great expectations

Expectations are such tricky things, aren’t they? They parade themselves around as pleasant and harmless, but too often they end up ruling like tyrants, extracting an impossible price for our contentment.

I still remember a conversation about expectations from a bridal shower I attended more than a decade ago. Somewhere between sampling the refreshments and sailing into all her pretty gifts, the guest of honor shared her most enlightening moment from premarital counseling thus far. Their pastor had begun by asking the couple to each make a list of the expectations they had for the other heading into marriage. Perhaps intending to be self-sacrificing, the husband-to-be promptly announced that he had no expectations for his future bride. With that rather naive declaration, they suddenly had plenty to discuss!

Navigating the Unexpected

Expectations can be exhilarating. They often fill us with anticipation and excitement, propelling us forward with a strong sense of hope for the future. The difficulty comes when reality delivers something different — especially if, like the well-intentioned groom mentioned above, we aren’t even aware we have them.

I’ve spent quite a bit of time reexamining my own expectations lately. My 40th birthday is still half a year away, but the part of me that wants to live small and scared is already actively dreading it. This somewhat daunting milestone looms as a measuring rod, of sorts. Can I truly say I am living well if so much of my life is less than what I believe it could be?

Rather than allowing this vague discontent to linger, I realized I needed to take a hard look at what I thought my life should look like at this point, and then ask the Spirit to reveal what God thinks. Because the truth is, something is not lining up. When everything is taken out and shaken together, I’m finding that my frustrations center on three core areas of unmet expectations: gifts, calling, and relationships.

Gifts

There are several things I believe the Lord has given me a particular aptitude towards, but writing tops the list. If I got paid for the countless hours I have spent reading and writing, I would be wealthy indeed. I have a storage tub full of handwritten journals tucked away in my parents’ basement and a nearly full shelf of the most recent ones in my bedroom. Ever since I was young, I have wanted to write a novel. At first, with the optimism of youth, it was because I simply knew I could. Later, as I became captivated by stories of faith that helped shape my own spiritual journey, I wanted to create the same kind of inspiration for others. 

Despite endless ideas and barely begun manuscripts, rounds of research into the writing process, dozens of private prayer journals, and an irregularly maintained blog with a handful of faithful readers, the dream of publishing a book continues to elude me. I am not stewarding this gift well. I dabble rather than dive, because I fear the hard work serious writing requires and the reality of failure on the road to fulfillment. I belong to an online writing community I have not fully engaged in; I continually debate dropping the subscription. Too much of the time, I am neither grateful nor humble. I say I want to serve, while secretly craving praise and promotion. It’s ugly. And I am not content.

Calling

I am sitting here, watching the cursor blink on my screen, reluctant to give voice to the calling I believe I have been given. After just admitting the mess involved with using my gifts, I am almost ashamed to reveal the scope of this glorious call. The contrast between my tainted heart and His Kingdom purposes is so painfully obvious. But here’s the thing about God — He chooses the unqualified on purpose, so that there will be no mistake in who gets the glory. In this case, while the vessel is undeniably flawed, the treasure inside is beyond compare. 

I have been called to minister among women the truth and beauty of God’s Kingdom. As I grow in all this myself, I am passionate about cultivating freedom and fullness of life in His beloved daughters. I long to help women identify and live out of their true identity, value, and purpose in Jesus Christ. I want to write and speak and teach; to nurture rich community among women of all ages, stages, and nations; to inspire and empower, create and initiate; to serve alongside the Spirit in His work of renewal, restoration, reconciliation, and release. I read books and I share conversations with kindred spirits, and I wrestle endlessly with the Lord in my journals. I feel the stirring rise and churn within me, aching to be released. 

And still, I wait. And wonder. Years pass; decades, even. I am full of ideas, but I have no certain direction on how to begin, let alone truly fulfill the depth and breadth of what I’m convinced I was made for. I have been granted glimpses, tastes, encountered more false starts and altars requiring surrender. Surely by this point in my life, I should be engaged in full-time ministry, right? I would have thought so. Instead, I have been a nanny, a graduate student, a waitress; I’ve done retail work and yard work. I’ve served with preschoolers and college students, teens and elementary school kids. And in all this time, I’ve never been in one place for more than 5 years. Have I missed something? 

I know I’m not all I should be yet — peace, Daughter. 

But Lord, I’m not who I was! 

Peace. Be still.

Relationships

And now we come to the most difficult place of all. For all the valuable reflection writing allows me, I don’t venture here often. It’s too deep, too raw and unsettled. In public, and for the sake of concerned loved ones, I do my best to put a hopeful spin on things. I know all the Christian platitudes, and I can dish them out so convincingly, I almost manage to believe them myself. Often, I simply busy myself with other aspects of life. Perhaps by crowding in all possible distractions, I might avoid brushing up against this unsought reality that I can do nothing to change. But underneath all the pretending, the pain remains. 

I am a single woman, heading into my forties. And this is not the life I imagined myself living.

Experts in memoir and personal narrative advise aspiring authors to wait until their wounds have healed before delving into the pain on the page. Otherwise, they say, a writer risks ripping the hurt back open. Even worse, she may find herself exposing more mess to readers than they wish to see. I’ll admit I’m dancing rather close to the line on this one. Be assured that I am writing prayerfully, asking the Lord to breathe redemption through my words, rather than allow me to give in to the bitterness and despair that crouch restlessly outside the door. Because I am a single woman, heading into my forties. And this is not the life I imagined myself living.

I want to share in the midst of this season because, as uncertain as this area still is for me, God has graciously brought me through so much healing. Though it might not sound like it at the moment, He has given me an incredible gift of hope. And I write because I know, though it’s rarely spoken of, that I am far from unique in my struggles. I am convinced there are many women like me, women of strength and spirit, who yet wrestle with God in this barren place of unanswered prayer. This is not what defines or consumes us; on any given day, we are all at various stages of choosing joy and becoming intimately acquainted with our Lord in the secret place. There is peace to be found here, and blessing, and opportunities we may never have had otherwise. And yet, at the end of the day, we long for something more …

Joyful Expectations

My prayer in writing of my own journey is an offer to share the weight of unmet expectations with those who have been struggling on alone. The first step is in simply recognizing those expectations for what they are — often our plans, and not God’s — followed closely by submitting them to His wise and careful tending. We’ll let Him be the One to sort out which desires He has implanted in our hearts, and which ones we have initiated.

When our hope is in God Himself rather than the specific outworking of His plans, we can anticipate great joy in watching Him fulfill His promises.

When our hope is in God Himself — knowing Him, trusting Him, loving Him — and not in the specific outworking of His plans, then we can trust that our expectations are in line with His promises, and we can anticipate great joy in watching Him fulfill them. Only then will we begin to understand how vast is His goodness toward us, even if — especially if! — our lives do not work out the way we expected.

Take heart, dear friends! There is so much hope for us, both present yet undiscovered, and waiting around the next bend. The God who has called us is faithful, and He will deliver all He has promised!