I’m learning to appreciate—maybe not yet enjoy, but appreciate—the fog. I feel I’ve been residing in an extra-thick and lingering cloud recently. Dense and difficult and lingering. Though, not without hope. Not without progress.
It’s a place I’d normally despise, and I did at first. A place where my hard-fought plans are thrown aside, where the clarity of tomorrow—and even later today—is veiled.
But rather than wish it away, I’m learning to appreciate the fog instead. I’m learning to see what else is here in this season, not just to hold out for what’s next.
There is grace here and right now. There is a beautiful freedom from worry.
That much, I ‘can’ see.
There is goodness here in the fog—in the ever-so-slow revealing of reality. The gentle covering over of what’s to come, loosening it’s obscurity bit by bit, moment by moment—never exposing more than necessary. For God knows my feet would likely stumble in the holes of pain, trip over roots of disappointments, and even wander in distraction of another’s beautiful blooms. Why? Because my gaze gets future-fixed, not Jesus-fixed. I so busily look ahead and around that I miss what’s at my feet. Grasping, measuring, striving, calculating.
But it’s here—in the fog—that I’m truly free.
I’m free to trust, to simply take the very next step. I’m free to see only the ground directly in front of me, to see only what’s necessary. I’m free to rest and to learn.
I am learning that ‘having clarity’ and perfectly developed plans isn’t the agent of peace. Jesus is.
I am learning that ‘knowing’ what’s ahead anchors me to nothing but my wandering self.
I am learning that I can either strain my eyes—squinting to catch a glimpse for an upper hand—or I can rest my striving and allow the hand of God to guide me in all steadfastness.
I’m learning, once more—experientially—that never does His trustworthiness weaken with my sight.
I’m learning that I can either trust in the seen or the unseen. And I’ll tell you, the unseen offers quite a bit more than meets the eye.
