What if I never see the burning bush?
What if I never live on locusts and wild honey, or travel the Damascus road?
What if my prayers end with more question marks than exclamation points, and my hopes never become a better-than-I-could-have-imagined-extraordinarily-and-undeniably-God-sized reality?
What if the real truth is that I can't do all things through Christ?
What if I just do the next thing?
What if that looks like waiting quiet, trying to listen, then getting dressed for the day?
What if that looks like many moments of almost-strong, followed by very-flawed follow-throughs?
Is there room for me on the narrow road?