in the face of uncertainty.

This week has been full of writing. The kind of writing that interrupts my day in the best possible way. 

I’ll be taking a shower when a line or two of dialogue starts running through my mind, so I grab my phone with wet hands and a grin on my face and hurriedly type it into my notes before I forget. 

Sometimes the words come while I’m driving (not the most convenient time to type anything), so I’ll leave myself rambling, scatterbrained voice memos of scene descriptions and plot ideas to decipher later.

Or maybe I’m cooking dinner and have to pause to run to my computer three or four times before I get the chicken in the oven because my characters suddenly became chatty and I want to see where they will take me next. 

I love this part of the writing process, the part where it feels like pure discovery. But I also hate this part of the process because I never know what’s going to happen next. 

My brain tends to struggle with uncertainty. I like to know specifics; I like to feel safe. But it’s hard to feel safe and secure when you’re facing the unknown because the unknown is, well, unknowable. 

This week while writing, I tried to lean into the mystery rather than turning away from it. Every time I started a new scene, I practiced staying present. I tried not to question where it would go next (which is much easier said than done since I am trying to plot a book, after all). When my mind would try to jump ahead with questions like—

How does this connect to the rest of the story? Will I keep this scene in the next draft? What if this is out of character? 

—I just took a deep breath and shrugged my shoulders. 

Because I don’t know all the answers. Not yet. 

I want to carry this attitude into other areas of my life. Every time I start to worry, every time my brain wrestles with uncertainty, I want to give myself a mental hug and shrug my shoulders. Not in a defeated Who even cares kind of way, but in a way that exudes courage and trust.

Because I’m not supposed to know all the answers. Not yet. 

I think that’s one of the reasons I love writing so much—it’s an incredible act of faith. And it reminds me that no matter how hard I try, I can’t know the end from the beginning. But I believe in a God who does. I believe in the Author and Finisher of my faith. 

He loves the process and He doesn’t deal with uncertainty. He knows everything.

Isn’t that the best news you’ve ever heard? 

So this week when the questions come—because they will, they always do—maybe we can practice shrugging our shoulders and hoping for the best. Maybe we can lean into the mystery and find joy in discovery because we believe in a God who knows. 

He knows the next chapter I’m going to write. He knows what next year looks like. He knows every little beginning and ending I’ll ever experience.

And it’s our job to have faith in the process.

Brave, beautiful, shoulder-shrugging faith.