So that better ones can open...

A weird thing is that ever since I was in high school, my grandma has always told me about the English department at Westfield High School. She had heard sparkling reviews from friends in the area. I had always dismissed it, thinking, "I surely won't end up there." I knew nothing about it, but a fact about me is that I always think I know what is best for my life.

So it had not been much of a consideration. As you probably know from my last post, I really wanted to be in the city. When I found out our friends, mentors, and premarital counselors, Jeff and Steph, were going to be planting a church in Westfield, I thought, "cool! Maybe one day we'll drive up from the city and check it out." 

But strangely, the city lights grew dimmer in my eyes. Jeff mentioned something in passing about us "needing to be in community," echoing the nostalgic sentiments I was feeling for the tiny town of Upland. I scrolled the Westfield website and sent my resume over to the principal. I didn't  really think anything of it. I didn't even tell Joe I was doing it. At that point, we were both pretty bent on staying in the city.

It was a Thursday.  I had small group that night with 6 girls from Taylor. We talked a lot about what obedience looks like and when God lays things on your heart that you just can't pass up. Westfield didn't even come to mind. 

Once the girls left my apartment, Joe called. "Baby!" He shouted. "I think we're going to Westfield." 

I was speechless. "Okay," I laughed, not really thinking anything would happen. "What makes you say that?" 

"I don't know. I was just thinking, if there's a church plant, surely they'll need some help with the youth group someday." 

The conversation ended and we made plans for the weekend. We were heading home to Crawfordsville on Sunday for premarital counseling with Terry and Kelly. We ended up getting there in time to go to church at Rock Point, where the service was all about having the faith to follow God through the doors he opens. PT talked about how sometimes, God closes doors so that better ones can open. I felt like he read my journal. But what doors could have possibly been opening? I had no other job prospects and we still had no where to live.

After the service, Jeff approached us. "Alright," he said, "what's it gonna take to get you guys to Westfield? I'm gonna need someone to start up our youth group." 

I gasped. That was exactly what Joe had told me over the phone. 

Joe and I casually mingled, both slightly distracted, both trying to make sense of the path being laid before us. That was weird. We left church hand in hand, sat in the car, and just looked at each other. What was going on here? What in the world was God doing? 

That afternoon, we prayed together and said, "Let's start aiming for Westfield."

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