This is not a straight road. This is not a safe road.
This is some crazy roller coaster with no seat belt requirements and no respected speed limits.
I’m about to throw up.
We’re stuck in a cloud… all around is freezing white fog and mist.
I see almost nothing out the window. Probably all the driver sees too.
There’s an “almost” though.
We can see a dirty yellow line down the middle of the road in front of us, like, three feet of it.
But that’s it. That’s all that we can see.
We’re just… believing there’s a little more after that. That there hasn’t been a rock slide or a car accident or we’re about to rocket off the cliff.
This is my life.
I can’t see where I’m going. I can’t tell what’s going on.
But I’m believing He that blindfolded me for a reason.
The truth is, I can only handle so much.
‘Cause when I can’t, Jesus does.
The mountains I’m going to climb, I don’t have to worry about.
He’s taken care of it, and He doesn’t want me to stress over it.
Hence the fog. Hence the blindfold.
Hence the trust I’ve gotta have.
Things are crazy right now.
We’re moving. We’re adding ministries.
We’re continuing down a road we know God has called us to. We just don’t know where exactly this road leads.
I feel blindfolded to what’s going on. But I know there’s a reason.
I can’t see though the fog. But He’s holding my hand.
I’m closing my eyes. I’m not peeking.
But I still see Jesus.