The majority of the time, when we tell God we'd be down for whatever He wants to do, we be lying. Because the unusualness of His plans, more times than not, throws us for a loop. And this season has been just that. Something so unexpected that on many days, it felt like I went from being God's favorite to number one on His hit list.
For the past six weeks, I've been trying to find the words to synthesize everything God has been showing me through one of the most unexpected seasons of my life. A season that has forced me to explore the depths of my relationship with God, what I actually believe about Him, and, more importantly, what I believe about myself.
At first, I thought the lesson was simple: stop texting "he who shall not be named." I figured I had been disobedient, so maybe I needed my head knocked around a little bit. And I guess, literally. Well, he's blocked. We haven't talked. And I thought SURELY I'm about to get better now. Spoiler alert: I did not.
It took some tears, frustration, and some real wrestling with God to realize that maybe I had been looking for a lesson in what I had done wrong when God was inviting me into something much deeper. He wanted me. Asia. His daughter. Not Outreach Director Asia. Not leader Asia. Not the friend who shows up for everybody. Not productive Asia. Just me.
And that sounds sweet until everything you normally use to convince yourself that you matter gets taken away.
What happens when the things you take the most pride in—being a great leader, employee, friend, or helper—are suddenly things you can no longer do? Then what's left?
For the past six weeks, I've had to sit in the "what's left." And when the very things I was convinced made people love me were taken away, some ugly thoughts started getting loud. "If I don't hear from anyone, I was right. They don't actually care." "I bring the most value when I can do something for someone else." And probably the hardest one: "God, if I'm not building or contributing to Your Kingdom, then why am I even breathing?"
If you know me, you know I spend an unusual amount of time inside my own head. And without work, meetings, events, screens, noise, and all the other things I normally fill my days with, there wasn't much left to drown those thoughts out. So I had to actually sit with them. And somewhere in the middle of all that wrestling, God began showing me just how deeply loved I am.
Which brings me to one of my favorite Scriptures, Psalm 139:5:
"You've gone into my future to prepare the way, and in kindness you follow behind me to spare me from the harm of my past. You have laid your hand on me!"
Months before any of this happened, my lease ended, and I found myself having to move in with a family. And while they were SO incredibly kind to open their home to me, I was frustrated. I didn't want to feel like I was inconveniencing anybody, and quite frankly, I wanted my own space. Little did I know, the very thing I was frustrated about would become one of the most PIVOTAL parts of this season.
Because what I couldn't see then was that God was already preparing a place for me to land before I even knew I was going to need one.
He knew I would have a concussion. He knew there would be doctor appointments, conversations with lawyers, decisions about taking leave from work, and days when I couldn't do much of anything. And He knew I wouldn't need to navigate any of it alone.
Not only did He give me a family that has loved and cared for me in ways I couldn't have imagined, but He surrounded me with a community that has shown up in the sweetest ways. The meals, the calls, the texts, the prayers, the books, the coffee, and the people who have occasionally snuck me out of the house even when I probably wasn't supposed to be going anywhere.
And I think for the first time in my life, I'm reclaiming what it actually means to be a daughter. To experience sonship. To be loved, provided for, protected, and cared for without feeling like I have to earn any of it. To not always have to be the person with the answers, the plan, or the ability to make everything happen. To actually let people love me without immediately wondering how I'm going to repay them. And TBH, I love it here.
But what makes this Scripture even sweeter to me is the second half: "In kindness you follow behind me to spare me from the harm of my past."
Because maybe the harm of my past isn't just about what happened to me. Maybe it's also about the lies I believed because of it. The lie that love has to be earned. That my value is tied to my usefulness. That being independent means never needing anybody. That I have to constantly produce something for people, or even for God, to justify taking up space.
And the crazy part is, I was trying to carry those same lies into a season that God had already prepared for me to experience something completely different. A season of being loved, supported, and cared for without having to prove anything to anybody.
And if I'm not careful, those very beliefs would rob me, and honestly HAVE been robbing me, of fully enjoying the very things I've prayed for. Genuine community. A place to belong. People who love me. A deeper relationship with God.
God went before me and prepared the provision. And in His kindness, He's been walking behind me, healing the parts of my past that would have kept me from receiving it.
I thought I was inconveniencing someone by needing a place to stay. Turns out, God was making sure I had a place to be cared for.
Recently, Chet asked me to write a stream of consciousness about what God has taught me during this season. His timing was almost perfect because God had just given me another sweet revelation.
I was sitting outside doing my quiet time, looking at the beauty of the leaves changing. And I prayed, "God, make me like a tree."
YES. A tree.
I want to be sensitive enough to the changing of seasons that I'm willing to shed whatever cannot come with me into the next one. I want to be so deeply rooted in Him that when the unexpected happens, my faith remains. I don't want every difficult season to make me question His faithfulness, my value, or His love for me.
Because the thing about trees is that when the seasons change, what everyone else can see changes too. Their leaves fall. Their appearance changes. They may look like they're no longer producing anything. But underneath the surface, their roots remain.
And I think that's what God has been doing with me. Growing roots.
Teaching me that who I am doesn't change just because what I can do has. That my identity as His daughter isn't seasonal. That I don't have to earn the love He's already freely given me.
And maybe that's what solitude has really been about for me. Not isolation, but an invitation to intimacy. An opportunity to be still long enough to recognize the love that's been there all along.
The thoughts inside my head have gotten quieter, not because every question has been answered, but because I haven't been able to fill every empty space with busyness. There's been room for Him. And strangely enough, I've started to count this season as a privilege.
For a little while, I've simply gotten to be. I haven't had to be anything for anybody. No title to carry. No event to execute. No person to rescue. No pressure to perform. Just Asia. And God.
And that's a gift many of us rarely get as we carry titles like spouse, parent, pastor, leader, caregiver, employee, and friend. Not that any of those things are bad. I love what God has called me to do, and I wouldn't trade that calling. But I'm learning that even the things God has called me to do were never meant to become the source of my identity.
His expectations for me are so much lighter than the expectations and pressure I put on myself. He has always wanted a relationship with me, not because He needs something from me, but because He loves me.
So somewhere along the way, I traded my FOMO for the peace of knowing that I don't have to be everywhere, do everything, or be everything to everybody. I can simply be where He has me.
I thought solitude meant being alone. Instead, God has shown me that I may never have been less alone in my life.
And maybe that's the greatest lesson of all. I don't have to work to be worthy of the very love I've been praying to experience. I just have to be willing to receive it.
He went before me. He stood behind me. And the entire time, His hand was on me.