So what do you do when you roll over in bed on a beautiful sunny morning, look out the window on your adopted city, and the first thought that drifts through the glass is, "This is too big for me. What am I *doing* here?"

And what's a wee bit unnerving is that this is happening to me more frequently (not the sunshine, mind you, the question). I hoped that longer I was here and the more I got to know my city, the more ready I'd be to answer that. Because I know I'm here for a reason. It just happens to be Father-sized, and while it's abstractly comforting to know it's not about me, a lot more faith is required. A whole lot. *Reckless faith.* I've started writing that on my wrist (without the period, b/c there are rarely periods after faith) to remind me what's going on. Or at least what should be going on.

I have my job, and I love it, but in some puzzling way it's giving me more questions than it's answering. The more I have permission to bounce in my fun bubble of warm apartment, hilarious roommates, video editing on my computer, and friends at gym and fellowship... the more I look out my window and say, "Today's not going to be enough if I stay in that safety."

Ever heard the song "I AM" by Ginny Owens? "How can I understand/This thing You're gonna do?"/"That's not your problem," God replied/"There's a bigger picture/ And you don't have to change the world /I'm your creator, I am working out my plan
And through you, I will show them ... I AM"

And I think faith is just going to have to be enough, even on sunny days.