Jane Austen

Of late, I've been dealing with matters of the heart and it makes me wish that I was in the pages of a Jane Austen novel. If I was, unfortunately I suspect I'm not yet approaching the final pages, though I feel that the story potentially could turn into a real page burner.

Here's the rub: There's no turning to the end to see what happens. I'm in the middle of the story, and I fret because I worry about what's next. As I sit and contemplate my life, and what the next chapter holds, I have been faced with the fact that I'm not very good at trusting God. Ultimately though, in the face of uncertainty and anxiety about the future, I realize that's the only thing I have left. On a trip to the U.P. last week, my brother urged me to think about this: peace is from God, all the rest isn't. He challenged me to continually take any angst I feel to God and cling to peace. It's something that I realize I need practice at, but even so, I have felt the beginnings of peace about this situation (which I will expound upon more at length later). My brother urged me to also listen, not just pray, and as I sat in my backyard today, trying to listen, this image of a Jane Austen novel came to mind. In my very less than perfect way, I offered to entrust my future to God, acknowledging that I needed help even doing that. What came to mind was the image of God, zealously inviting me to trust in him, to allow him the freedom to write each page as he saw fit. It was an invitation given with the intensity of a race horse at the starting gate, itching to run free, and I felt that these were his words to me:

"I can't wait to show you the ending. You're gonna love it."

As I sit here in the middle pages, I don't know if this story will end the way I wish it will, but it seems to me that if the author of the universe is penning the story, well, I think the ending's in good hands. May I feel so strongly as this if the end of the chapter I'm in now doesn't turn out the way I hope.