I am sitting in the library right now (Saturday, August 8, 2026, 12:28pm) doing something I really do not want to do. And when I say I do not want to do it, I mean there is a full-blown toddler living inside of me with her arms crossed, bottom lip poked out, quietly preparing to throw herself on the floor.
But God, I really don’t wanna...
That is about as sophisticated as my prayer has been lately. Here is the context…
I recently entered the world of academia, and if I am being completely truthful, academia was always part of my nursing plan. Just not this current plan. In my mind, I would settle into the executive leadership phase of my career first. I would spend more years refining my ability to lead teams, build programs, influence systems, and do the work I have spent so much of my career preparing to do. Then, somewhere later down the road, I would ease into academia. You know, cruise a little…
Teach.
Pour into the next generation.
Maybe wear a cute cardigan and carry an unnecessarily large coffee mug while telling nursing students stories about “back when I was at the bedside.”
That was the plan.
The problem is that August marks one year since I have held a full-time nursing leadership position. An entire year (deep sigh). There have been conversations. Interviews. Possibilities. Opportunities that seemed promising. Doors I thought might open.
And yet, here I am.
I am incredibly grateful for the faculty role God provided. It came at a time when I needed it, and there is no question that teaching has awakened something in my soul. I love watching students make connections. I love helping them move from memorizing information to actually thinking like nurses. It’s humbling; having the privilege to shape nurses before the habits of the profession fully settle in.
It is meaningful work.
However, I was not prepared for academia to potentially become my main work right now.
Back in April, someone in one of my church classes encouraged me to write down my plan and submit it to God. So I did. I wrote down what I wanted, what I believed the next season should look like, where I hoped my career was headed, and how was going to actively participate in the process.
Then I waited.
And waited.
And, if I’m being 100% transparent with you, I became increasingly irritated with the waiting. (Need to work on that long-suffering fruit). Nothing seemed to move. Eventually, I decided maybe I needed to call an audible on my plan. About a month ago, I made a new commitment: If nothing transpired in leadership by the end of July, I would begin applying for full-time academic positions.
Well…July has come and gone.
Which explains why I am sitting in this library…Looking at faculty positions. Moving in a direction while everything inside of me is screaming…Noooooooo!!!!!
Because somewhere in my mind, accepting a full-time academic position feels like closing the door on leadership. And that hurts. I have worked hard for that dream.
Degrees.
Certifications.
Long days.
Late nights.
Difficult personalities.
Professional development.
Sacrifices unseen.
I did not accidentally wander toward executive nursing leadership. I made a choice and have intentionally built toward it for years. So, this does not feel like simply applying for another job.
It feels like surrendering something. And maybe that is exactly why this is so uncomfortable.
Proverbs 16:9 (NIV) says, “In their hearts humans plan their course, but the LORD establishes their steps”.
Sadly, I like that verse much better when His steps look like my plan.
Surrender sounds beautiful until God starts touching the things you were certain He gave you permission to desire. We talk often about trusting God with our future, but sometimes trust looks less like peaceful worship music playing in the background and more like clicking “submit application” while muttering, “Lord…I am doing this because I said I would.”
There is something ridiculously childlike about it. And maybe there should be…
Because He is my Father.
A loving Father does not always allow His children to choose the route simply because it is the route they prefer. Sometimes He redirects. Sometimes He delays. Sometimes He allows us to walk into seasons we would never have selected because He can see what we cannot.
Romans 8:28 reminds us that God works all things together for the good of those who love Him and are called according to His purpose.
All things.
Apparently, that includes career detours…
Unanswered prayers…
Unexpected classrooms…
And plans that make us pout. ☹
I’m thinking about Abraham, who was told to leave what was familiar without being given every detail about where he was going.
Hebrews 11:8 (NIV) says of Abraham, “when called to go to a place he would later receive as his inheritance, obeyed and went, even though he did not know where he was going”.
I would personally prefer a map.
Actually, as a first daughter and eldest of seven, I would prefer a map, estimated arrival time, salary range, organizational chart, and written confirmation that executive leadership is still somewhere on the itinerary.
God has provided none of those.
But He has given me enough light for the next step. And right now, the next step appears to be obedience.
Not certainty.
Not excitement.
Not even agreement.
Obedience.
Ooooh wee…I can hear Priscilla Shirer in my head right now, “Lord, show me the next twenty years! And He’s like, if I can get you to be obedient for the next twenty minutes, you’ll be exactly where you need to be.”
Perhaps I am looking at this season incorrectly. I am treating academia like a door that, once entered, locks behind me. But what if it is a hallway? What if the leadership I have been asking God for does not disappear here, but develops differently here? What if the classroom is not the end of my leadership journey, but part of its formation?
I do not know.
And I am not going to tie this post up with a pretty little bow and tell you I suddenly feel wonderful about it. I don’t.
There is still a part of me sitting here saying, “God…I really don’t wanna…”
And perhaps the prayer does not have to become more polished than that. And underneath the whining is something deeper:
But I trust You.
I trust that You know what You are doing.
I trust that the years I have spent preparing were not wasted.
I trust that no position, title, delay, or detour can cancel what You have purposed for my life.
And I trust that if You are redirecting me, You are not abandoning me.
So today, I am going to do the thing I said I would do.
Reluctantly.
Prayerfully.
Probably with a little attitude.
But obediently.
Because sometimes faith is not walking confidently toward the thing you have always wanted.
Sometimes faith is walking toward the thing you never planned for, holding your Father’s hand and saying,
“Fine. I trust You. We’ll do this Your way. Let’s geaux.”
