Six months ago I said yes to a pretty cool job opportunity at my church. I’m able to do what I love to do alongside people I genuinely love and care about.

It started out pretty rough and I cried lots of tears over the course of two months. I agonized with a friend over and over about whether or not I had made a bad decision. I was ready to leave it all behind again, for good this time. But, I found a rhythm and a renewed joy and couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

Except.

This role will end in early March 2018. That was always the plan, from the very beginning. Six months ago, that didn’t seem so scary. One whole year, I mean that’s a long time. Six months, though, isn’t that long. . .

I’ve spent a good portion of the past few weeks worrying about my future and I find myself in a familiar spot. Standing in a wide open place, with long, soft grass bending beneath the gentle breeze. There’s a gently worn path leading to a wall of darkness. Is it a cliff? Is it a tunnel? I can’t tell because I can’t see that far. It’s the same feeling of driving head on into a thunderstorm with rain falling so heavily you can see nothing except what’s directly in front of you.

In my time at Highland Park Pres, I’ve come to love many people deeply. My world is overflowing with people who love me and whom I love. One of those people is my friend Beth. I feel as though we were always supposed to meet and that our paths crossed at precisely the right moment. Beth has a way about her that I cannot really describe. A steady strength juxtaposed against a sweet softness that invites a friendship to thrive. I have the great privilege of serving in her children’s choir. Once, in the middle of rehearsal, one of our littles was on the brink of an absolute meltdown. Beth looks at him, with a firm tenderness that says “You’re safe. You’re OK”, and tells him, “Fear not! For all will be well!” Her words seemed to wrap him up in a warm blanket and scoop him up into a hug. The kind of hugs where you just. . .melt. Your fear, your worries, your sadness just goes away. The kind of hug where they seemingly take on your hurt or carry your burden so it’s not as heavy.

When my fear of the future blocks out the joy of my present, Beth is there. Not physically, but she’s there. “Fear not! For all will be well!”.

I don’t know how it will be. I don’t know what I’ll do or where I’ll go, but I don’t have to know because I know the One who does. I know the One who goes before me and illumines the path when the darkness presses in from all sides. The gently worn path before me is not on accident, and all will be well.

It is the LORD who goes before you. He will be with you; He will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed. Deuteronomy 31:8