Training

That might be the problem. I just realized it. I've been grappling and thinking and worrying it to death. The problem is, I dont have a name for this.

Something is happening. Something big and bold and something of the Father. Something transforming. Something subtle and challenging.

But I dont know what to call it.

It's not brokenness. Goodness, I know what brokenness feels like. I've been shattered and pieced back together. And I expect to feel it again someday.

It's not humbling. I've been humbled before. And I expect to be humbled again someday (probably sooner, rather than later).

I am being trained.

Yes! That's it!

I am in a training season.

Even as I say this, I feel the cool September wind blow past me. Lately, I've been hearing the powerful, melancholy sound of a train rushing through the city not far from here.

The wind means God is present.

The train means He is taking me to a new place.

I am being trained.

I feel as though I have blinders on, however.

What am I training for? What is the goal?

If I am running a race, where is the finish line?

I was thinking about this today. Listening to one of the best in my life talk about healing. And identity.

I am a visual person. I am a listener and I hear God in ways, which might seem strange to some. I like to see things laid out - like on a timeline. I am not the least bit organized, but I like sequential things. I like patterns and rhythms and ... consistency.

But at the same time, I suppose I have asked the Father to give me a different life. I have asked Him for adventure and for boldness and for open doors. Why is it, when He gives us what we ask for, we don't know what to do with it?

How come I've asked for wisdom and discernment and grace and humility and gentleness and community and purpose and for a heart that looks like His ... but I am not so pleased with the methods He uses to get me there? This path I must walk, towards Him, towards righteousness, is not an easy one. I think I've always known that. I think I've always lived that.

But here I am.

You see, I am not healing. (Well. I might be. But that is not the primary plot of this part of the story. We're all healing, recovering, from something.) Right now... I am whole. Not broken. Not shattered.

I know who I am. Now, this might change soon. My identity is always in Christ. I am His. But even beyond that, I know who I am. Who I could become is a completely different story.

I need to know what to call this. This season of what feels like waiting. This season, which is stretching me, pushing me. A relatively quiet season, with the Father's whispers riding quietly on the wind.

I am being equipped!

Even as I write this... I hear it.

I feel like Daniel. (Wish I could say I mean Daniel from the Old Testament. But no. I mean Daniel. The Karate Kid.)

Like I am painting fences and waxing cars and sanding porches. And I have no idea why. I am sore and my knees are bruised and I am clueless to the fact this work I am doing is actually training.

This work I'm doing is actually preparing me for what comes next.

As I've worked, I've been getting stronger. You see, this nameless season has been going on since I stepped foot off of the plane in Lexington, home from Ethiopia. Straight from a season of risking into a season of preparedness. Part of my Ethiopian story was learning to trust in His strength. Understanding His power is made perfect in our weakness.

I remember telling Andy I was afraid. Because when God calls us to do things, which require strength, He is either going to step in and be Strong or He is going to make us strong. In Ethiopia, He intervened. I operated and lived within His strength.

He is making me strong now.

And even as I sit here... the last six months are playing like a reel through my head. I don't know how I got here, except my His grace. The struggles I've encountered would have, at one point in my life, taken me down. But not now. The person I am now... is stronger.

We only get stronger by training.

By letting our muscles get worked; by enduring small tears and fatigue and then filling up...

He has carried me through a season of hope.

A season of transformation.

A season of brokenness.

A season of humility.

And here I am. Knowing this journey, this story I'm living, is nowhere near being done. This is a season of trusting.

Climbing higher and farther and working longer and enduring much much more than I ever thought possible.

It is not over. By giving this season a name, I have not come out of it. No. Here I am, in the shadow of His wing, shrouded in His undeniable protection. He is training me in a place safer than most. Protecting me, shielding me.

Sometimes, you just need a name...