I’m going to miss this. I braced my foot against the spare tire lying in the back of the Land Cruiser as we swerved, honking and bouncing around a herd of cows attempting to cross the dirt road. It was our last week in Sudan. The sun was setting over the African landscape steepled with round hut-roofs and scraggly dark-fingered silhouettes of treetops against the blazing backdrop of orange, purple and gold.

I caught Beth’s eye across from me as our knees collided during another series of rutted bumps. She grinned, and I could almost read her thoughts. Four months ago, we would have laughed had someone told us we were going to Sudan this summer. But here we were, and I smiled, reminded again of the miracle we shared.

There’s that saying, “You can’t steer a parked car,” but over the years I’ve found myself comfortably parked in the “Seeking God’s Will” lot. It was November 2009 when I finally drove out of that place—for good.

I was on college break having a catch-up chat with my good friend, Beth*, when we discovered that we shared an increasing desire to serve in short-term, overseas, third-world missions that summer. We were filled with a lot of questions and doubts, but this time something inside of me would not let me step on the gas and ignore the burning desire. I was tired of giving up on my dreams because they were too crazy or too impossible to see actually happen. Together, we did the one thing we knew to do—pray. We gave all of it to God—even our question about whether this was a God-given desire or one stimulated by selfish motives.

Looking back over the past 8 years of high school and college, I see so many instances where I was trapped in some kind of “Seeking God’s Will” game. When God gave me potentially God-glorifying dreams or desires, I held back in fear—afraid of the unknown, afraid to roll out of my comfortable rut, afraid to risk, afraid to be in a place where I feel out of control, afraid to look like I don’t know what I’m doing, afraid of “being wrong,” or worse, afraid I might “miss” God’s will.

On the other hand, sometimes my desires and dreams seem too good to be true and I turn cynical. Would God really delight to fulfill such an amazing dream? I err in thinking that if I’m not painfully dying to myself in making a decision then it can’t possibly be God’s will.

All too often, I get stuck sitting in the road waiting for Him to send me a clear sign with no fears attached. But fear has to be recognized as a detour from God’s will. I miss seeing God’s power when I let my fears control my actions and crash my trust in Him. While every story of stepping out in faith is different, I am grateful that God’s unchanging sovereignty keeps me from ever missing His will.

In the Land Cruiser, I felt the small shoulder of one kid squeezed up next to me on the bench. I clutched the other child on my lap as our bodies slid to the left and swung back to the right like a charismatic pendulum. When driving in Sudan, the question is not, Should I hit that pothole? Instead it is, Which pothole should I hit?

I’m learning that no matter how desperately I want it, there is no concrete method to seeking or finding God’s will. Instead I am faced with the question of my will.

For months, we sought counsel from parents, pastors, and mentors and prayed harder. In March, we emailed Matt* with RP Global Missions asking if he knew of any two-to-three month long mission opportunities. We considered other possibilities too, but doors, windows and even trunks seemed to swing shut. By the last week of April we still had nothing.

At this time I was praying about it while walking from my dorm to breakfast when a quiet question stopped me: “What if My will is for you to stay home in Indianapolis this summer and not go overseas at all. Are you okay with this?” My heart sank. For six months we’d been praying and hoping and waiting. Was this His answer?

I called Beth the next day, and learned that she had been grappling with God that week over the same question. The fight of our wills had ended with the same response: “If You want me here this year, I don’t want to be anywhere else.”

Several days later I took time out to pray and list ideas for ministry opportunities in Indy. I began to feel anticipation mount over what God was going to do that summer at home. Something inside still burned in regards to overseas missions, but I had to trust that God knew best. A few hours later, Beth and I both received an email from Matt* stating he’d received word from the Cush4Christ team in Sudan asking for help for a few months starting in July. Would we be interested?

We were floored with shock and awe, but waves of fears were quick to rise. This plan seemed too wild, with a lot of unknowns. Not only would we be leaving in 8 weeks, but a list of miracles would need to happen before we would be sitting on any outgoing plane from the U.S. Just as quickly, God’s surpassing peace settled over me in a way that wouldn’t budge. We knew God would give us the strength to trust Him in the weeks to come.

Another elbow-jostling turn off the main road signaled the winding, bumping trail to our village, and we waved back at our smiling, dark-faced, Dinka friends walking along the road. In Sudan no ride is a smooth ride, but I guess it’s way more enjoyable when I can trust the Driver.

Yes, I am going to miss these potholes. But why park after this ride?

*names withheld