Steps

5:45 AM

Can I be honest for a moment?

I want to hide. I literally want to hide and not write this. Selfish, I know.

It is so hard for me to articulate and make sense of the swirling thoughts, worries, emotions that get so tangled up in myself. It is hard for me to be honest about all my doubts about what God has for my life when it seems like everyone else has such a clear path and mission. Yet I think God has taught me that regardless of how much I hate the effort of journaling, it helps me untangle and see things anew. So, I will try to sift through all of this to form something even semi-coherent. Thanks for bearing with me.

My plan is to, in the near future, borrow some friend’s cabin and just disappear. To be silent. To sit still. To drop off the face of this earth as we know it. To listen. To talk. To play the background and live in silence for a few seconds at least. If you have a cabin and you live in Michigan, please let me know. I’d love to spend 30 days there in February before jumping right back into “life.”

Anyways.

Some dude that I follow on Instagram recently posted a corny photo of himself with the caption, “Contentment isn’t a feeling, it’s a decision.” I choked on my loaf of banana bread and laughed as I spit out, “What an idiot! Hahaha. Like c'mon bro. Maybe step back into the reality of our everyday lives for a second?" If I could “choose” contentment, then… yeah. You’re stupid bro. I hate that sentence. I hate it so much. I hate how simple it makes things. In my life, I place myself at the whim of my circumstances more than I would like.

I think maybe I am the least content person in the earth’s history. I’m not dissatisfied with my current life or any less in love with these kids — in fact, I am more in love with them than ever. I’m scary in love with them. But as a general rule, I am a second guesser. I am a doubter. I am a person who won’t ask a girl out because he doesn’t have absolute certainty that she will say yes. I’m trying to be less like… that? But it seems ingrained in nearly everything about me and I hate it.

It hinders me from fully committing, living to the fullest, or enjoying any sort of little moments — as I edit and re-edit myself and everything I say, do, or feel. Maybe it’s a form of perfectionism, but I think it’s more so just insecurity that latched onto my foot from my teens or something. Whooooooooooooo.

Confession: from almost the first day I moved here, back in January of 2016, I was already thinking about the next steps for my life. What I would do AFTER the Nest. Honestly so stupid and something I am ashamed of. But I was and have been grappling with that idea for my entire time here. I think it’s something Western Culture sort of impresses upon us — the idea that we need to have a detailed roadmap with each stop carefully marked and planned so that we can build this ornate future somewhere down the next fifty or sixty years. In fact, if you don’t have that roadmap, usually that means that you are kinda shooting yourself in the foot or that you aren’t going to be “successful.” I know I blame a lot of things on Western Culture but. I don’t think it’s completely unfounded to believe this.

At this point in my life, I am wrestling with letting go, wrestling with trusting God and wrestling with His will for my future vs. my will for my future. I have many passions, many different directions I want to go in, and many uncertainties. You probably already know that, but this is me reiterating it again. I think I’m also BIG TIME wrestling with attempting to live day-to-day, only really knowing just one step ahead and He sorta leads me by the hand like a blind dude. Instead of trying to follow some self-made, 42 step roadmap, trying to follow Him only knowing the next step. Not the next 300. Not even the next steps in the next four months. Just one (sometimes hesitant/stumbling/falling) step.

…

I went to Michigan in November because I think I was sick. Every day I think I woke up and felt guilt because I actually didn’t want to wake up that much. (woah, that sounded dark) I felt guilt because it took all my effort to go outside and smile and play soccer and wrestle little Pops and hug tiny Kim. I think maybe I was very empty. Maybe I was very dried up. Maybe I was very spent. The simplest of things were immovable and so taxing. And the things and people I loved were duties and obligations. I dunno how I got there. Maybe I wasn’t reading the Bible or maybe I wasn’t praying or maybe I was walking around with my eyes closed. I think I was sick. In retrospect, I think it was me trying to peer too far into the future. Trying to determine my steps. Trying to plot my roadmap for the next few years. I think that was killing me and my joy on the daily.

