The Other Side of Obedience

I have been thinking of the act of obedience quite often lately. It’s an acquired skill that I have been practicing, often unwillingly, over the past year. Despite it being a running theme of christian circles that I have heard spoken frequently throughout my life - “Be obedient to God’s will,” “Follow the direction God leads you,” etc. etc. - I cannot say it was something I’ve ever felt came naturally. I like to trick myself into thinking I have some semblance of control, some general idea of what direction I’m walking and what I can expect to come next in life, and I’d venture to say I’m not alone in that. However, over the past year I have found that when I was in the depths of shadowy places and couldn’t see the next right step out with confidence, staying in step with my Father was the only security I could find. There came a vivid and desperate turning point when choosing my own path didn’t feel like much of an option anymore, and my lack of clarity or direction instead led me only to the feet of a savior that I trusted walked before me and knew the way. This year I have experienced that being obedient requires enormous levels of blind faith. It is not a task for the faint of heart, as it demands us to step into an unknown place and trust that clarity will come as we go.  It’s one thing to choose the path less traveled, but to choose the path you cannot even see feels seemingly impossible. 

I didn’t want to leave Haiti last spring. Everything I had was in Haiti; my home, my work, my loyal yet sometimes psychotic dog Jako. I had finally found solid friendships and of all the times I wanted to leave and seek respite over the past few years, this wasn’t it. And still, I heard that ever-loving whisper from my Father saying it was time to take a step out. I didn’t know where I was stepping to; I saw no clearly marked or safe landing space ahead of me, but off I went, fighting against all my own desires to stay where I felt safe and comfortable. As each step I took forward brought with it provision I wasn’t anticipating I started to find myself in a loving rhythm of movement, trust and provision. I began to see the small things, truly the big things, that cushioned and comforted me in the midst of the unknown. 

It didn’t take long before I realized why I needed to be here. Panic attacks in the grocery store aisles, an inability to decide anything meaningful for myself or even which brand of toothpaste I wanted to purchase, and complete breakdown of sleep, physical energy, or any semblance of an ability to socialize. All the systems in me were failing, flashing their red warning lights; it wasn’t until I took the step out of holding things together into a space where I could assess the damage that I truly saw how urgently I needed help. It still shakes me to think how differently this year could have turned if I had not obediently followed the loving nudges of my Father into a place I didn’t yet know I needed. I have learned through desperation and redemption, to trust the gentle and unexpected nudges, even when I cannot see the end result. 

But this morning, sitting in my favorite coffee shop holding in tears as I say goodbye to my best friend, who drove 10 hours to see me for just a few days, I feel the need for obedience and trust again, when all the things feel too unclear. There are a lot of unknowns in our friendship right now. I don’t know when I will see her again. I don’t know where we will live, as she’s had to move all her belongings out of her home, which I had hoped to move into once I returned. I don’t know when Haiti will be stable enough for us to wisely go home and I don’t know what it will look like when we do. I don’t know if my dog will be there. 

But here’s what I know, I have Olivia in my life now because I was obedient in the past. Last fall when, after 4 years, soul-shattering loneliness threatened to break me and send me out of Haiti I cried out to God; I pleaded God to bring me someone to do life alongside. I felt the call to remain in Haiti but had reached the end of my strength to do it in the midst of feeling so achingly alone. One week later Olivia moved to Haiti. At the moment I cried out to God telling him obedience was too hard, doing life in the hard places alone for so long was too much to ask of me, He already knew my best friend was on her way. His timing is perfect and by my willingness to stay in step with Him I was positioned to feel the provision He had already sent for me. And the provision of this friendship has been too great to measure. He sent me the friend I needed, in the time I was most desperate for it; the friend who would find me in the shadowy place I was in - a claustrophobic room that I shared with burnout and PTSD, and pull up a chair, giving me space and courage to fully feel the depths of it and sit in the hard times until we could walk out of the room together. His provision is perfect. His direction is clear. Obedience is by no means a simple or easy thing, but it does lead us to the things, places and people we need the most. 

After practicing these steps time and again throughout the past year; willing myself to take each next right step when my heart felt too vulnerable and my mind felt unsure, has brought me to a place with more healing, grace and wisdom than I could have ever found on my own. The path to this place was unsteady and certainly unmarked, but each intentionally obedient step has brought me here, to the other side. And here’s what I can say from this view; the other side of obedience is the safest, most secure place to land. Practicing the small steps and seeing each moment of perfectly timed provision has grown in me a sureness that God will never be far from me and that when I can see the path ahead least clearly, that is when He stands the closest. It has deepened the trust I have that in the moments I feel fear and uncertainty rising up inside, that is when my Father leans in. That by taking each right step, I can become more aware of His well-timed gifts and begin to rely on his steadfastness; the consistency with which He provides for me, and the perfection in His timing. I heard recently that God is good not because He wants to be good to us, but because it is who He is. In the depths of my Father’s character, at the very core, my God is good. My God is steadfast. My God is present. My God provides. 

In the midst of more uncertainties than I have ever known, in the bitter goodbyes and the sweet longings of being together and home again, I can find in my spirit a deep well of trust, because my God is leaning in closer than ever.