Seven years ago, I sat in a small office, surrounded by several smart, supportive faculty members who were serving on my dissertation committee. I had just (successfully) passed my dissertation defense, and thankfully, the revisions they wanted me to make were minor.

But one of the women had a question. “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

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I was quiet for a moment. The truth was, I had worked hard to get here–but I had an almost-two-year-old son and I was pregnant (though I hadn’t announced this yet) with my second child, a daughter. In five years, I saw myself teaching part-time and otherwise staying home with my children. But this wasn’t an answer I could easily give to this woman in particular, who was pregnant with her first, and who would continue to work full-time while she raised her. And it wasn’t the answer the committee expected, these wonderful people who had invested so much time in me and my potential career.

To be honest, I don’t remember exactly how I answered. But I do remember that paralyzing moment, and the doubt it spawned.

Was I doing the right thing? My husband and I had prayed about it, and while finishing a PhD was right for me, continuing into a tenure track position immediately was not. The real question was not: where did I see myself? But, where did God see me?

Still, it took a leap of faith–like stepping onto an unsteady bridge over a chasm–for me to follow through on that prompting, to accept that my priority was being with my children while I watched my good friends from graduate school secure great positions, publish books, receive accolades–some of them while raising their own children!

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I’ve always loved this quote from Elder Packer, because I think it gets at the heart of why so many promptings require courage:

Somewhere in your quest for spiritual knowledge, there is that “leap of faith,” as the philosophers call it. It is the moment when you have gone to the edge of the light and stepped into the darkness to discover that the way is lighted ahead for just a footstep or two. “The spirit of man,” as the scripture says, indeed “is the candle of the Lord.” (Prov. 20:27.)

I had no idea what the Lord had in store for me. I trusted that if I followed my personal prompting to stay home (for a season), that he wouldn’t shut all doors to me–that he would create other opportunities for me.

I knew, however, that those opportunities might not be what I expected. The Lord clearly does not see success the same way we do. If I chose to stay home, I might be permanently sacrificing a level of success in my field that I might otherwise achieve. (I did what I could to stay active–I taught part-time, I presented at occasional conferences, I published articles). But I had to trust that the Lord would make it worthwhile.

In the last couple of weeks,  I’ve stood again at that crossroads, facing the question: where do you see yourself?

More importantly, where does God see me?

A few months ago, the university where I teach opened a full-time position in my field, a position many of my colleagues encouraged me to apply for. And while I didn’t love the timing (my youngest is two), my husband and I both felt I should apply.

But as I moved through the interview process, I began to feel uneasy. And then it became clear that the Lord did, in fact, have an opportunity for me–but it wasn’t the one I’d spent my whole adult life training for.

While I’d been home with my children, I’d begun doing something I’d loved doing as a teenager and young adult: I wrote. Purely for pleasure, creating fantastic worlds and filling them with characters. I wrote one book that wasn’t entirely successful. Then I wrote another one. And this one, miraculously, incredibly, found an agent. And then, even more miraculously, found a publisher.

Suddenly, the Lord wasn’t so much  nudging me as shoving me in another direction.

Still, withdrawing my application was one of the scariest things I’ve done. That was my safety net–that was a direction I knew and understood and had trained for. This–this is venturing into entirely uncharted territories. (And I am, at heart, a home-body. I save my adventuring for my imagination).

I don’t know where all of this will end up. I do know, however, that the experience has renewed my appreciation for the active part of faith. It’s not enough to believe–we also have to act.

And trust that God has a bigger, better vision for our life than we do.

(Even when that trust feels equal parts terror and hope.)

What has your experience been with taking a leap of faith? When has your life turned out to be wrenchingly, magnificently, unexpected?

 


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