God provides.

Moving across the country by myself is not the most stressful thing I’ve ever done. But it’s close. So I’ve been pretty magnificently stressed out about it. Finding an apartment that's wheelchair accessible (easy in Morgantown [as in I did it in an hour last summer], apparently not so easy anywhere in Northern Utah), convincing myself I can safely drive across the country on my own (still not entirely convinced, decided to do it anyway), getting my unreliable but still beloved car ready for the trip (someone remind me to get an oil change this weekend, please and thanks), hashing out the protocol for flying with a power chair with AmeriCorps' lovely travel agents (I. Hate. Airports.), convincing my parents I'm not going to end up homeless somewhere in Iowa (ok, they're not convinced, and neither am I), working out the costs and realizing I can just barely financially survive the next few weeks until I get my first stipend, finding another apartment because the first one fell through (at least now I have a potential roommate)... it's been, realistically, about as stressful as I expected it to be. 

That said, it hasn't been over the top stressful because of one thing: I know that this is what Heavenly Father wants me to do. I don't have the slightest idea why, but I know that this process is being divinely guided. Every time I get to a point where I feel like throwing my hands up and saying, "You're right, I can't do this," God throws me a bone. That doesn't mean the problems get fixed, but I get just a little bit of inspiration that helps me step back and put my anxiety-ridden heart back in place. 

When I was freaking out because maybe I've never received real revelation in my life because I'm a sinner and I'm not sure if this is really what God wants or if I just fabricated it myself because I like to make life more difficult, I suddenly discovered that I say my best, most heartfelt prayers while driving, and that personal revelation I was doubting flowed more forcefully than ever somewhere between the West Virginia Welcome Center and Coopers Rock. 

When I was in need of a reminder that I'm strong (read: stubborn) enough to survive this next year of serving a community I know very little about 1949 miles from home, my grandma gave me a card from a family friend who probably knows me about as well as anyone, reminding me that not only am I strong enough, I'm also prayed for. 

When I was worrying about being alone and sick in a strange place, well, I glanced at Facebook and remembered that I'll have at least half a dozen friends within an hour's drive of wherever the heck I end up living, and that's five more than I had when I moved to Morgantown three years ago. Someone will help me put together furniture or bring clean clothes and a phone charger to the hospital or whatever crisis comes up my first week. (Right?)

And when I was nervous about whether I could stand up for what I know I need to do even though it's crazy and it seems like everyone around me knows it, the still small voice stood on its tippy toes and shouted up at me, "READ YOUR PATRIARCHAL BLESSING AGAIN!" (Sometimes I imagine the still small voice as starring in Horton Hears a Who.) And I suddenly realized that every word in my patriarchal blessing was meant for today, just as much as last September and five years from now. 

I can... probably... do this. Not on my own power, because really all the power I've got is a mile-wide stubborn streak, but on the power of the one who sure seems to want it from me. My patriarchal blessing claims that I have the spiritual gift of faith... I'm not so sure about that sometimes, but I'll bank on it for now.

I'm going to be really annoyed if this is another wrong road, Heavenly Father.