Are you in a wandering season?

On one of my walks at Buffalo Bayou.

The other day I was taking a walk by Menil Collection. It’s one of my favorite stretches in Houston. I always admire the pristine green lawn and feel comforted by the tall and shady trees. Funnily enough, at the end of 2020, I found out I didn’t get a job I applied to at the Menil Collection. I was devastated. It had been a long year. 2020 made me realize that my career dreams were shifting and it was time for me to leave my job as a reporter. This job at Menil felt like the big next step, but instead a door was closed. 

​Sometimes, when I need to figure something out I go on a walk. It could be at Buffalo Bayou, or Hermann, or around the Menil. I just need to hear my footsteps and sometimes music— Beyoncé, Maggie Rogers, a gospel song, Taylor Swift, some contemporary Christian worship mixed in. It’s easy for me to keep walking. It’s soothing to look up at the trees shading your body and look down at your shoes taking you forward to an unknown destination. Sometimes I have a set goal in mind. And sometimes, I just feel like I’m wandering, lost in a circle, going round and round in the same park. 2020 felt like a walk that would never end.

At church, I was reminded of that wandering journey during a sermon about the Shumanite woman. After years of waiting, the woman watched God give her a baby. Then, later that same child would die suddenly and the prophet Elisha would restore her child back to life. After those miracles, you would think there might be more wow. Instead after all the miraculous moments, God tells her to go “sojourn where you can” for seven years. Sojourn essentially means to wander. So wander around for seven years? Okay cool God, sounds great. 

Back in 5th grade, I found out I wouldn’t be able to go to the same middle school as my elementary school friends. My mom was a teacher for Spring Branch ISD and usually could help get me transferred into a school, but this one was capped for enrollment. Instead at the last second, we applied for a newish charter school in the district called Cornerstone Academy. I got in, but I wasn’t excited to go. 10-year-old me felt like it was the end of the world. I didn’t want to wander at my new school. I wanted a straight and clear walk. 

Turns out, I fell in love with Cornerstone pretty quickly. It was full of students made up of different cultures, neighborhoods, and backgrounds. I truly felt at home. At Cornerstone, I sang in choir with two friends who had a best friend named Pauline. Pauline and I didn’t really talk much at Cornerstone, but years later as we moved stuff into our dorm rooms during freshman year of college we recognized each other. A friendship quickly formed. Now, Pauline is one of the most valuable and essential friends in my life. We spent our 20s fumbling and stumbling through early adulthood, talking about our dreams and watching some of them come true. The next day, after I found out I didn’t get the Menil job, Pauline showed up at my apartment with flowers. 

I’ve realized the twists and turns in life are inevitable. We’re just fickle humans trying to figure out the best path. We should be comforted to know that a sovereign and very intentional God  helps us find our way on those walks that feel like you’ll never get back home. 

During Christmas, I had a week off from work. I did all of the things I normally can’t do: go on a ton of walks, binge terrible TV, write in my journal, and explore the crooks of Houston that I always say I will but never do. On one random Wednesday, I went to the Menil. I walked slowly, studying each painting and sculpture. 

​In 2020, I couldn’t see 2023 me. I didn’t know that I would find a new job that I love. I didn’t know  I would finish my book. That I would help plan a book festival. That I would get to teach magazine writing at the same college where Pauline and I grew up and found pieces of ourselves.

The Shumanite woman also probably never imagined a King walking into her wandering story after seven years to say, “Restore all that was hers, together with all the produce of the fields from the day that she left the land until now.””

​Sometimes, I’m still the 10-year-old version of myself, fighting and wandering with God. And sometimes, I’m the 30-year-old version looking back and seeing that not getting what I want usually leads me to getting everything I actually need.