I am restless for reconciliation

Definition: Atonement- the reconciliation of God and humankind through the sacrificial death of Jesus Christ; reparation for an offense or injury. [Merriam-Webster]

I am restless for reconciliation; reconciliation in the lives of all humans and for the pangs of all creation; reconciliation for my restless heart and skewed self-worth; reconciliation for broken families; reconciliation for the hurt and hurting church.

“hurting people hurt people”…I don’t know who said this originally, but I know it wasn’t me. However, this phrase has become deeply personal to me over the past months. I have been meditating upon it heavily in the past weeks. We are hurting and, intentionally or not, we hurt.  

“Therefore confess your sins to one another, and pray for one another, so that you may be healed. The prayer of the righteous is powerful and effective” (James 5:16).

Last week I participated in confession. I knew that I needed to do this for months. I knew who I needed to confess to. I was honest about my past hurting and hurt with a best friend. She has walked closely with me through a time of the deepest suffering and questioning I have experienced…so far…and I trust her. She is an incredible example of faith and trust and deep commitment and relationship with God. Tuesday night I chronicled for her, and for me, ten years of decisions I regret and unhealthy coping mechanisms. I explained, in detail, elements of ten years that I successfully convinced myself I would never have to deal with or return to. Ten years that were drenched in shame, misplaced self-worth, and marked by a grasping for control. I never wanted anyone to know these things. Not in a real way that displayed my brokenness. But now someone does.

There are people who were there with me through these times, so it’s not as if my life has been full of secrets…but I have always been a leader and I masked my choices and hurting to protect my reputation. In high school I led small groups at church and on mission trips. In college I led high school students and freshmen and sophomores; I led our student body and Aggie family. In seminary I am preparing to one day lead in the church and world in some way; even as I lead in it now. In the trenches of these times of my life I struggle to present myself in a way that appears that I have it all together. I am always desperately afraid of what people will do/think when they find out how much I screw everything up. Will they still respect me enough to want me in their life? Will they still respect me enough to allow me to lead?

Lately, I have been all about friendship; real, deep, messy, uncomfortable, life-giving friendship.  I don’t think we have enough of this in our culture- I still don’t have enough of this in my life. There are too many people like me; people who are desperate for others to see them for who they should be, rather than for who they are.

Our world is hurting and therefore we will get hurt; and that makes me want to protect myself. It makes me want to hold my secrets tight so that I can “righteously” convict others…so that we can be viewed as “worthy” of our callings. But when we are honest, first with ourselves and God, we are freed to experience redemption. We are freed to see and experience the power of God’s grace and reconciliation through the Son. We are freed to see that it’s not our place to convict. Over time, as we wrestle with God and with ourselves I believe God graciously brings people into our lives, or allows us to recognize those that are already there, who will love us despite the mess. People we can trust. I want to be that person for others because I am so grateful for those that have been that for me. I pray for that opportunity. What I have found through God answering that prayer is scary. Because, for better or for worse, if I expect people to trust me…I also have to trust them. I have to be willing to share and be hurt and be ready to forgive and to beg for forgiveness. That’s hard. That’s scary. I am not good at it. Some days I question if I really want to be.  

And then I am reminded. I am reminded of what trusting God with my shame has done. It has allowed me to be in relationship with my God in a way that I have yearned for since I was baptized at 9 years old. It has allowed me to have genuine relationships that are both challenging and encouraging. God has allowed me to earnestly pray to see and love others the way Jesus does. I have seen God faithfully answer that prayer as my heart breaks over and over for those hurting. God has provided friendship in unlikely places. God has provided the beginnings of the slow process of rebuilding relationships that I have cast aside for years.

So, I am restless for reconciliation. I am restless for this huge, faith-testing and faith-affirming reconciliation to be experienced personally by all in their deepest selves and their most broken relationships. I am restless for this because I believe deep within me that this is the essence of the life-giving power of the cross. The cross, and the relationship with God that it allows, fills me with love and hope…and I must share.   

Should I?

I should be writing a paper right now. I should be preparing a presentation. I should be reading an ancient text. I should be answering discussion questions. Instead, I am reading through old blogs and prayers. 

Should’s are dangerous. 

I should be over this by now. I should have my future figured out. I should stop procrastinating. I should be a better friend. I should be more independent. I should be deeper in community. 

Should’s make me feel defined by productivity and progress…or lack thereof. Should’s are a list of things I feel I can accomplish by sheer will.

I can’t take credit for this revelation. I keep reading about not succumbing to the should’s. I read about it in blogs. I read about it in assignments relating to my spiritual well-being. I hear it from across the table at lunch with a friend. Yet, inadvertently I started this post with a list of should’s. 

I should probably learn this lesson.

But I can’t. Not on my time anyway. Not by my strength.  

The fact is there is no timeline. The fact is my growth is not by my strength.

Who defines the should anyway? Certainly not me.  Except, that’s not true. It is me...at least partially. I think should’s come from my future self--an idealized, subconscious image of who I could be if I would only do what I should. This future self meets and exceeds everyone’s expectations. This future self impresses God and is worthy of love.

The problem is, on the days that I do actually accomplish a should…there is another one just waiting to taunt me.

But who am I now? 

