In Love, He Leads

On not sleeping well, answered prayer, and taking a leave of absence

I received an email today confirming my leave of absence from seminary. “Leave of absence” sounds more dramatic than it feels since I’m planning to resume classes in the fall, but that’s technically what it is.

The less dramatic truth is, for the past few weeks I haven’t been sleeping well. I made it to the end of 2023 exhausted and I think I subconsciously knew as the new year began that things were about to be added to my plate–or, more accurately, I was adding things to my plate without taking anything off. It’s mostly good thing being added (the launch of Peace over Perfection being one of them!) Nonetheless, I’ve been feeling that feeling you get in that recurring nightmare where, even though you graduated decades ago, you’re a student again in your dream and the semester is almost over but somehow, you’ve missed all the assignments for a class you forgot you were enrolled in. (No? Just me?) I’m pretty sure I can write the articles and do the school work, I told a friend, I just don’t know how good of a mother I can be at the same time.

Cue the anxiety and sleeplessness.

Specifically, I’ve been up in the middle of the night thinking about my kids. I’m thinking about how little time we have with my oldest until she goes to college. How few days we have left to disciple and equip her, to help her grow in her faith and mature as a person. I’m thinking about how this is the last semester I’ll have a kid home during the school day, and whether I’d be shortchanging my youngest if I’m doing more studying and writing. I’m wondering if I need to be spending more time with my middles.

My anxiety about what I should do with my time, desires, gifts, and resources—the fear surrounding decisions I have to make as a parent, friend, worship leader, Sunday school teacher, writer, stranger in an elevator, human being—this anxiety is a recurrent one. Simply put, I’m afraid of doing the wrong thing. I write about it in Peace over Perfection, how one way Christian perfectionism has manifested in my life is that the desire to do God’s will is coupled with an intense fear that I’ll miss it somehow. Related to this (which I also write about in PoP) is the fear of how any failure do the right thing will hurt and harm those around me.¹

Parenting is constantly making choices without being sure you’re making the right ones, a friend once told me.² Our first was still in an infant carseat back then, and I hadn’t experienced these choices beyond sleep training and the best order for starting solids. I didn’t realize how very specific those choices and fears would be. I didn’t realize how it wouldn’t just be about where to send them to school (which, I have admittedly also been up thinking about), but whether I should be in school too.

See, I’m not afraid so much about my kids’ futures not looking the way I want them to look as much as failing in my responsibility to lead them. I’m wondering if I’m making the right choices for them, spiritually and relationally; if I’m helping them best steward their gifts and minds. I feel the weight of my distraction, of choosing not to tend to their hearts when they need it most. It’s not just the implications of what I’m doing that frightens me. It’s what I’m not doing—the roads not taken, the good things left undone.

So I have been asking friends to pray for me regarding this semester, for the wisdom God promises to give those who seek him (James 1:5). And I have been turning back to one of the prayers I wrote in PoP. (Writing prayers between chapters was one of my favorite parts of writing the book, though I didn’t imagine I’d reread them for my own sake. In this way, it truly feels as if the writing itself was a gift of grace from God to me.) In “A Prayer for When You Fear Missing the Way (And for All That’s Left Undone),” I wrote of resting in God’s love for those I care for, and I have needed to pray that truth in faith over and over again: God, you love these dear ones more than I do.

The desire to do what is right for those we love, to follow God’s will perfectly for their good, is at the heart of the anxiety and guilt of many faithful believers I know. I see it in the heart of the preacher who feels discouraged that he can’t give more to sermon prep after tending all week to emergency hospital visits and family crises, the compassionate counselor who wishes she had more brain space to give to each of her counseling cases, the child mourning over her imperfect witness to her non-believing parents, the worship leader facing decision paralysis before picking each Sunday song set. A deep desire to love God and people well is paired with a deep awareness of our remaining weaknesses and sin. But, God, he loves. He loves this pastor, this counselor, this child, this worship leader. He also loves this pastor’s sheep, this counselor’s counselees, this child’s non-believing parents, and this worship leader’s congregation members. And God, he promises, I will instruct you and teach you in the way you should go; I will counsel you with my eye upon you. (Psalm 32:8) So in his love and in his leading, we can rest.

This past summer our family spent time in Ithaca, NY, where Jeff and I met over 20 years ago. We took the kids fossil hunting in the gorges and roamed our old campus. The kids played in a quad where Jeff and I (not dating at the time) had sat and worshipped together, singing a song we’d later sing at our wedding. Those were our college days, when we committed ourselves to following Jesus wherever he’d bring us, when we’d fervently asked him to use us for his glory without any idea of what that would look like after graduation.

We stayed on a farm this trip, and one night, Jeff and I sat outside waiting for the campfire to die down. We looked toward the hills as the stars came out and talked about some of our unknowns ahead. Being there, back in the place where we’d prayed so many prayers for God to lead us, I thought of how even back then, God knew. He saw us as college students and knew where we’d be, 20 years later. He knew how he’d lead us as individuals and as a family. Through our deepest valleys and in our greatest joys thus far, truly, he has counseled and kept watch over us.

I was supposed to start classes tonight. But the day after I’d reformatted and printed out syllabuses, after I received books in the mail and started my readings, I met with a professor. We had set up a video call last month, but (in God’s providence) ended up rescheduling for earlier this week. Near the end of our conversation, I mentioned in passing all that was lined up for me this semester. At this point, this gracious and seasoned minister said, “Well, Faith…” and spoke the wisdom I’d been praying for.

I got out of the meeting and called the school to figure out details about dropping my classes. I slept through the night.

Even more than relief about having a lighter load, I have sensed in this an overwhelming affirmation of God’s love, not just for me, but for my children. After the conversation, I told a friend that it felt like God was making an appeal for my kids through this older believer—for me to be present with them, to pray specifically for their experience of God as ministry kids, to remember my task of discipling them. There have been times in my life where the right call has been to take on the “too much” in faith, but for this season, wisdom dictates otherwise.

So I’m heartened this week by the reminder that God is committed to leading me and caring for those I love. That in my earnest desire to follow him, in my desires and mixed motives, in my weakness and fear, in my inability to know for certain what is best for those around me—he knows. He heard. He answered. In it all, he loves me. He loves us, so in love, he leads.

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1. I’ve also written about this in the context of communal cultures in this SOLA piece on Encanto.

2. Shawn Smucker wrote a beautiful post on this this week.