“I’M NOT ENOUGH UNLESS YOU COME. WILL YOU MEET ME HERE AGAIN?”
-One time God took my hand and led me into a portrait gallery. I saw visions of CS Lewis and the Obamas, MLK and King David, FDR and my parents- their likenesses expressed on thin canvas. I realized walking hand and hand with my Lord it was a hall of my heroes. The people I most looked up to decorated the walls around me. God led me to the end of the hallway under a big arch, and there laid an empty frame- its tag read “Landon Whitley”. I looked up and with tears in my eyes. He said to me “Stop trying to paint your own portrait, thats my job.” -
It’s been a month of waiting. Questions dance in my head about purpose, plight, and permanence. I want to have the reigns. I want to plow my way forward into this next chapter, but I know that I can’t. I was given the gift of the previously described situation in prayer. One that I understood with a heavy heart at first, but slowly slowly realizing what a blessing it is.- I am not in control
I am not in control
I am not in control
and that is SOOOO HYPEEE. SO while February comes to an end, and it’s been a hard one, I look forward to spring and the promise that it holds. God’s in control and everyday I get to work in His will towards a purpose that HE alone supplies. So less go. He is good and faithful. I will trudge forward with the knowledge I just have to obey. Thank you Raleigh Fellows for helping me get to that point.
Here is a piece of my mind that I wrote sometime in the past few weeks.
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February is closing his eyes, again. It’s been a long day, a long road trip, a long gun fight where I didn’t seem to be a winner (all just a little bit more hurt).
His bottom lip is throbbing in the spot he wanted love but got fear of the future instead. He’s listening to sad music and pulling his sheets close.
If I could talk to the moon I would tell it everything I did wrong.
If I could talk to the sun I wouldn't want to, just touch it and pull it close to my chest.
We all froze over just a little bit. We all need a little thaw, a little melt, a little warmth to open our eyes.
Tomorrow, he thinks, I’ll tattoo every broken part of myself with the word trust. I’ll make sure it’s worth it. I’ll sing praises to You in the morning when I’m tired and wondering if I made a mistake. Even if you tell me I didn’t. Every step forward is just another drop of rain on a dry field. I’ll sing to you until I don't have my voice anymore. February falls asleep with one palm on his heart, the other reaching toward the sky- so will I.
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