Staring at a blank page is arguably one of the most anxiety-laden activities that exists for a writer. All that vacant whiteness whispers of promise and possibility and potential, but it also screams of doubt and fear and failure.

What if I hear Him incorrectly? What if I don’t hear Him at all? What if I hear Him but get in the way and mess it all up?

As humans we can question ourselves right out of our calling and into a state of paralysis while telling ourselves (and others) that it’s us we doubt and not Him. It reminds me of an old saying: Advice is what we ask for when we know the answer but want a different one. If we are walking closely with God, seeking Him always and in all things, and our hearts truly desire to do His will and not our own, then we can be assured the still small voice is probably His. We doubt it is His voice, because often it’s whispering something other than the thing we want the all-powerful and all-wise One to tell us. What our old worldly self sometimes desires is something quite different, and we want the God of the universe to affirm our familiar earthly desires, not encourage new, heavenly ones. We think we don’t, but the internal struggle between good and evil–between God and self–became part of our broken identity a long time ago, so deep-rooted and subtle that we don’t recognize it for what it is. We doubt in the silence, but God is breathing into us a more eternal Truth that is woven into our spiritual DNA. God whispers for a reason. He wants us to lean in. He wants us to get close. In a world where everything is loud and fast and constant, He asks that we get quiet, slow down, and wait. Listen. We can trust or we can doubt: The choice is ours.

If it makes you uncomfortable, if it feels inconvenient–it’s probably God.

Not because He takes pleasure in making our lives difficult, but because our perspective is flawed, and we think we cannot do the difficult things He calls us to. We do not see ourselves clearly, but He knows exactly what He created us for. Obedience is often uncomfortable and almost always inconvenient. It requires us to force the distractions and opinions away and focus on Jesus. It means trusting in the One who calls us to the thing–whatever that thing is and no matter how little sense it makes to us or to others.

For me, right now, it’s not about the marathon; it’s about Jesus inviting me on an adventure and me saying yes. It’s about trusting that small voice when the thing I never wanted to do (a thing I once thought was quite mad, actually) is the very thing I am now doing. I don’t know why, but I know He knows. It’s not about believing in myself; it’s about believing in He who talks to me when the miles get long and the hours begin to drag and my knees and toes (yup, my toes) start screaming at me. It’s about believing in His promises even when the world says don’t, when the enemy casts doubt, when the road is lonely, when I’m just so tired.

So . . . I have been stuck on tired, staring at a blank page for days now, praying constantly for God to tell me what He wants me to know, to show me what He wants me to do. Waiting. Tired. Blank. Exactly where He wants me. But why? It’s so uncomfortable. It’s so inconvenient. And then God whispers:

“Stop spending so much time in front of the mirror.”

Ouch. I have been pondering this word from the Lord. What does He mean?

So I did a little research and discovered that mirrors can reflect a number of things about us incorrectly. Objects in mirrors appear laterally inverted (shifted from left to right, or what we call, literally, mirrored); they appear nearer to or further from, and larger or smaller than they actually are–depending on the imperfections of the mirror in question. In short: Mirrors are flawed.

When we spend too much time analyzing and evaluating ourselves from a flawed perspective, we get all twisted up inside and become paralyzed by misconceptions of who we are.

It’s not about getting out of the way; it’s about getting out from in front of the mirror. God wants me in the way; that’s how He moves in the world–through me, through each of us.

I read a little blurb in the ALS Association newsletter last week while avoiding the very blank page of this then-unwritten blog post. A woman was explaining one of the many ugly truths of this awful disease: “This is a marathon, not a sprint.”

Today (or in 17 days, to be exact) my marathon is literally a 26.2 mile run. The Lord and I have been training for months. Every time I hit a new milestone I wonder how I will ever go farther, but He shows up every single time and takes me a few miles more, and while it may take years for all He is saying to me on these runs to register in my human mind, He is quietly writing His words and wisdom on my heart, and as I need them, as He knows I can handle them, He will reveal the deeper significance. The light bulb, as they say, will suddenly come on.

One thing I know for sure, now, is what the woman meant about ALS. Now I know how it’s done. Now I know God experientially. I understand He will be there with me every step of the way. I have a clear view, not a distorted one, of myself and how Jesus intends to get me across the finish line. For three years, since Stan was first diagnosed, it has felt very much like a game of waiting, for so many things to happen, hoping and praying they wouldn’t. But how I use the waiting is key. Will I be paralyzed by fear and uncertainty, or will I enlist myself in the Lord’s training and trust that He will get me where I need to go?

I am but one of God’s innumerable blank pages–a life that whispers of promise and possibility and potential but also screams of doubt and fear and failure. He stares at me not with angst but with hope and also with the certainty of One who already knows the beginning, the ending, and all the stuff in between.

“O Lord, be gracious to us; we wait for you.
    Be our arm every morning,
    our salvation in the time of trouble.” — Isaiah 33:2

“but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength;
    they shall mount up with wings like eagles;
they shall run and not be weary;
    they shall walk and not faint.” — Isaiah 40:31

“Our soul waits for the Lord;
    he is our help and our shield.” — Psalm 33:20

“Be still before the Lord and wait patiently for him;
    fret not yourself over the one who prospers in his way,
    over the man who carries out evil devices!
 For the evildoers shall be cut off,
    but those who wait for the Lord shall inherit the land.” — Psalm 37:8, 9

“Wait for the Lord and keep his way,
    and he will exalt you to inherit the land;
    you will look on when the wicked are cut off.” — Psalm 37:34

“I waited patiently for the Lord;
    he inclined to me and heard my cry.” — Psalm 40:1