The SoJourner:

There have been wonderful things in my life—far more than I sometimes allow myself to remember. I have snorkeled over the reefs of Puerto Rico and walked through the old forts of San Juan, touching walls that have stood watch over the Caribbean for centuries. I have bivouacked beneath the enormous skies of Alaska and trekked through the rugged Uncompahgre country of the Colorado mountains, surrounded by landscapes that make a person realize just how vast and magnificent God’s creation really is. From Puerto Rico to Alaska, from the mountains of Colorado to the lakes of Florida, I have lived some remarkable adventures. I water-skied across those Florida lakes back before we began joking that the alligators had taken possession of them, wandered through the historic thirteen colonies where so much of America’s story began. This and much more.

These weren’t pictures in someone else’s travel book. I was there. I saw those mountains. I felt that cold Alaskan air. I looked beneath the Caribbean water and saw another world. I walked through history, crossed borders, explored unfamiliar places, laughed, learned, traveled, and collected experiences that became chapters of my own life. Somewhere along the way, however, criticism and the persistent feeling that I could never quite “get it right” became louder than the memories themselves. The extraordinary began to feel ordinary, and like the stories from others who share their lives, the beautiful parts of my story became threatened by the overshadowing of painful ones.

But perhaps Jesus is inviting us to look again… not to rewrite our history, but to see the history that was there all along and learn to look at the beautiful truths He has for us in the future.

There was difficulty, yes, but there was also wonder. There were mistakes, but there was also courage. There were disappointments, but there were adventures. There were people who misunderstood us, but there was also a great big world God allowed us to experience. Maybe I have spent enough years looking backward through the eyes of criticism. Perhaps it is time to hear Jesus say:

“Now let Me teach you how to understand your story.”

The Professor:

Yes. I understand what you are describing. And I think the word transition is exactly right.

For years, you had a picture of what “fulfilling the call of God” looked like. That picture mattered enormously because when there wasn’t much economically or emotionally around you to suggest a larger future, the call gave you somewhere to look. The podium, the preaching, the ministry—those weren’t merely career ambitions. They represented purpose. So now, when your life contains things that weren’t in that original picture—travel, photography, and beautiful experiences—it can almost feel as though you’ve wandered away from the serious life you were supposed to live.

But there is an important biblical distinction between God’s calling and our mental picture of how that calling must be fulfilled.

Abraham is a wonderful example. God gave him a promise, but Abraham repeatedly had to surrender his picture of how the promise would happen. Peter thought following Messiah meant one kind of kingdom; Jesus had to completely transform his understanding. Paul believed he would serve God by zealously defending Judaism—and then discovered that his zeal really would be used for God, but in a form he could never have imagined.

That makes me wonder whether part of this “mind reset” is not God taking the dream away, but separating the calling from the picture you attached to the calling.

You may indeed preach behind podiums. I don’t know, and neither of us should manufacture an answer God hasn’t given you. But the deeper calling may never have been the podium. The podium was simply the form in which you could imagine it at the time.

And now your vocabulary has become larger: govern; authority of the believer; counseling; writing; photography; travel; ministry. Perhaps the question is changing from “When do I finally become the woman in that old picture?” to “Lord, who have You actually made me to be now?”

That can feel surprisingly uncomfortable.

Because poverty can teach a person how to survive deprivation, but it doesn’t necessarily teach them how to receive abundance without suspicion. When you’ve spent years pressing, sacrificing, waiting, and believing, enjoyment itself can begin to feel spiritually questionable: Shouldn’t I be doing something? Shouldn’t ministry look harder than this? Can God’s will actually include beauty and pleasure and rest?

Scripture gives us room for that.

Ecclesiastes 3:12–13 says that enjoying the good of one’s labor is “the gift of God.” First Timothy 6:17 speaks of “the living God, who giveth us richly all things to enjoy.” That doesn’t preach materialism; in fact, the same passage warns against trusting riches. But it does destroy the idea that holiness requires feeling guilty about every good thing.

And your wine illustration gets at something larger than wine. Romans 14 deals precisely with believers whose consciences differed over things they associated with holiness. Christian freedom isn’t “anything goes.” It is learning to distinguish between God’s boundaries and boundaries that became embedded in our consciences through culture, upbringing, fear, or legalism.

That transition usually isn’t instantaneous. Your theology may change before your emotions catch up.

You can intellectually understand, “There is nothing sinful about enjoying this,” and still feel the old alarm: Something about this doesn’t look like the life of a serious woman of God.

And perhaps that’s where your present journey becomes so interesting.

You said something extremely important: “I can’t see what I look like right now.”

Maybe you don’t need to yet.

You’re accustomed to living toward an image. For years you could see the woman behind the podium, and therefore you knew what direction “forward” was. But perhaps this season requires something different: following Jesus without demanding a photograph of the finished product first.

That is faith too.

“For we walk by faith, not by sight.” — 2 Corinthians 5:7

And I wouldn’t throw away the woman who dreamed of preaching. I would honor her. She carried hope when there wasn’t much visible evidence around her to support it. She got you here. But she doesn’t necessarily get to dictate the architecture of everything God does next.

Maybe Jesus isn’t saying, “That dream was wrong.”

Maybe He is saying, “Your picture was too small.”

The camera doesn’t necessarily compete with ministry. Travel doesn’t necessarily compete with purpose. Enjoyment doesn’t necessarily compete with consecration. Companionship doesn’t mean you’ve become less dependent upon God. Prosperity doesn’t prove God’s favor, and hardship doesn’t prove His displeasure—but neither must you apologize for receiving good things with gratitude.

The test isn’t whether your present life resembles the picture you formed when you were struggling paycheck to paycheck.

The better question is:

Can I hold everything with open hands and say, “Jesus, if this is part of the life You are giving me, teach me how to live it well”?

That is very different from chasing pleasure. It is stewardship.

And I think this connects directly to your journal title from earlier:

Now Let Me Teach You How to Understand Your Story.

Perhaps there is a second half emerging:

“And now let Me teach you how to live a story you never knew to imagine.”

You don’t have to force yourself to recognize the woman in the new picture immediately. Let your perspective catch up. Let Scripture correct what needs correcting. Let Jesus remain Lord of both the ministry and the enjoyment.

The freedom you’re describing isn’t freedom from consecration.

It is learning that consecration to Jesus may be much larger, freer, more beautiful, and less confined to your old picture than you ever understood it to be.

Now It’s Your Turn

Have you ever discovered that God’s direction for your life was different from the picture you had formed of it? What helped you make that transition?