It was a dreary morning, late in the month of November. We sat gathered 'round a circle in the cool, dimly lit room with mostly unfamiliar-to-me faces. Candles were lit, along with a lamp or two, and one of those artificial fireplaces glowing with waves of orange. This was not the typical Sunday School I was used to. This was not an otherwise cozy fall day. My lovelorn heart felt as bleak and depleted as the lackluster gray sky, the trees void of their leaves, the rain—lost of its summer spontaneity—now only a deepening drizzle.
I grew up in church basement classrooms, but had never been in a place quite like this one. The cheeriness of the churchgoers in the hallway felt natural; the books on shelves, the rugs, even the candles—those were all a comfort to me. But this room felt heavier—or maybe, we were all carrying the collective weight through the door and settling with it into our chairs. Everyone had a chance to share a piece of their story. I penned in my notebook the wisdom other folks shared through their experiences with struggle and faith. I don't remember everything that I wrote, but one phrase stands out to me, from a lady who sat across the circle from me, trying to navigate life anew, trying to figure out "the next right thing." Heads nodded around the room, for her thoughts resonated with us all.
I have used the phrase repeatedly in my own life since that day, always asking myself, "what is the next right thing for me to do now?" and doing my best to act upon it. Sometimes the next right thing is as simple as a cup of sweet coffee to get me rolling in the morning, but sometimes it's a move across state lines, or maybe an ocean one day, to pursue a dream. The scope is wide.
I'm learning lately about uncertainty. Really, I've been learning about it for a few years now. When I hit 30 and saw a blank future, God was in the process of opening a huge door for me. It just didn't look like anything I had expected. I've faced career uncertainty, financial uncertainty, and relationship uncertainty. — Note that I don't do uncertainty well. Period. Or, at least I don't feel like I do. But I'm learning. Because I've seen miracles take place. Because perseverance in the face of anything is the thing that builds character. Because the call of faith is brave defiance to the siren of uncertainty.
When barrenness lies before you, what is the next right thing?
When rejection upends you, what is the next right thing?
When hostility surrounds you, what is the next right thing?
When uncertainty comes back around, what is the next right thing?
These are hard questions.
We sat in this meeting, these strangers and I, and I offered up the only advice that I knew to give—because it had been given to me by God many times over. I shared this passage, which has long been emblazoned on my heart:
"Forget the former things, do not dwell on the past;
Behold, I am doing a new thing--
Now it springs up!
Do you not perceive it?
I am making a way in the desert, and streams in the wasteland."
Isaiah 43:18-19
I was meditating on this passage again this morning, and what I saw were the deserts and wildernesses of the world, in all of their grandeur! God is a creative Creator and the Master at making a way. He turns seas to dry land and dry land to flowing waters! He does it with such artistry. When the Colorado River began its long trek through Arizona, could anyone have guessed the splendor of the canyons being formed? When lands are laid to waste by storms or by fire or by man, or when a human heart breaks much the same way, could anyone imagine the quiet regrowth about to take place? There is hope for healing in the wasteland. And I think about the Badlands and the Salt flats, the Sahara and the Outback. I think about how there's a reason why our National Parks are protected and preserved. There is beauty and sacredness in the barrenness. And let us not forget that life cycles through, and every year we anticipate the wet seasons to bring about streams of nourishment. There is a rhythm even in an uncertain wilderness. It is the maturity of the earth, old Mother Nature set in her ways, and evidence no less of a mature life in each of us—when the hardship of barrenness and uncertainty have come to pass, when we have learned to stand our ground, and after everything then to stand, the next right thing is undoubtedly showing her face, or welling up, or giving us life anew, calling us to step into its bounty.
Selah.
"This happened because Abraham believed in the God who brings the dead back to life and who creates new things out of nothing." Romans 4:17 NLT
"To all who mourn in Israel, he will give a crown of beauty for ashes, a joyous blessing instead of mourning, festive praise instead of despair. In their righteousness, they will be like great oaks that the Lord has planted for his own glory." Isaiah 61:3 NLT
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