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Leaving my business. Traveling around the country. Living in a basement. Preparing to move again. Wondering where my next few projects will come from. Wondering what to write.

I crave clarity.

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clarity //  noun //  the quality of being certain or definite (Oxford Dictionary)

If you wear glasses or contact lenses, you know the feeling. Click, click, click: the eye doctor makes her way through an assortment of lenses, trying to decipher which one works best for you. Then, voila!

Clarity.

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Clarity (regarding not just your vision, but your life in general) is heralded. Being able to identify and communicate the direction you are headed is a highly touted trait of leadership. As a culture we place enormous value on clarity, seeking it when making major decisions or offering advice.

The strange thing is, the more determined I’ve become to trust God (which in practical terms seems to mostly mean rejecting worry, striving less, practicing generosity, and trying to be content), the less clarity I experience. As clarity evaporates, I have two choices: freak out or continue to trust.

But clarity brings such comfort! Knowing where I’m going to live, how I’m going to make money, when I’ll go here or there – this “knowing” gives me a sense of control, the feeling that I can glimpse the future and it is good. The absence of clarity, however, often seems to relegate the coming days to some kind of shapeless void. The lack of clarity can fill me with fear or anger or confusion.

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When the brilliant ethicist John Kavanaugh went to work for three months at “the house of the dying” in Calcutta, he was seeking a clear answer as to how best to spend the rest of his life. On the first morning there he met Mother Teresa. She asked, “And what can I do for you?” Kavanaugh asked her to pray for him.

“What do you want me to pray for?” she asked. He voiced the request that he had borne thousands of miles from the US: “Pray that I have clarity.”

She said firmly, “No, I will not do that.” When he asked her why, she said, “Clarity is the last thing you are clinging to and must let go of.” When Kavanaugh commented that she always seemed to have the clarity he longed for, she laughed and said, “I have never had clarity; what I have always had is trust. So I will pray that you trust God.”

– Brennan Manning, Ruthless Trust

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Of course, the biggest problem with trust is that it often looks irresponsible and ridiculous to the rest of the world, a world obsessed with clarity and infatuated by control. And we don’t want to look ridiculous.

But everyday, my friends are taking small steps of trust. They are writing books when they don’t yet have a platform. They are becoming foster parents. They are adopting one more child than those around them deem responsible. They are leaving the cubicle life behind for an unknown adventure. They give money to others when it means they will go without.

They have traded clarity for trust.

What I’ve noticed is that at the root of this trust is an ability to be okay with their place in the world even when things don’t make sense. To find joy in spite of the diagnosis. Peace in spite of the loss. Love in the face of hate. By doing so, they carry on a tradition much deeper and more meaningful than the shallow, materialistic creed embraced by our culture. They give hope to all of us, that life can be deeper than a bank account. That there are more important things to look forward to than our next vacation.

They give me hope that my own, often unclear existence might still contain meaning.

They live these words from Habakkuk:

Though the fig tree does not bud and there are no grapes on the vines, though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no food, though there are no sheep in the pen and no cattle in the stalls, yet I will rejoice in the Lord, I will be joyful in God my Savior. The Sovereign Lord is my strength.

Do not put your hope in clarity. Do not let your happiness hinge on your comfort or ability to map out your own future. Do not be afraid to do something you know you need to do even if you’re not sure how it fits into the bigger plan. Even if it doesn’t make sense.

Instead, trust.

When is the last time you practiced ruthless trust?

It’s been raining a lot around here lately, those deep, soaking kind of rains that tempt you into believing it’s spring already. That somehow you’ve managed to skip through the bone-chilling months of winter. That frozen windshields and snow shovels have been conveniently avoided.

But then you look at the fields and realize the harvest is over. You look up at the trees and realize it is the most beautiful of seasons, autumn, and winter is still on its way.

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“I want to get some toys, mama,” our four-year old daughter said.

“Sorry, Abra. You don’t need any more toys. At least not today.”

“Yes, I do!” she shouted.

“Abra!” Maile said, surprised by this unusual outburst from our smiliest child. “You don’t need more toys. You don’t want to be greedy, do you?”

“Yes, I do,” she said, this time in a calculated voice full of reflection. “I haven’t been greeny in years.”

Greeny.

* * * * *

I felt like that earlier in the summer. I just wanted to be greeny. I felt like we had given up so much to chase our dreams, to follow the path that we felt God had put in front of us, and I was ready to collect the reward.

