For the one who is afraid to begin.
For the one who is stuck in endless calculation and planning.
For the one who is afraid to make the first brush stroke for fear they are not prepared.
For the one who is afraid to set the first stone for fear it will create the wrong foundation.
For the one who is afraid of making mistakes and having to backtrack and rethink.
For the one who is afraid to begin for fear of having to begin again. And again. And again.
This is for you.
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Lord, I want to begin, but I do not know when, or how, or if now is the right time to. I do not know if I am prepared enough or even if I should have taken this much time to prepare. I like to be efficient, to not have to backtrack, to get it done right the first time, and that is why I like to prepare so much.
Sometimes I wonder, Lord, if You made a plan before You made the world. If You pulled out Your whiteboards (or whatever is Your equivalent of that) and sketched out a plan for the universe. If You traced a design for every flower and every person and every star before You spoke and they were.
Perhaps it was more spontaneous for You. You knew, and You spoke, and it was—all at once. A perfect integration of plan and action, without the steps. We have to take the steps because we are so little compared to You, and as we try to create as You did, we must go slowly, one little footstep at a time to fill Your big footprints. Creation is not as instant as a breath for us, but more like building a house—and before that, having to craft the materials for the house (or find them). Nothing is all at once for us.
That does not necessarily make the process any easier. For even if we plan and plan and plan, and consult others who know what they are doing, we still risk the one thing that You did not have to worry about: failure. We risk unstable foundations and thoughtless moves, many of which can lead to failure later on, and many of which we will not be able to catch in the beginning, no matter how careful we are.
It nearly feels as though every time we seek to create something, we are doomed to failure. Even the best plans will have elements we did not forsee, ways in which we must evolve to deal with unexpected disaster. Neither spontaneous, thoughtless creation or careful preparation can exclude us from the very human experience of things not turning out the way we wanted them to.
Lord, I will admit: it is exhausting. To go through the process of preparation but to know there will still be things one cannot be prepared for is discouraging. Why bother? I suppose there will be more disasters if there is no plan at all.
With little things, it is easy. I can rewrite a line of calligraphy if a letter smears. I can rewrite a paragraph if it does not flow well. But to tackle a monolith creation that feels like the equivalent of crafting a cathedral? One simply cannot tear it down on a whim if one nearly reaches the end and finds the foundation is not stable.
Or perhaps one can? But again: is not that a waste? Perhaps it is better to move on to something different at that point?
Perhaps I am asking You for an impossibility, that I can have a sure plan which will address and mend nearly all flaws before I even begin a project. Are You not the God who works miracles?
And yet (and I hope this is not despair), I get the sense that instant fixes are not always how You desire to work with us. Do You snap Your fingers and make the sins we struggle with disappear? No. Rarely. We commit them again and again and again, slowly, slowly shedding them like the trees slowly, slowly bud in the spring and sometimes tuck the buds back into the branches when another nip of winter invades. We rise, and we fall, and we rise and rise and then fall again.
Why?
We plan and plan. Our plans fall through. We plan again, and our plans almost succeed, then they fall through.
Why?
I think perhaps, that we are grasping. That we are trying to control things. And while there are a number of things we do need to have control of… is not it that if we were in total control, we would be like gods?
You do draw us into Your own life and make us like Yourself, yet our creature-ness remains. You perfect us, but that perfection comes not in gaining full control over everything we desire to control, but in submitting all our desires to You and paradoxically becoming most free and happy in utter surrender to Your will.
Perhaps You do desire that our plans succeed. But You desire more that we abandon ourselves to You. And You will never, never force that upon us. You must coax us along, little by little loosening our white-knuckled grip on what we think will make us happy and is ours to control.
Is it rash to say that this is where the process of creation becomes more—a means to sanctification? An invitation to abandonment in relationship with You?
I am afraid to begin because I think the plans I made will fall through. But if I do not fall, You will never catch me; I must fall to fall into Your arms more deeply. That is the real paradox, I think, that You use the things that make us weak, that discourage us, as precisely the means by which to draw us more closely to Yourself.
You call us to plan. But You know we are too little to plan for everything. We do not create like You do; that is the truth we must humbly accept. Yet, if we could create like You in this life, would we have need of You? If our own wretchedness and weakness is what draws You to us, then perhaps our failed plans are a gift? They are a key to Your heart, a doorway to a relationship with You.
Creation becomes adventure. Creation becomes relationship. With You. For apart from You we can do nothing.
Therefore, to begin… well, to begin is to plan, to set out a task we know we may fail in, to set out on a task that will have unforeseen events pop up and maybe ruin things, maybe not… but to know that You walk the path with us—and that is what matters most.
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Recently hearing Allen Arnold speak at Story Embers’ Engaging Plots Summit helped inspired this post. I highly recommend checking out his website, withallen.com, and especially his book, “The Story of With.”
Blessings,
K.M.