On Answered Prayers

Last Sunday morning, I felt the this inkling rise in me — “I think I want an office space.”

I abandoned my journaling and started a scrolling search. In the back of my mind I thought, “This is way too soon … what am I thinking? … this desire just has to be mine.” Right before chalking it up to selfish ambition, I sent a quick and random text to my friend Mimi. “Hi! If you see any office space – can you let me know?”

A few days later, Mimi sent me an Instagram post. A studio was renting office space. There were little details, but I sent a DM and soon committed to a Saturday morning tour. I was just following the path, expecting a dead end and a funny story.

When first seeing the space, I got ridiculously in my head and immediately aware of my body language. “Can they tell I'm a fraud? What in the world would I do with all this space? It's so perfect but … how?”

Aubrey was with me and when we walked outside we just stared at each other in shock. We both knew — this place was almost too good to be true.

After walking it out a few blocks, I called my friend Wells. She shared that she had just told her husband that maybe it was time to find an office. We went back that afternoon. By Monday, the place was ours.

It's the stuff dreams are made of — no lock-you-in lease, reasonable price, unreal location, future sign installed on a main road, complete with a blue door to welcome me.

But when I said yes, I did not gleefully dance down the street. I sat in my car and thought — “Wow God, what the heck do we do now? This is very scary.”

I find that answered prayers never come in the form of little rewards that fit nicely in my pocket. This Grace pulls me up and whispers in love, “Please, just get over yourself.”

Like an invitation to something higher — further up, deeper in, more demand for trust. Greater territory of humbling difficulty.

Every miracle I’ve met has always first said — “Why are you so afraid of me?"

It's Friday night and I'm sitting at my desk ticking down a long to-do list.

Earlier, I had to tell my friend I couldn't see her tonight. She responded and said that she was so sorry that I had to work so much. As she said it, I felt wildly convicted. “You don't need pity, you're living answered prayer responsibility.”

I am not promoting workaholic-ism or sacrificing yourself on the altar of productivity — none of this work is our identity. But there is something about living a calling that beckons you to sacrifice.

So this is my prayer —

May my hands go up in surrender and my head go down in diligence — bringing beauty through the work You’ve generously given me. May both be true at once — that this really doesn’t matter and at the same time, carries a great magnitude of You.

We cannot have it all. But we are all called. Just because something is hard, doesn’t mean it’s bad or not meant to be.

Your desires, dreams, and inklings — they are not your own.

Keep listening,

C 💙