I pray and pray for the will of God to be made clear, that His plan—perfect or not—be made realized, that I may begin my stride down that good path, but this is my flaw: I ask with unspoken intent that my desires for the future be made manifest, that my dreams to study in Cairo, to learn Arabic, to reside among the people, to plunge my fleshy palm into the War, to break ties with my obligations on the stateside, to live anew, abroad, empowered, golden, stalwart, fighting for the only cause worth so much blood and heart break; I ask the Lord that these things come to pass and do not listen. For what may He say? He may say, My daughter, stay put. You are where you should be. Child, marry this man, find happiness with him, let him love you, bear his children, rear them under the cloak of my name, embrace security, family, comfort, and trust that my will is done. I don’t want to hear this. I don’t want to pray for it. I want to make it clear that this is not my vision, but He says to me: it is Mine. What more can I do but throw my hands up in despair, surrender the convictions (idealistic, improbable, how He knows my weaknesses) that have been the muscle behind every action. Passion, my father says, is a characteristic of youth, dangerous only when wisdom is divorced from it. Have I no ears to hear? And what does it look like to listen to the voice of God? Is not passion a medium by which God communicates with those he would otherwise have no way to speak? Am I deaf and dumb? I must believe that there is a purpose, an objective, obtainable reality that God has decided for me since my conception. He must want something from me besides obedience and praise—and yes, Lord, those are important, but so also was your son, who became man so that he could understand his creation intimately. And, you have learned that your people require detailed guidance, gritty, annoying instructions, I’m sorry. It’s a nasty compulsion, grown tried and tired by years and years of skepticism, but it breathes nonetheless. If it is my duty is to stay, then I will stay, only let me know for sure so that I can abandon my superstition and look at a bible passage or a piece of advice without wondering if your specific will is hidden within it. I’m shackled to anxiety, and I often wonder whether you hear.