But the moon was content with its lofty track over the midnight skies, and Haydren would not be content with his dusty track through the dregs of life. He rolled over in bed, thought once more of his patrol in the morning, and fell asleep.
—By Ways Unseen, Chapter 3 - Fissures
“I make known the end from the beginning, from ancient times, what is still to come.”—Isaiah 46:10a
Despite his “common” blood, his placement in society at this strange crossroad of no established bloodline, but at a school reserved for the royal elites, Haydren feels trapped in a dead-end job. He’s stuck with the menial work, the boring patrols, a lack of trust, and no clear vision or path of advancement. And waiting at the end of that is a promise that, when Guntsen inherit the throne, he personally will send Haydren and his adoptive parents to beg.
Of course, Haydren doesn’t like that future. Who would? Most of us pity those who are constantly beat down, told they’ll never amount to anything, that they should be happy with their lot in life and stop hoping for more. At least, we pity those in the movies. And if it’s us who are treated so contemptibly, we naturally fight against it.
We stand against the natural world, that way, don’t we? Any other animal, aside from fighting for an individual right to life, doesn’t seem to do much to advance its position beyond where it is. Spiders spin their webs where they can catch the most flies, but keep to the corners and out of the way. Beavers build their dams and lodges, but only where they have available wood and water—they don’t import teak from Thailand, or dig great ditches to bring the river to them.
Where do our dreams come from, then? Why do we, like Haydren, so often feel called to more? If it is not a matter of pride—we want to do something large and impressive just so people are in awe of us—what is it that whispers to us, niggles our mind, that what we’re doing is not what we could be doing?
“He has set eternity in our hearts.” “He makes known the end from the beginning.” God could be the one planting that seed. Maybe it’s not a life you’ll see right away—but He might be waiting for you to take the first, small step. Maybe you need to take a giant leap, trusting a God who feeds the birds, though they never sow nor reap. I can promise you this: He doesn’t tempt you with a life that will never be, or dangle a vision in front of you that He never intends you to pursue. And He will never ask you to do something that cannot be done.
If it is not simply pride, and if the timing is right, let me encourage you: do it.