I listened to a sermon about hope. I never thought much about the word. I assumed that it was something that people relied on when they were in dire need. But hope was more than that. To have hope is to have a feeling of expectation of something to happen.
Well, I didn’t know what I expected to happen within myself. I wanted to achieve so much in my life that I haven’t stopped to think when I was in the now. I didn’t expect a lot of myself anymore because I kind of gave up.
I did the one thing you’re never supposed to do. I broke the ultimate rule. Well, this rule is one I made up for me, but it’s still important. I expected a lot of myself and couldn’t deliver. I bit off more than I could chew to put it even simpler.
I wanted to do all these things I don’t think God even had planned for me. His supernatural timing doesn’t match my fleshly timing. I want things to go fast. I want the job, the money, and the house all now, but it’s not the best time.
I know that I’m not mentally stable. The fact that I even thought that I could achieve marriage by twenty-five and a baby by twenty-eight is illogical. I am not even heading that direction yet. I am figuring out me. The worse part is that I feel that I’m doing it too late that I should have figured me out by now.
But as I really think about it, no one I know has figured themselves out at twenty-three. There is so much I can accomplish, do and learn. That fact that I’m rushing myself seems silly; there is no reason too.
I am moving at the pace God wants me to move. If I was supposed to move faster, I would be. No point of trying to go seventy when my speed limit is only forty-five.