Hiding in Plain View

There is something waiting. Something bigger. Something unimaginable...because we sit and waiting and want and whine and plead and beg for that which we think we ought to have. But what if we are wrong? 

Had the thought even occurred to me before my fingers punched the keys? 

How sad and deflating. To have what I want yet not be satisfied, knowing that still...even still as my prayers are answered, that there may be something waiting. But doesn't this happen daily? And the answer is yes. Even in the little places, the small things, the so-trivial-we-cease-to-think-about. The scarf we "splurge" on while we should be saving for the house we desire. "But I want that oh-so-cute scarf NOW." The fast food we settle for because we are hungry NOW and cannot be made to make a salad...and we are left with a stomach ache and a bad taste in our mouths. Could it be that it happens every day, we are used to it, that we don't even think to consider it happening in the bigger, the grander? 

There is something waiting.

This is how I woke up this morning. Sluggish and cold. Tired and sore from air mattress sleep. My younger brother, the growling bear, wakes from his hibernation and makes his lunch from school. I am chauffeur
and puppy-sitter. He tells me late last night: morning swim practice. So we go. Early. I am happy to be with him. I love this brother of mine. I am happy to watch the puppy who keeps biting my toes, and makes me chase her around the yard because she wants to play. But I am not happy about the cold. There is a bite today, up here, near the border of the Arctic Circle, practically. And I am cold, tired.

And then it happens. 

A perfect flake. The once-a-winter perfect flake that lands perfectly perfect on my mitten. And I am instantly happy to be awake, grateful even, to have seen this perfect flake on this perfect morning, quiet and new. And I know that there is something waiting. Something more. Something better -- to grab hold to, tight. 

Like new snow. Like a perfect flake. Like a cold nose on a cold morning. 

Joy is waiting.
Joy can be found. 

But joy is not the thing that is waiting. It is only the beginning. 

"For I know the plans I have for you." And we are promised that there is a plan. I am learning, slow and steady and heartbreakingly so, often enough, that the plans He has laid before me, are not my own. They are not what I think ought to happen, what I wish, what I long for. Maybe so, later. Not today, now. And if I can just...let go, even for a moment, trust and rest in Him. If I can just open my eyes that I shut tight as I cling white-knuckled to this plan of mine, open just enough to see...

His plans for me are better. The something waiting, The something more. The something better. 

And the joy I find on this unexpected journey, amid the dusty road, and barren land, and questions and wondering...the joy I find is so much better than I could have imagined. 

If we can just let go of what we wish, what we covet or envy or regret...if we can just let go. We might find the something more hiding in plain view.