Do të shohim (We will see)

 

 

 

More times than I care to admit, I have found myself running my fingers along the fine, winding lines of a map, trying unsuccessfully to get my bearings.  Mentally, I start labeling each highway and milestone.   If I turn right here, that should lead to downtown; left here leads to the highway... Oh wait... Only to find that I was reading my map upside down, completely disoriented. 
Oh, I had thought my course was plotted, but in reality I could not even distinguish south from north. 

I imagine even those who are not as directionality challenged as myself can relate to this frustrating experience.  And even those who have never been led askew geographically can certainly understand being completely thrown off by life's winding course.  

While I am ever-so-slowly improving my navigation skills, I am also slowly learning how to read the map of life.  Or, perhaps, it would be more accurate to say I am learning how not to map my life.

Fork in the road: They called and offered you a job. 
Internal navigating device: I know why God opened this door! In three years, this will put us in such a better place.  We better sell our house.

Fork in the road: Their test results came back abnormal. 
Internal navigating device: We're going to be walking through a serious medical diagnosis.  That must be why God moved us to homeschool this year!  Will I be able to handle this?

Fork in the road:  The caseworker called, and there's discussion of this mom having her children removed again.
Internal navigating device: I've got to start moving the beds around and cancel our upcoming beach trip.  I should re-enroll the kids in preschool. Maybe we're supposed to adopt them.

I'm not saying it's not natural.  But how often am I already three turns ahead of the intersection God has actually, presently planted me in?!  We so quickly take what is right in front of us and start doing the mental gymnastics of presuming where it will lead.  Tomorrow. In a year.  In ten years.  

Thank goodness, however, that God has not called me to navigate my tomorrow.  

While we were in Albania a couple years ago, the pastor who hosted us had a saying we started picking up on as he drove us around Eastern Europe: 

"Do të shohim."

In English: We will see.  

It seemed that whether we commented on the weather or the Ukrainian war, the newest church plant or the upcoming election, his response continued to be we will see.

Ironically, the pronunciation sounds like "Don't show him", which reminded us of the reality leading this pastor to daily repeat this phrase:  God doesn't show us what's tomorrow.  We may think this will be a great ministry opportunity, a perfect setup, doomed for failure, or a tragic situation.  But we will see. He has not shown us. 

We may think we've got our plans in pen and our GPS locked in--but God has not asked us to climb tomorrow's mountain.  Most likely, he has not even told us which mountain we'll be climbing. 

He's given us two places to plant our thoughts and affections upon:

Here.

Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path. (Ps 119:105)

Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths. (Pr 3:5-6)

And there. 

And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and will take you to myself, that where I am you may be also. (Jn 14:3)

... set your hope fully on the grace that will be brought to you at the revelation of Jesus Christ. (1 Pet 1:13)

 

The promises that surround us today, and the promises that await us for eternity.  These are the thoughts that should fill my mind.  He is a lamp to my feet, not to the bird's eye view of my life.  And yet, we are given the ending.  The destination.  

We have been given the Holy Spirit with us. And the promise of the Father's greeting ahead of us.  What more could we want?  

Lay your maps down.  And trust him with all your heart.  As for the rest:  We will see.