I've never had a baby, and quite frankly, don't plan to for many, many years.
If I had to sum up what my spiritual life has felt like over the past seven days, though, I'd be tempted to say it felt like labor pains. Juno-level, barfing blue Icee into Brenda's urn, orange tic-tac-mailbox, Phuket-Thailand-sort of labor pains. Only, no infant. Just denial.
I haven't slept more than a few hours a night. This, however, has largely been my own fault: because God told me what to do after the Race, and I've been trying in vain to convince myself that I didn't actually hear him.
I walked out of my classroom a few days ago, slipped into an empty computer room, and shut the door. I leaned onto a desk, palms flat on the scratched wood, fingers digging into the underside, breathing heavily.
Why is this all so heavy? I'm not afraid, exactly. I'm not intimidated by "this". But why is it so heavy?
When at long last I gave up ignoring His promoting (a whole week ago), I was shocked to discover that the way I felt after responding with a "yes" made no difference in the state of my heart and mind. Post-prayer Kayla felt just as much uncertainty and mild paranoia as pre-prayer Kayla.
I dropped my hands, sat down, and stared at the ceiling, willing some invisible Package of Peace to descend, gift-wrapped, like the Sponsor care packages in the Hunger Games arena.
Nothing.
Later that day, I settled into the corner of a nearby coffeehouse, ordered a $2 omelet (I always forget that I hate eggs until it's too late) and opened my iPad. My first Storyteller coach is an alumni Racer-turned-blogger named Stephanie. While I'm almost certain our personalities and life stories are night-and-day, I identify with her writing; she always finds a way to take common struggles and give her readers permission to embrace the chaos.
Archives. April....2014, why not.
Waiting. I nibble some egg. Have the previously repressed, now-conscientious egg hatred-revelation all over again.
The page loads, and the words that headline the screen immediately cut me to the bone.
If This is God's Will, Shouldn't I Feel Peace?
This week, my heart has been aching with the heaviness of a calling, and the implications of what responding to that calling would be.
And for the first time in my life, after hearing God tell me to do something, I feel no peace about it. None.
When I signed up to do the World Race, one of the biggest confirmations that I had accurately heard God's voice was that I had this insane peace in my heart about saying "okay." God also played along with my prayer for confirmation through the words of others.
This time, though, it's so different.
He's not comforting me. He's just commissioning me.
This last week has been all about Him challenging me to step up a level in my spiritual maturity. It's not necessary that I feel Him to pursue what He's already told me to do.
No more, "If you want me to, send me a sign". He said, "You know the sound of my voice."
No more, "Give me peace about it." He said, "I've told you what to do. You don't need peace to act."
It's heavy. It's unexpected. It's hard to explain, still. But knowing that He's the one giving me this next step will be enough for me to move forward in faith.
Next time, I won't be so vague. (Not my style.) But please say a prayer for me. The heart of the Father is hard to bear at times and I want to walk this out right.
Now, if only I could find some orange Tic-Tacs.