Walking Through the Next Door

The other day I found myself reflecting on life, business, and all the things Matt and I have spent way too much time analyzing over the years.

Somewhere in the middle of that rabbit trail, I said:

“I think my MO is simply to walk through the next door.”

The funny thing is, I didn’t think much of it at the time.

But the more I’ve sat with it, the more I think that little sentence explains a lot of my life.

Which is funny, because if you’ve ever watched me make a major life decision, you’ve probably witnessed me researching it to death, talking it over with Matt seventeen times, making a pros and cons list, praying about it, and then wondering if I missed something important anyway.

These days, I crave certainty.

Or at least I think I do.

The funny thing is that I wasn’t always this way.

There was a time in my life when I was much more spontaneous. Much more likely to jump first and figure it out later.

Somewhere along the way, life got more… nuanced.

Marriage.

Kids.

Bills.

A business.

Medical decisions.

Responsibilities.

Suddenly every choice felt a little heavier than it used to. When you’re responsible for more than just yourself, it makes sense to want a roadmap.

A timeline.

A guarantee that things will work out.

If I’m honest, I’d really prefer if God would hand me the entire plan upfront.

Maybe a budget while He’s at it. 😅

But that’s not usually how it happens.

Instead, it feels like He gives me enough light for the next step.

Not the next five years.

Not even the next five months.

Just enough for the next step.

And I don’t always love that.

Especially when life feels uncertain.

Especially when there are big decisions to make.

Especially when I’m tired of researching, tired of waiting, and tired of feeling like I should have everything figured out before moving forward.

A few days before this realization, I told Matt I was tired.

Not tired because life is bad.

Not tired because I don’t love my family.

Not tired because I don’t enjoy what I do.

Just tired of analyzing.

Tired of researching.

Tired of trying to make sure we don’t miss something important.

Sometimes I just want to make a decision and move on with life.

And maybe that’s why this idea hit me so hard.

Because when I look back, many of the best things in my life didn’t begin with certainty.

They began with a simple step.

Starting a candle business.

Homeschooling our kids.

Applying to a market.

Sending a message to another small business owner.

Saying yes to an opportunity I wasn’t sure I was ready for.

Taking a chance.

Walking through a door without knowing exactly where it would lead.

Somewhere along the way, I realized this whole thing sounds a lot like Psalm 119:105:

“Your word is a lamp to my feet and a light to my path.”

It’s a verse that’s quoted so often it’s almost become background noise.

But when you stop and think about it, a lamp isn’t a floodlight.

It doesn’t show you the next five years.

It doesn’t answer every question.

It doesn’t reveal every twist and turn ahead.

It just gives enough light for the next step.

And maybe that’s exactly how God intended it.

The more I think about it, the more I realize that my life hasn’t been built by having all the answers.

It’s been built by walking through the next door.

One conversation.

One candle order.

One doctor’s appointment.

One opportunity.

One scary decision.

One door.

Maybe that’s why I was so surprised by the realization in the first place.

From my side of things, it often feels like I’m constantly questioning myself.

Constantly researching.

Constantly wondering if I’m making the right choice.

But maybe other people aren’t seeing the questions.

Maybe they’re seeing the steps.

Because when I look back, that’s where I can see God’s faithfulness most clearly.

Not because He handed me the whole map.

But because He was there at every step along the way.

The path almost always makes more sense looking backward than it does looking forward.

The opportunities I thought would change everything sometimes didn’t.

The things I never saw coming often did.

And the doors that seemed insignificant at the time ended up leading somewhere beautiful.

So these days, I’m trying to spend less time demanding a roadmap and more time paying attention to the next door in front of me.

Because maybe that’s all we’re meant to see.

Not the whole path.

Just enough light for the next step.

And then the next one after that.