I arrived in America in October, peak season in New England, which is, in my opinion, the best time of the year. The crisp air was a euphoric contrast to the desert heat I had lived in for six months. As I breathed in, I was struck with that familiar fragrance of dead leaves. It’s strange how the smell of something dead can carry so much life. Every breath held memories of past Autumns and the anticipation of all that this one would bring: the pumpkin pies, the apple picking, the turkey, and a table with family – yes, more than anything, dead leaves mean time with family.

And so it was, and so it continues to be. Only now, the fallen leaves are covered with snow, and Christmas lights and music are in abundance, which of course means more holidays and more time with loved ones.

It has been wonderful being back in this country and in a land that is so familiar, and yet, the joy has only been in part. With every nostalgic smell or sound, I remember that this is what I had said goodbye to. These people, this culture, it is all what I had given away. I had surrendered the comfortable to pursue God’s dream for my life. But here I find myself, not by desire, but by necessity. It’s an odd feeling, to enjoy what I had previously burned on the altar.

I’m in the process of getting an apartment in New York, where I’ll be working for a structural engineering company. You’d think that moving a city over with a job lined up would be less stressful than flying to Dubai without any prospects of work or housing, and yet, it hasn’t been. Failure got to me. Sending out application after application with no reply slowly numbed my expectancy. Watching the few potential opportunities fall apart created a subconscious apprehension. And now I find myself wincing at every risk.

The question of why? still echoes on. Perhaps I wasn’t ready. Maybe God had something for me to finish here. I don’t know. And I don’t suppose it’s the kind of thing I’ll figure out by thinking on long enough. It’s not something that can be learned in a moment, or even processed in a month. But over time, many years maybe, and I’ll understand. Until then, I’m faced with the choice — the same choice we face over and over again: To believe that what God is doing is good.

That simple idea holds an incredible weight. For if we don’t, then unfulfilled expectations lead to broken trust. We begin to guard ourselves against his guidance, and we move forward with trepidation. But if we do, then disappointment is replaced with surprise, and we eagerly await the unforeseen.

If we’re not careful, life can leave us with a heavy heart. We build walls and live half-alive, anxious of what misfortune could come. But the invitation is for us to move on, not understanding, but trusting, trusting that the fires are refining us, that the waters are washing us, that this story is worth staying awake for.

I want to be doubtless at crescendos, anticipant of discovery, and fully convinced that goodness and mercy follow me all the days of my life

2017 was a year of unfulfilled expectations, in more ways than one. Things didn’t end the way I had hoped. Yet as I look back, I find it hard to regret. The time was rich, and I see it as history with me and Jesus. It was pages and chapters that I got to spend with him.

We try so hard to get everything figured out, to be in the right place doing the right thing, and we’re afraid that if we don’t get there, we’ll miss God. But in doing so, we often miss the process. I’m not sure if feeling like you’ve arrived ever really happens, but I’ve learned that the in-between places are where life is, and it’s in the midst that you’ll find him.