be on those things and not Him. That I will look for joy in those things instead of Him.

I mean, that’s been my story for the last few months. Learn to dwell in Him, in what you have, where you are. And it's so been liberating and rich and full.

But then the unexpected happens, the things I've been praying about for so long. Little pieces of vision keeping showing up, everywhere I go.

Those soul-shaking desires appear and and I have a little voice saying, “You’re selfish for wanting so much. You're supposed to be content with what you have. When will you stop wanting more? When will you stop choosing yourself?”

And it all comes crashing down.

The guilt busts through the door. And it wrestles joy and hope and peace to the ground.

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I think I've  tried to focus so much on being content, that when a new wind blows, when a new wave comes, my natural response is to resist it. Because I don't want it upsetting the balance, the calm.

“I should be okay with this, my present. This should be enough, forever, because it very well could be. I need to prepare for that.”

But I have a wild, wild heart, one that pushes and pulls, one that dances and rattles against the cage I tried to put around it. And sometimes it’s easier to put on the headphones and listen to a different song than to give it any attention. Sometimes I feel like the restlessness in my soul is a sign of discontentment. And that it should be silenced.

But I think God created me to be wild.

And I think He speaks to me through that wildness.

What if the restlessness isn't discontentment? What if it isn't my mind saying, "you need more of this and this and this," but my spirit, the core of me, saying, "I need more, because the world needs more. Of you. Of Jesus in you. Of the wild in you. And you've got to do the things that will cultivate that."

What if that restlessness is just a sign that I'm dipping my toes outside of my comfort zone-- and that's good?

What if the restlessness is trying to call out the things I try to hide?

And what if that voice telling me I'm selfish is just resistance? The thief that comes to steal and destroy?

Oh guys, I hope this is coming out clearly because for the longest time I thought having a restless heart was a bad thing. And it was, when all I ever wanted was all of the wrong things for all of the wrong reasons.

But now my spirit is restless, not for the things that will make my name grow tall, but that will feed my heart and make my roots grow deeper.

I don't think restlessness is a weed to be plucked but a wave to lean into.

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It's like, I'm finally realizing the way my heart beats and what it beats for, but I can't quite get on track with it yet. Something is off and I can feel it and I want to know how to fix it without getting ahead of myself. How do I pace myself in this race? Am I supposed to pace myself? Or am I just supposed to chase it down?

And that's the tension I'm living in.

Sometimes it feels like wilderness living. The in-between. Neither here not there. Out of slavery but not yet to the promised land.

In the midst of this struggle with restlessness the past few days, I've had so many seemingly coincidental moments. A friend texting me the minute the first tear falls, about the very thing on my heart. Reading articles and watching videos that feel like they were meant for me. Someone sharing that they feel like God wants me to "hold onto hope." Coming across a verse at exactly the right time:

"Behold I am doing a new thing: now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness..."

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And I hope that this can be that moment for you. If you're in the midst of the struggle, I hope this reminds you:

Lean in.

Lean into the restlessness. Fight against the resistance. It likes to show up when you're on the right track, when you dare to rise up and look past your comfort zones. When you catch a vision that makes you weep. When you're barely even reaching for a dream.

When you awaken to the way your heart beats.

Something is going to tell you that you'll never find a way to dance to that heartbeat song, that you'll never fall into rhythm with it, that you weren't made for that kind of song, that you'll never find people who hear it the way you do.

That you should quiet it down.

It's going to try to tell you that contentment means putting on headphones to drown out the song in your heart, the wildness pressing against its cage.

But you'll feel it. And you'll wrestle.

That restlessness is just your heartbeat getting stronger, louder. Demanding attention. And you're restless because you're not there yet, but you're on your way, because you know the song, but you don't know the steps.

And that's okay.

That restlessness is going to make sure you don't forget the way your heart beats and what it sounds like and what it feels like.

The restlessness is proof that you're alive.

In the meantime, you're not going to stop dancing. You're not going to stop singing. You're not going to stop moving. Dreaming. Acting. Obeying.

Not you.

You're a wild one.

And you know it'd be selfish not to follow the beat He put in your heart.

You're a wild one.

And He's making a way in the wilderness.