A few weeks ago I made what might be called a careless and foolish decision: in a time of economic uncertainty and at a stage of life that has me screaming for stability (read: mid-20s), I quit my job.
It made for some uncomfortable discussions when family or friends would ask me about my plans for the beginning of 2013.
"Um, to be determined?" I would say sheepishly.
But if it was poor planning on my part, it has been perfect timing on God's. In propelling me toward an exit, God is challenging me to put my hope back in his promises—promises that begin with the birth of the Savior.
Navigating the early stages of adulthood has me perpetually "in waiting," praying for a sustainable job, meaningful relationships, and a sense of place and purpose. I'm both an impatient and fretful person. Waiting is difficult for me, and thus, at times, so is hope. I struggle to distinguish that still, small voice of God amidst all the instructions one hears when it comes to the future. In the swirl of imperatives the world offers about living a fulfilled life, I lose track of the real source of it. I start believing that misery, hopelessness, and dissipation are part of the life God intends for me.
Henry David Thoreau wrote about this conundrum in Walden: "The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation. . . . They honestly think that there is no choice left."
When my job started to encroach on me like a prison, I resigned my whole being to the suffocation. I believed my situation was too small or common to matter, that bringing it before God would make me petty and ungrateful, that I couldn't ask for deliverance.1