She was one of the last people in line after I got done talking about blogging and callings and the motherhood juggle. I could hear the urgency in her voice.

What happens if someone else steals my dream while I’m waiting? What if they write my idea first before I’ve had a chance to get started?

And I knew just what she meant.

Three years ago I was commuting into work hours each way with daycare drop offs that made me think amputating a limb might have been easier and more appealing. I was stuck in traffic. I was listening to endlessly overplayed songs on our Christian radio station. I was discovering a voice through my baby blog that I didn’t know I had and I was anxiously waiting for something else.

I didn’t know what it was.

I just knew it wasn’t what I was doing every day from 9 to 5.

What happens if I’m stuck in this circle of sameness? What happens is I get too old for something new? What happens if someone else gets there first?

On the days I didn’t drive to work I took the train. And then I walked with hundreds of other morning commuters over the knobly streets of downtown Washington, D.C. I walked and tried to make sense of it all. Two years in a skin that didn’t fit.

Around me friends were signing book deals, launching conferences.

Inside me I had this hunger to cheer for all the women who knew what it felt like to walk in these uncomfortable shoes.

But instead I tried to make it home in time for the last pickup at preschool.

What if this is my life? What if there isn’t anything else? What if my dreams have no where to go?

I remember how the door knob looked. I remember it exactly. A kind of tarnished bronze set into a white door in a D.C. row house. It always stuck and my key was uselessly stubborn to turn. I stood trying to turn that handle into a building where I didn’t want to be at a job I didn’t feel called to and I couldn’t get it to open.

I see my hand on the handle and I can remember exactly the clear thought that dropped into my mind.

There’s enough work in the Kingdom for everyone.

I stood doorknob in hand and let those words just sink in all the way to my toes.

There’s enough work in the Kingdom for everyone.

What she’s doing, what they’re hosting, what your Twitter and Facebook friends are experiencing – that’s their piece of the Kingdom. That’s their plot of land and they’re supposed to be working at it faithfully.

But you? You have your own spot in the Kingdom garden. You have your own soil waiting for seeds and seasons and harvest.

It’s not a competition. It’s a co-op.

And then I was inside and up three flights of stairs at my desk.

I kept commuting for large chunks of my day and writing for large chunks of my night. And as slowly and delightfully as a chia pet that finally starts to sprout just when you’ve given up checking on it, God gave me new tools, different opportunities and my piece of Kingdom garden caught a vision and some rain.

Because of where I’d been, what I’d despaired, how I’d wrestled. I needed them. I didn’t want them. But I’d needed them.

I work here now. I encourage women with this.

No one can steal your dream because God has built it into you.

No one can write your book or design your art.

No one can launch your venture like you.

No one can do that secret impossible that you’ve got your heart set on instead of you.

You are the DNA of the dream.

Even if you both started with the exact same premise you’d end up glorious worlds apart as distinct as your fingerprints.

Because you are.

What God gives you He gives you on purpose.

It’s not an accident where you are now. You haven’t missed the boat. You aren’t in a maze. You are just limited by your ability to see.

…faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.

But the God who planted that dream? He isn’t.

And I am certain that God, who began the good work within you, will continue his work until it is finally finished on the day when Christ Jesus returns.
~Philippians 1:6

I am. I am certain of it.


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Comparisons will kick you in the teeth and hijack your dreams every time