Don't Skip to the End

a poem for anyone tempted to fast-forward through

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Confession …

I really do not know what I am doing.

I do not have a five-year plan.

I do not know what the future holds.

I cannot tell you how all of this turns out.

For all I do not know and do not have, I do have faith, a rooted hope in a God who holds all things together with love. Every day I wake up and look to God and say, “Help.” It is the kind of trust that has survived enough storms to know that morning eventually comes, not always when I want it to, and not always in the way I expect it to, but it arrives.

I’d love to tell you that I’ve mastered the art of being present, that I’ve learned how to sit still and gladly receive the day in front of me.

I haven’t.

Some days, I think I'm getting worse at this instead of better.

What I have mastered, however, is the ability to spiral when unexpected change collides with overwhelming circumstances. So if you’d like advice on how to do that, I’ll gladly create a Master Class on How to Spiral.

Most days my mind is already three conversations ahead, two weeks ahead, and ten different scenarios into a future that does not yet exist, and yet somehow still feeling behind.

On the outside I might look somewhat calm, like Winnie the Pooh, but on the inside I’m in constant motion like Tigger, bouncing, wondering, planning, worrying, overthinking, and trying to solve problems that haven’t even arrived yet. Unless it’s gray and cold outside. Then I am Eeyore.

Someone recently called me a non-anxious presence, and I appreciated the compliment. I even asked if they could hand me a certificate so I could frame it, because if I’m being honest, it has taken lots of time and prayer to step into a room with a calmness that can only come from Christ. My natural posture is not calm confidence. It is distraction and impatience. It is wanting to know how the story ends before I’ve finished the chapter I’m in.

And that’s why I wrote the poem Don’t Skip to the End.

“It’s hard to sit with what is when what is is not what you want it to be.”

This is one of the most honest lines I’ve ever written because there are parts of my life I would gladly fast-forward through. There are prayers I’d like answered, questions I’d like resolved, dreams I’d like clarified, and roads I’d like reopened.

But God has never asked us to live tomorrow’s life today.

Instead, He has given us this day, along with the love and grace we need to walk through it and, dare I say, enjoy it. That feels increasingly difficult as life unfolds, as limits become more obvious, plans change, dreams evolve, and flowers and weeds grow together in the same garden.

The older I get, the more I am learning that life is like a garden. Everything needs tending. Relationships need tending. Dreams need tending. Faith needs tending. Healing needs tending. And almost nothing grows as quickly as I want it to.

Except for the weeds.

In seasons when I want to rush ahead or abandon the present altogether, I keep coming back to this simple truth: even in this, God is here, present, loving, kind, and working in ways I cannot yet see.

There is something holy about slowing down long enough to notice the light still pouring in, to recognize God’s goodness in ordinary places, and to trust Him today before we see tomorrow.

Today may not look the way you hoped it would, but that does not mean the light has gone out.

Before you rush ahead to tomorrow, take a deep breath. Look around. Pay attention to what is growing, even if it seems small. Pay attention to what is being tended, even if it feels unfinished. One day you’ll look back and understand more than you do right now.

But today, look for the light.

Because the light is still pouring in.

Don’t Skip to the End

Listen to the poem on all streaming services here

It’s hard to sit with what is
when what is
is not what you want it to be.

But let’s not skip to the end.

Sit with what is
and continue to let
the light pour in.

Some days I want to jump to the good parts.

I want to skip the line and get on the ride.

I want to hop on the highway and fly through the red lights.

Give me the chance to cut a corner, and I’ll take it.

Even if I know I’ll regret it.

It’s hard to be where you are
when where you are
is not where you want to be.

But I have to believe there is something for us
in the here and now.

In the waiting.

In the praying.

In the trusting.

Maybe I won’t see what that is until I look back.

Most days I cannot wait to look back,

but today I’ll just be right where I am.

I won’t try to hit fast-forward
or skip to the end.

I’ll exhale and wait.

I’ll look up and pray.

I’ll hold fast and trust.

I’ll sit with what is
because even in this
the light is pouring in.

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