Here I am, God. Your faithful servant. Withdrawal slip in hand.

But rather than getting easier, things got more difficult. I ran out of projects. We didn’t get the house we wanted (at the time). And, as you’ll soon read about in a post I’ve written for Prodigal Magazine, we lost $15,000 in the time it takes to read a short email. What I had thought might finally be the spring turned out to be a deceitful fall day. A winter of the soul rolled in.

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“We’re believing God for big things.”

“We know that God can provide what we’re asking for.”

“I know God can help me __________.” (Fill in the blank: “buy that house” or “get that promotion” or “get out of debt”.)

These days it’s hard for me to listen to people talk about God in that way. Not because I don’t believe he provides for us, but rather because I think we’re not usually ready to receive what he has to offer. I know I wasn’t.

This was by far the craziest summer yet. God’s gifts didn’t seem very good. We had gone five months without any meaningful, consistent income. I have no idea how we paid the bills, but we did. And in the midst of this incredible uncertainty, a new sort of trust has grown inside of me. A peace that makes absolutely no sense. A joy in simply living, waiting to see what’s next.

I now realize I got way more than my greeny little heart was asking for.

In Rachel Held Evan’s new book, A Year of Biblical Womanhood, she points out this prayer by St. Theresa of Avila. I’ll leave you with these words on this beautiful fall Friday. Hopefully, even if you’re in the middle of a raging winter, focusing on it will give you a glimpse of true spring:

Let nothing disturb you,
Let nothing frighten you,
All things are passing away:
God never changes.
Patience obtains all things
Whoever has God lacks nothing;
God alone suffices.

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What’s the strangest gift you ever received from God?

Where Does Creativity Hide? by Amy Tan

Where Good Ideas Come From by Steven Johnson

“Every day I walk by, the same man is there. His cigarette stained beard, weathered face, and baseball cap put his signature on the space. I wonder so many things about this man. Why doesn’t he work? How can he drink and smoke all day long everyday? What is his health like? How much does he actually drink? Is he happy with this life? What is his story?”

“Then I realize I am jealous.”

* * * * *

I was amazed at the detail.

“Fantastic, Viv,” I oozed. “You put in so much detail. You even drew breasts, and you managed to capture the blood vessels in my eyes.”

“Well, I didn’t actually didn’t put in all the detail,” Vivian said. “I left out your wrinkles.”

* * * * *

WIth enough makeup, I think, with enough caffeine, articles,  sales, and good reviews, maybe my inside will match my outside and I’ll be enough. I’ll feel like I’m supposed to feel at this point, when everything is going my way, when people are talking about my book, when readers stand in line to get my name scrawled across a page, when I am a very. important. person.

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I have a much harder time negating the experience of my fellow believers. This summer, I asked readers why they do and don’t pray, and, while a lot wrote about God’s silence and absence, many also wrote about their own personal experiences of God. No matter how rational my version of Christianity, I cannot bring myself to the point of thinking that someone else’s claim of a God-experience is invalid.

* * * * *

“No, the stuff that changes everything starts on the fringe, captures the imagination of a dozen, who bring along colleagues or friends, and then it’s a hundred and then…”

“Make whatever list you want: Twitter, Kiva, 500px, Pure Food and Wine, Jiro…  They all became hits without being anointed by the loud folks first.”

“Instead of cajoling your way into the spotlight, consider investing in the experience first.”

* * * * *

Somehow, in the process of this thing called “growing up,” we lose our edges. Some of us have others sand them off – “You must wear a suit.” “Don’t be such an idealist.” “That’s not really appropriate behavior for a mom.” Some of us rub them off themselves – “What will my kids think of me?” “I’ll never find a husband if I shave my head.” “This is just what you do when you’re in your 30s.”

* * * * *

Maybe your light is softer, a little wavering, but that doesn’t make it less, doesn’t diminish it’s importance. Dim is not a kind of failure. Fluorescent is not a kind of success. The truth is, we need it all, every degree of brightness, every small, flickering light.

* * * * *

One of the most striking things about the calling of Matthew is that we don’t read about him repenting, changing his political views, or doing anything to suggest he was willing to follow a Messiah before Jesus called him.

Jesus could have been inviting an unbeliever right into his band of followers. At the very least, he added a volatile member of the opposition party to his disciples.