Certitude

Ignore the title of this piece, I was far from certainty or trust at this point, I understood nothing, I just wanted to sit in a cocoon built out of my own self-pity and continue to beat myself up until my Lord called me home. I had missed what I thought was an opportunity of a lifetime, and I was crushed, crushed by what I felt was my own carelessness, self-loathing slowly but surely encroaching upon me-- I was broken.

"Thank you for applying to this position. Your cv matches this job so please send your cover letter detailing why you would be a right fit for this job to the following email..."

It had been all I had been waiting for, the glimpse of some kind of hope to affirm that all my efforts in this whirlpool of finding my footing in the jungle that is the job market, actually did count for something. The only problem was that I had found it a month after it had been sent. And for someone who had been born with words and ink flowing through every vein, I had somehow found myself void of any words to speak. I scrambled through every key on my laptop, put together words of apology the best way I could to the hiring team lead and ended the message with a question I already knew the answer to; "Is it still possible to apply for this job?"

For weeks after this heart-stopping moment, I had beaten myself up, tried to tell myself that I had been so wrapped up in my dissertation, I'd barely had the time to check any updates on my applications, but that simply didn't cut it for me. No matter what excuse my mind tried to come up with, it made no sense to me; as the voice of accusation rang louder and louder with each passing day, "you were careless... you were so careless," "how could you be so careless? And you claim you wanted this? You clearly didn't want it enough."

So, finally, after what felt like eons endless dreariness, I found myself on my knees before my Saviour. And like I would do when I could no longer keep the misery at bay, I poured my heart out to Him, how hurt I was, how I didn't understand how derelict I could have been with something I claimed to have been so focused on, I knelt there for what felt like forever, teary-eyed and repeatedly stating the phrase "I don't want to feel this way." I wanted to let go of the guilt, but I felt I had to hold on to it; that letting go of that feeling would be irresponsible of me.

Then I heard in my heart, a nudge that I am still discerning, one that I know only comes from the One who gave me breath in my lungs and a purpose for this earth, to open to the book of Job, and so I did, and I opened to a chapter I had never cared to read because for me, it appeared too "lengthy", and I began to read. And there Yahweh was, clear as day, scolding me and questioning me, inquiring of me what power I felt I possessed in my life to feel the way I did as I knelt there. In summary He had one simple answer wrapped in a question, "How dare you think that you are powerful enough to mess up the plans I have for your life?"

And right there and then, I bowed my head in repentance, as that cloak of guilt lifted off of me and that tugging in my chest where condemnation had begun to make its home was completely wiped off. These feelings rarely vanish so instantly for me, and so this felt like a novelty. I embraced the love of my Father once again, as Romans 8:28 found a new meaning in my life and heart. All things may not always happen for our good, but He does, beyond a shadow of a doubt, whatever form that may take, work every single thing, good and bad, to turn out for our own good and inadvertently, for His glory.

I still haven't got a job yet, but that glimmer of hope still shines through, and I will do all I can do keep the substance of all the things I believe for alive, for it is the only proof I have of the things His Word promises me will come. Now, I know that feeling of doubt will come again, but I do hope I remember where to look to, and that I know that I hold the substance of these things not yet seen, things that, though they tarry, will, with certainty, materialize.