Expect Again

A friend told me, “Write about expectations.”

Two weeks ago.

And I said, “Easy. Give me a date I’ll have it done”

Because I thought life would line up and behave.

Lol o

October “owed” me brilliance.

I called it my month of creative vitality, expression and ease.

But the month slipped through me and left me writing in November instead.

Expectations.

This year didn’t shake my plans; it swallowed them whole.

Wrecked every blueprint and dared me to still believe.

And somewhere between striving and surrender, God caught me.

Not gently. Not softly.

He caught me in a snare I didn’t see and let me fight until my exhaustion became obedience.

I prayed with clenched fists.

Peace didn’t come until they opened.

Listen, I’m not telling you to stop planning.

Expectation is not immaturity in any sense of the word, it’s courage.

It’s as faith, wearing hope like armor.

It’s a yardstick for desire.

A map for movement.

A pulse that says “I am alive enough to want.”

I’ve expected joy.

Expected grief.

Expected love and wounds and rising.

I have expected life to be loud, and it has been.

But the lesson wasn’t in the wanting.

It was in the Knowing.

Not the knowing of outcomes, the knowing of God.

God will be God.

Even when I misunderstand Him.

Even when He rearranges what I thought was settled.

Even when goodness feels delayed.

Expectation is not foolishness; it is rehearsing your faith over and over again

until reality bows.

So I write again.

Speak again.

Stretch again.

Create again.

Whatever happens it has to be good.

Because He is good.

So expect loudly.

Hope violently.

Push without apology.

And if the world hits back, hit harder.

Why cry when you can fight?

Amen and amen.