‘You don’t know what you’re looking for…

til what you’re looking for finds you.’ (Music of Nashville, Clare Bowen)

These words sounded in my ear for the umpteenth time last week, and their reievance finally struck me.  (Not because I realised I’m a closet country fan), but because there have been so many times in my life when that particular line rings true.

Once back in the ’90s, a fifteen year old boy told me he ‘liked’ me.  I made him wait for a year before I came to my senses and realised I liked him too.  Before that, I had thought I was meant to be with a guitar-playing, overtly Christian, outgoing boy.  Thank goodness I didn’t stick to that idea!  Now, 18 years later, I wonder why it took me so long to realise that the one I was made for was right in front of me.

There have been countless incidences of my blindness over the years – me thinking I knew best, being sure I was supposed to be such a way, leading such a life, doing such a thing, and finding myself in a different place altogether.  A better one, on the whole.  Even my writing came about because someone asked me a ‘why not’ question.

At this time, we are in the process of moving to Moira, a village fifteen minutes away from the place I expected to live for the next fifteen years at least.  But something happened when I went to see the house there – I felt happy, and at peace.  Every time I have gone since, the same feelings have risen up.  It’s partly down to that shy boy again, and the certain belief that God is waiting to pour out His blessings upon me and my family.  Yet again.

So the moral of the story is, don’t be sure of the path you will be travelling in this world, because that might close your eyes to something much, much better.

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