"And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose. For those God foreknew He also predestined to be conformed to the image of his Son, that He might be the firstborn among many brothers and sisters." Romans 8:28-29 (NIV)
Ten years ago, someone asked me what I wanted to do with my life. I was 18 with the world at my fingertips, not a clue what the next decade would hold. Walking across the stage at my high school graduation gave me more than butterflies. Opportunity and fear were an aroma I breathed in the next few months.
After attending a private Christian college, I thought I'd know what my life would look like. I majored in English for high school students and biblical studies because I knew it was a safe career. But at 23, I found myself stuck in a job I knew wasn't for me. For the last five years, I poured myself into those students. I knew God was using me where I was, but I also knew He called me to somewhere greater.
Looking back to when I was 18, I now realize it's 10 years later, and I’m 28 and still just as clueless as when I first began. While I think I’m inching closer to this thing called “my calling,” I’m wrestling to figure out what that looks like and entails.
In Romans 8:28, God reminds us that even when we're unsure about our next steps, He has a plan, and it will prosper. As much as I want to know the future, I realize that God is ultimately in control. He's given me free will to make choices that align with Him, but at the end of the day, He's the one guiding my steps. Doesn't that bring you peace? I know it does me.
Proverbs 16:9 says it this way: "In their hearts, humans plan their course, but the LORD establishes their steps" (NIV).
Today, I start and end my day with “God, please help me. Show me the things that matter and help me to let go of the things that don’t.” I try my best to remember that it's important to seek God in prayer even, and especially, when I don't have all the answers.
Most days, I talk too much. I'm too busy being busy to hear Him speak. I’m trying to get better at listening. Sitting in the stillness. Resting. Pausing. Finding hope in sacred spaces and everyday mundane mentions of hope. I've discovered that listening to God (through Scripture, stillness, or in ordinary moments) is a spiritual discipline like any other. And that means it takes practice, time, and intentionality to cultivate.
More often than not, God speaks in the quiet spaces. It's no wonder He emphasizes the importance of rest in Matthew 11:28-30. We tend to listen better when we're resting well.
I’m learning to be a wife. I’m learning to be an author. I’m learning that it’s okay to get professional help for mental health struggles. I’m learning to swallow the pill that it’s okay if I need to swallow more for that nagging anxiety and darkening depression that just won’t seem to fade. And yet, in the stillness, 2 Corinthians 12:9 calls out to me that when I'm weak, He is strong. His power is made perfect in my weakness.
I’m not sure if the Amber from 10 years ago would be proud or ashamed. But I do know that somewhere inside this weak and battered soul I’m still me. In the things for and against me, I'm still me. God is still working all things for my good and His glory.
I might look or think differently. I know I worry twice as much. Maybe you can relate? But change, worry, and growth are all part of the process—opportunities for God's grace to work in our imperfect lives.
I’ve lost friends and gained some. I’ve changed careers and started over too many times to count. Still, God is in control. Even in seasons of change and transition, that doesn't change who He is or how He will provide for me.
I’ve had victories and mountains in the presence of grief and great sorrows. I’ve been through a lot. More than most people truly know, yet Psalm 34:18 tells me God is near this broken heart. I know He's with you in the same.
But I know God still has a purpose for me, and He will see it through to completion. And no one and nothing can stop Him. Not even little old me. God's faithfulness is unwavering. Even when we feel weak or unsure, nothing of God is foreign or unknown. He sees and knows all things (Proverbs 15:3).
Over the years, what if all the pain I’ve endured serves a purpose? What if all these tears I’ve cried are planting seeds to grow? What if the girl I’ve become isn’t who I want to be in the end, but part of who I’ll eventually be?
Perhaps the same and more is true of you and your life.
The memories and mundane moments I’ve skipped over will soon become the story I’m writing. And all of that story matters. Beginning. Middle. End. Most of us don’t like all of our stories. But if you take one piece out, the pacing is off; the storyline is incomplete.
God is the ultimate author of our stories. He's planned every day before we live it. But even in the chapters we don't love, He's written them with purpose.
This is still my story, and this is still me. But it’s going to take me time to acknowledge that all the pieces matter. That all the pieces make me, me. Though you may not understand all the pieces of your life now, God is making each of us into who He intended us to be.
I hope you’ll continue on your journey, knowing both the good and the bad, the ugly and the beautiful, the ordinary and extraordinary, make up you and your story. And even if there are parts of yourself within that story you don’t like or are confused about, fear not, friend. We’re all still becoming who God called us to be. You're not alone in this process.
It’s a lifelong journey, so we might as well enjoy it. But the lives we live are comprised of snapshots. And those snapshots are memories. And those memories become the stories we will tell. And those stories become the books we will someday write. And that’s what I hope and pray for you and me.
Because every moment matters in your story. And those memories you so often try to hide mean the most to people like me. God doesn't waste any part of your journey, sweet friend. And every moment, and I mean every moment, even the ones that feel insignificant or painful, matters in His redemptive story.
Dear Jesus,
Trusting you with the story of our lives is scary. As we pursue this journey, please help us trust you with all the pieces and chapters—even the ones we'd rather gloss over or hide. As we embrace becoming who you've called us to be, help us find purpose in every memory. Amen.
Agape, Amber
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