I walked into seven agencies today within a span of 5 hours; I labeled each location according to its compass, but 928 Broadway didn’t mean south; it actually meant a mile north of where I paced back and forth. Where was it hiding? Come out, Fox, come out. I finished my list knowing I wouldn’t take another stab at an already punctured piece of flesh. Its heart stopped breathing on my train ride home. This animal that had been alive since January 2014 has finally seen the oncoming arrow pierce it to its death. I had hunted before, but my prayers missed the mark. Now, I was sure that its four legs were immobile and I finally buried its carcass beneath its skyscrapers.
This week is the burial of my dreams. I have peace- the peace that if I get an agency, and stay in the east coast it doesn’t really matter; if I don’t get an agency and go back home to LA, it doesn’t really matter. God’s prophetic powers aren’t to establish my dreams or goals, but to bring Heaven to my circumstances- whether it’s good or bad. I’ve seen the fox limp before, but I felt bad to end its life; it limped to tell me that modeling really matters, but His cure has been to tell me that modeling doesn’t really matter. Modeling isn’t His eternal provision, but His presence is eternally abundant.
I hear David’s prayer resonate with me; my eyes fill with tears that long to descend downwards; I read him cry out to God; “My heart throbs; my strength fails me, and the light of my eyes- it also has gone from me.” Moments later, he confesses his sins and I confess mine:
Jesus, the fox is dead. If I need a different career I can make it another animal- I’d be reluctant to kill my own hopes and dreams again but you’ve taught me how to do it; I can do it again; but I need you.