So I went home in hopes that maybe I just needed to be “filled up” again because that’s what Christians sometimes say. “Filled up.” I stayed in Michigan a little while longer, kinda hoping that it would “cure” me. Maybe just like, going to church, being around buds, family, and chipotle would cure me of feeling empty and spent. I mean, it kinda did.

I had fun and did feel blessed at home. I mean, I saw The 1975 and LANY both live in one month, so pretty chill. I went to a Spartans game. I ate Chick-Fil-A. I went to IHOP and bookstores and all the things that normally give me a bit of peace and comfort. I even talked to girls. I went to quite a few churches. I saw snow (only a little but). I got to be at Thanksgiving with family. I got to feel like I was a part of my families’ life for a little while. It was good.

But the week I was set to leave and go back to the Nest, I was NOT ready. I think I texted or called everyone I knew in the entire world and basically asked them to tell me what to do — go back, or stay home for good. I wanted someone, honestly anyone, to tell me what to do. Because God wasn’t, and I was so weary of waiting on Him and His vague answers. I had been obedient this whole time, I had done my part — sought wise counsel, prayed, listened, gone to church, come home to rest, and still, even the day before I was supposed to board a plane for Montego Bay, I had zero peace and zero answers. At this point, my faith in God was severely lacking. Where even was He? I’d asked, and begged, and pleaded for an answer of where I was supposed to go, and He had remained steadfast and silent the entire time. I came home to clear my mind and hear from Him again and my entire month at home, I got nothing from Him.

Maybe I plugged my ears.

The night before my flight, I realized I had to make a decision and no one else could make it for me. So I started packing my bags because I didn’t really know what else to do. I was not ready to go back to the Nest, but I felt like it was impossible to step away from these boys who didn’t have someone in their corner. I got on the plane more out of obligation than of excitement. I have been plagued with questions like, how long am I supposed to stay? Who is going to stay if I don’t? Who is going to take care of these boys? Who will be there for them? I can’t walk away. I can’t walk away. I can’t walk away.

…

Now I’m back. The morning I got back I walked into the room and was swarmed by 37-to-a-million kids just yelling, “Jake! Jake! Jake! Jakie!” and they all hopped up and down trying to swat at my face and get my attention. It was so overwhelming and moving and humbling and I don’t know. Realizing I matter that much to anybody, that I mean that much to anybody, is something I’ll never forget — even with Alzheimer’s probably.

Side note: I think I have always hated the name Jakie, but for some reason, the kids here can say it and it crushes me.

I got on a plane emptily mouthing the words, “Yeah, in January or February I’ll get a ticket and move back to Michigan,” but even as I said them, I knew that there was absolutely no way I could leave the Nest and the boys in February. I didn’t even know if I would ever leave. Honest.

And now we’re going to get to the part that is going to make the least sense.

In just the first day of being back, God gave me peace.

He opened my eyes to what one of the new co-directors, Kevin, is doing for the boys and how he is the next part of God’s plan for these boys that I love. Seeing Kevin interact with them, teach them, pour into them, and seeing his heart for them throughout. For awhile, I was worried about Kevin coming to the Nest because of what it would mean and the things he might try to change. But now I see that he cares about pushing them towards Christ, and more than any one thing here, that matters the absolute most to me.

In just that first day back, I had such a peace that I cannot explain. You know how they say, “Peace that passes all understanding”? That is what I felt. That is what I kinda have now. I could try to explain it to you, but it passes my limited understanding. It is simply there, surrounding me for now. It’s the strangest thing because I have not felt peace like that since… the womb maybe? My entire life and future has been question after question and all the while I have never felt or understood that “peace that passes all understanding.” I’ve never been comfortable resting in just one step ahead or God’s timing — as you all well know. (If not, just read every previous blog post).

But now I do - at least for a second.

I have such a strange peace about how God is going to use him and how He has provided Kevin for the boys at the perfect time as I try to imagine stepping away in just 20-something days. He’s the guy I’ve been praying for for the boys and he is the reason why I can step away in February knowing and holding to the peace of God’s provision and timing. God has brought Kevin to care and grow these boys into better men than I actually could.

