When You Don't Know Where You're Going

I am horrible with directions.  Like, terrible, awful, no good, very bad.  If you give me directions, I begin tuning out when I hear route numbers and street names.  I need landmarks, people.  Turn left at the big white barn with the cows out front.  You know that gas station that has the really good sandwiches?  It's right next to that.  I don't know what my problem is.  It's just not the way my brain works, I guess.  So GPS is my best friend.  I am totally fine and totally in control as long as I've got my GPS and my phone and my voice guidance unmuted.

The other day I was visiting a friend at her new house for the first time.  I knew she lived way out in the middle of nowhere, but she gave me the address and I was confident I could find it with the help of GPS.  I followed that little blue arrow on my phone's map on all the familiar roads, and then it told me to turn right onto her road, which was actually a tiny little country lane.  I paused with my blinker on. The blue arrow said go, so I went.  I inched down the little road sprinkled with houses here and there until I reached an even smaller dirt road with a lone vacant house and "NO TRESPASSING" and "BEWARE OF DOG" signs posted everywhere.  Surely, this cannot be right.  And if it's not right, and I keep going, I'm going to get shot.  I stopped. I looked down at my phone.  The blue arrow told me to keep going, that I hadn't reached my destination yet.  But I couldn't see any farther down the road.  I had no idea what lay ahead - a huge pack of pit bulls?  A farmer with a rifle?  The blue arrow told me to go.  So I went.  Slowly.  Scanning left to right and ready to hit reverse at the first sign of trouble.  I followed that little road and followed my blue arrow and finally reached the cutest little house smack dab in the middle of nowhere.  My blue dot told me I had arrived.  No dog.  No man with a rifle.  And as I stood nervously on the front step, wondering whether to knock on the door or run, the door flung open and my friend embraced me with a welcoming hug.  Whew.  I made it.  Thank goodness for GPS.

I like to know where I am going.  I like feeling like I'm in control, that I know what's ahead, and have prepared for whatever might come.  Which is why I feel so out of control right now.  I don't like this feeling.  I don't like not knowing.  It makes me anxious and it keeps me up at night.

I was reading Genesis this morning.  God told Abram to leave his homeland "and go to the land I will show you."  (Genesis 12: 1)  Hmmmm.....that's a little nebulous. If it were me, I'd demand to know more details.  Exactly where is this land?  When will you show me?  Which way do I start walking?  North?  South?  Will I know anyone there?  Do they have good schools there?  What are the housing prices?  Did you line up a realtor?   

But I guess Abram was okay with it, because verse 4 says, "So Abram departed as the Lord had instructed."  Abram didn't know details.  All he knew was that God was with him, and God had a purpose for this move.  God did tell him He was going to make him into a "great nation."  Hmmmm....what??  At this point, Abram is 75 years old and has no kids.  It's just him, his wife, and his nephew, leaving everything they know to follow God to who-knows-where.

Hebrews 11:8 elaborates a bit more:  "It was by faith that Abraham obeyed when God called him to leave home....He left without knowing where he was going."  

He left without knowing where he was going.

Wow.  If it were me I'd be researching and reading and googling and planning before I even stepped foot out of my house.  And that is precisely what I'm doing right now in preparation to adopt.  I'm arming myself with as much knowledge as possible -- books and blogs, lining up appointments, talking to others who have adopted, reading articles.  And all of this is good and necessary.

A few of the many books I've been reading.

But the fact remains that I have no idea where I am going.  I can't plan for every possibility.  Things are going to happen that are beyond my capability and my knowledge.  There will be no book for that.  And the only thing I'll have in that moment, which is the only thing Abram had, is FAITH.

"We walk by faith, not by sight..."  2 Corinthians 5:7

Faith is not knowing where you are going, but going anyways.  It's knowing what God is asking, and taking that first tentative step towards Him.  It's being full of fear AND full of faith.

We may not know what's ahead, and we might not know what we'll encounter along the way, but we do have some promises.

1)  God is there, with you, next to you, holding you.  He will never leave you.
2)  Our destination, wherever it is, will bring us closer to Him, if we make that our goal.  If our goal is perfection and our focus is ourselves, then we will probably be disappointed.  If our goal is to know Jesus and make Him famous no matter what happens, then that is what will happen.   

This whole process has been one huge lesson in how little control I have.  When I start to panic about some future detail, I say (and sometimes sing, much to Eva's delight): "Let it go!"  I can't control this.  There's SO much I can't plan and prepare for.  There are so many details that are unknown right now.  So I can sit stalled and worry.  Or I can hit reverse and run.  Or I can keep walking down this unfamiliar road and keep trusting that God is here, and God will also be there when we need Him, and that He is making Himself known through this whole journey of faith.

Abram didn't know where he was going, but God knew, and God had a plan bigger and better than Abram could ever have imagined.  Hebrews 11:12: "And so a whole nation came from this one man who was as good as dead -- a nation with so many people that, like the stars in they sky and the sand on the seashore, there is no way to count them."

Our God's alive.  He's working in this world.  He's got plans for us that are beyond our wildest dreams. I don't want to miss out!  I'm going to keep walking, keep trusting, and keep going even though I don't know exactly where I'm going.