I feel surrounded by questions right now. Almost as if these questions have formed a huge nest covering my head, one question indistinguishable from the next. So, I started to write my questions. Each one. These are the questions currently plaguing me.
What am I doing?
When will things change?
Am I doing the right thing?
Is there one specific right thing in this instance?
How do I know?
How do I wade through all the options?
Will I always be single?
Do I actually want to have kids?
If I do, how do I juggle it all?
Where are the places that fear reigns in me?
How do I differentiate between fear and wisdom?
How much am I supposed to push forward?
How much do I catch my breath?
Later while driving I felt the fog of these questions, still hanging over me. Then I heard “cast your cares upon the Lord.” That stopped me. It did not feel cliché, but rather it was the truth I needed in that moment. Yes, I had named my cares, and it was helpful to define the “nest”, but I still felt heavy. It was time to release my cares to God. Again. I will undoubtedly have to do so again. Likely in the near future. Is tomorrow too soon?
As I continued to drive I thought about how the questions needed to be named. How can you let go when you don’t know what you’re holding onto? Identifying my questions was surprising. To write my questions down made them that much more real. Somehow, the transfer from my brain to the page seems like it gives these thoughts and questions flesh, blood, and a steady heartbeat.
These bleeding questions are humbling. I feel like I should trust more. I shouldn’t have so many questions. I feel like I should have my life figured out – at least more so than I do now. But I don’t. And this is where I land, for the present.