Not that I see myself being here this past year as wasted or I wasn’t the guy for the job because I WAS. God brought me here to fill that gap. And now He’s brought Kevin and finally given me peace about it. A liiiiiiittle peace about moving back to the States, which I’ve never had before.

It’s not even a peace I want. It’s a peace I wish I didn’t have right now. It’s crazy because I have asked Christ for peace for months, and now when He gives it to me, I don’t exactly want His answer because it is telling me to leave the kids. I will cry and hate the day I leave, but God has graciously provided and in His perfect timing too. Now it is time to follow.

I have long prayed for God to bring godly men into these boy’s lives. I still pray for God to bring strong, godly, and especially Jamaican men to the Nest to show these boys what a man of God looks like. I pray for better men than me. The reason why I decided God wanted me at the Nest was because of the critical need for a man to be around these boys. Not just to “be around” them for 30 minutes a day or in between jobs, but to be there specifically for them and no one else. You and I both know I’m not that shining model of a man of Christ, I’m not even the shining model of a man (aka small muscles), yet there was and has been no one else and so, that is why God has me at the Nest. Jesus brought me to the Nest to be there for those boys. Now He has brought Kevin. I won't lie, it's been a humbling process as I reluctantly and sometimes begrudgingly hand over my part in these boy's lives to the next guy(s). It's as if I don't fully trust anyone else or something stupid like that. I'm working on it.

How God has been orchestrating things all this time! Even while I was at home agonizing over the Nest and myself. How breathtaking it is to see how God weaves the stories of these kid’s lives — bringing people in His perfect timing and providing exactly who they need as they need them. Whether it is me, or Daniel, or Sam, or Dani, or Kevin, or all countless others, Jesus provides and blesses.

…

For now, I get to enjoy the littlest moments. I get to wake up and be a part of the tiniest little things that I love. Without the weight of trying to discern the next 4,000 steps of my life, I can rest in the here and now (or at least try to)— drinking in each smile or tear or scrape or laugh.

Like the other day, when I was sitting down at the workbench building something and suddenly I look up and see little Pops sitting so quietly, his face mashed up into the screen mesh of the upper balcony, pressed up so close that I think his little eyes were almost popping through the mesh, just staring down so, so intently on what I was building. He had been sitting there for nearly twenty minutes, just watching me. Once he realized I had seen him he started yelling my name, which is I think one of the 14 words he knows, and he did not stop yelling it until I left my project and went up to play with him.

Or being a part of a Christmas that is 100% about the kids and not remotely about me. A Christmas where I got to sit and “wow!” over each toy that was proudly shown to me or help put batteries into 3,000 little cars or dolls.

Or watching fireworks on the roof with a few boys at midnight on New Years.

Or even smaller moments, ones I can’t even write because I want to treasure them and keep them all to myself.

For now, at least the next twenty-three days, I’m just trying to hang on to that peace. Some days it’s stronger, other days I think it has disappeared entirely, other days I curse this peace and beg it to leave so that I don't have to, but it’s still there I think. Maybe you’ll see me and say, “I don’t see that peace he talks about in him.” But honestly, I think I’ve had bags under my eyes since age 17 so. This is a step for me.

Just one step. Then another. Then another. Each day.

In the words of a MUCH, MUCH wiser man than myself,

Give us this day our daily bread. We are to take no thought for the morrow. For this very end has our wise Creator divided life into these little portions of time, so clearly separated from each other, that we might look on every day as a fresh gift of God, another life, which we may devote to His glory; and that every evening may be as the close of life, beyond which we are to see nothing but eternity.
-John Wesley (part of a commentary on Matthew 6)

It’s funny how numbered days seem to open your eyes. I don’t know why I’m leaving. I’m just following what God has laid on my heart. I don’t exactly know the next thing He’s calling me to. It’s super vague and undefined. I’m just trusting this next step, even when I cannot see where it’s headed.