Shoddily published from my phone because my computer is on its deathbed, so I am very sorry for the undoubtedly poor formatting and numerous errors.
A few months ago, at a church very far from my own, God spoke very powerfully to me through a woman active in that congregation.
I had been struggling for quite sometime with my lack of direction. I had no idea what I was supposed to be doing with my life. The uncertainty was crippling; and the frustration as a result was poisoning. My relationship with God faltered; I openly resented Him at times. It seemed like everyone but me had some divine calling. Even earlier that day, a man deemed as the church’s prophet had prayed over my friend and I. As a result, he had told her specifically what avenues of her life to focus on now, and which ones would be more prominent later. I got “do what you love, and don’t worry about the rest.” All stuff I’d heard a thousand times, all stuff I ultimately knew. I spent the entire service ignoring the sermon and dwelling on what that man had said to my friend and I. For almost a year I had been begging and pleading with God to just cut me a break, to give me a path, to let me know what my future held. (Spoiler alert: the world is not a wish granting factory, and neither is God.) Literal moments before, I’d been begging for that same clear, cut and dry answer, and had gotten the ever vague “do what you love” speech.