The Questions We Ask ~

I've begun to notice that when life becomes quieter, different questions emerge.
The past few weeks, I've found myself wondering how much of our lives is part of a divine design and how much is shaped by circumstance, choice, and free will. Are we born with a purpose already woven into our souls? Are the people who cross our paths placed there long before we ever meet them? Or are our lives simply the unfolding result of countless decisions made by ourselves and others?
I thought about the people who have shaped my life. My parents. My former husband. Friends who appeared at exactly the right moment. People whose lives unfolded in ways entirely different from my own, yet somehow our stories intersected. How many events had to occur for our paths to cross? How much was chosen? How much was given?
Of course, I don't expect to solve a mystery that theologians and philosophers have wrestled with for centuries.
But as I sat with the questions, I noticed something more important than finding an answer.
The questions themselves have changed for me over the years.
There was a time when my questions were born out of survival.
How do I get through today?
How do I keep everything from falling apart?
What do I need to fix next?
When the nervous system lives in a constant state of vigilance, there isn't much room for contemplation. Every ounce of energy is devoted to getting through the next hour, the next day, the next crisis.
Lately, though, I've noticed something unfamiliar.
A quiet within me.
My nervous system no longer seems to believe that every moment is an emergency.
From that quiet emerged not only different questions, but a different way of inhabiting my life.
What is life inviting me to notice?
Perhaps that is one of the quiet gifts of healing.
The spaciousness to wonder again.
I do believe that some of the story was written long before I arrived. Maybe certain scenes were always going to unfold. And maybe there is more improvisation than I will ever understand.
I don't know. And that’s the beauty of it. I don’t have to know.
My calling is not to read the entire script.
My calling is to be fully present for the scene I'm in.
To deliver my lines honestly.
To love the people who share the stage with me.
To trust the Director even when I cannot see the next act.
For so much of my life, I was simply trying to survive the performance.
Now, I find myself awake within it.
And as I sit on my porch in the quiet of the evening, watching the sun set after the rain, and feeling the peace that has slowly settled into my nervous system, I notice something else has changed.
I'm no longer asking, Who do I need to become?
Instead, I find myself becoming more aware of the One who has been present all along.
Transformation doesn't happen when I finally convince myself that I am enough, worthy, healed, or whole.
It happens when I stop trying to define myself at all.
Identity isn't something I achieve; it's something I receive.
Life doesn't begin with a declaration of who I am.
It begins with the quiet realization that I have always been seen... always been known... always been loved.
The more I rest in that Presence, the less I feel compelled to define myself by labels, achievements, failures, or even healing itself.
Perhaps this is why the questions have changed.
The need to know has slowly given way to the freedom to wonder.
To trust that whether my life is a sacred contract, a tapestry of countless choices, or some beautiful mystery of both, I do not walk it alone.
I simply have to be present.
Present to this moment.
Present to the people before me.
Present to the quiet whisper that has been there all along.
And perhaps that is what it means to live Untucked. Not finally knowing who I am, but resting in the One who has always known me.
 Peace be with you,
J~

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