Who should I be at 24 versus who am I at 24? Unfortunately I don’t have a clear answer for either option. 

The should is elusive and the am is fluid.

I get frustrated when I can’t wrap my fingers or my brain around something. I feel that I can’t claim something that I can’t articulate. If I can’t articulate who I am, should I claim who I am?

So I pray. I ask God who God is and I ask God who I am. And I don’t yet have many clear answers, but it isn't as foggy as it once was. The should’s are starting to fade and the am is beginning to take shape. I am learning to rest and enjoy the ride. I am learning who I am in Christ...slowly but surely. 

Funny how this happens when I finally at least attempt to give up control and productivity and let go of what I think I should be doing. 

And by funny...I mean humbling. 

I wrote should 25 times in this post...how many times did you think/say it today? 

Echo Valley

There is a place that holds pieces of me; frozen snapshots of my former selves lay out along the bank of the Frio River. I think the self I love returning to most is the seventh grader. The one with the long mismatched volleyball socks and flip flops crammed between my toes. The one dragging a blanket across the wet morning grass because she forgot fall could feel like this and shorts, socks and long sleeves just aren’t enough. She is completely unprepared but also completely unfazed and living in the moment.

I like the image of that seventh grader because she doesn’t care. She is all there; laughing and anticipating God will show up. She is surrounded by people that love her. She has traveled safely through the winding, hilly roads of the Texas Hill Country. The doors of a van were flung wide open so she could see and hear the tires splashing through the shallow river. She descended deep into a valley where there was no hope for cell phone service- she could only be where she was. She got off the van wrapped tight in a blanket and she stared at the sky...and she really saw the stars. 

I want to live every day like this. I want to live every day like these beginning moments of my first Great Fall Retreat. Where there is no expectation, just anticipation. Something inside me says I can…and as my roommate says, “that’s a start”.  

fighting words

Living for Christ means I must fight my sinful nature at every moment. It means choosing Christ and denying myself ALL DAY LONG.

It means I have to stop and recognize that when I am annoyed at someone/thing I must step back and question what is really going on in my heart. Why am I REALLY upset?

I've learned that in all likelihood it’s not actually because someone next to me is humming or laughing while I am trying to concentrate. What is probably going on is that I am frustrated or confused over something in my life that has nothing to do with my immediate situation. I’d say this is true about 90% of the time. Either way, regardless of the trigger and what I attribute it to, I am visibly annoyed.

For years I shrugged off my temperament as “this is just me, you either love all of me or you don’t; and if you don’t, I won’t blame you or care if you choose not to spend your time with me”.

But my actions affect others. My attitude creates either an environment of acceptance or an environment of tension. People don’t always have the choice to remove themselves from my company. The attitude I described above is not loving. 

Thankfully I am not alone. As I pursue a relationship with God, God is simultaneously, and more persistently, pursuing me. Loving me. Showing me grace. Answering my prayers when I feel my emotions running away from me. Giving me strength to let go and trust when I recognize that I once again am trying to seize control and take a path that makes me feel safe.

One of the most freeing prayers I ever pray is simply: “Help”.

This blog is an exercise in obedience. I alluded to that in my first post but I’m going to elaborate upon it here. This blog is me fighting my nature to hold my shame and fears close to my chest while I pretend to have it all together.

For years I meant to blog. There was a brief stint in high school where I dabbled in the world of Live Journal (or “eljay” as I cleverly obnoxiously referred to it). 

When I was in Russia and Ecuador writing was my connection to home. It was the way I communicated with the people who prayed for me and/or supported me financially and helped allow for my travel. When I returned to the States I was affirmed again and again over my writing. People I never expected told me they looked forward to my updates; that they shared them with others.

I used to think of myself as an open person, using these posts and my willingness to answer any question as proof; but I have realized recently that I am only open about the pretty things. The things that are not pretty that I share I do so in such a way that they are veiled and vague so I am not judged or discredited. I realize now that I share the messy things only when so much time has passed that I can tie things up neatly and say “but look how much I learned” or so that I am able to laugh them off as childish and behind me.

This is a problem.

Too often those things are not behind me. My flippancy is a sign that they are still there, I am just not dealing with them.

This is not only crippling me, but also crippling my relationships. I think it is crippling my witness and I am robbing myself of the opportunity, and shirking my responsibility, to stand before people broken and proclaim that “God still loves me…even despite all of this, Christ’s death on the cross is enough, I am forgiven”.

Just like it matters that I personally understand WHY I am annoyed and get to the heart of that and deal with it…it also matters that I share the brokenness that I discover. It matters that I claim it and stop pretending to have it all together.

I don’t know where the line is in regards to sharing life with others. I don’t know if there really is a clear-cut line. I think it takes time to build trust and I think we should protect the privacy of those who are a part of the messy parts of our stories.

We don’t have to share everything with everyone.

I won’t share everything on this blog.

But, I will continue to actively ask for help and search my heart for the areas where I struggle and allow myself to be open and vulnerable with others as the Spirit leads me.

That is why this blog is an experiment in obedience. It is saying yes to vulnerability. It is facing my fear of saying something wrong; of putting my name on something and having to account for it. Of saying something true and right and being criticized all the same. It is humbly admitting that I am not doing this on my own. 

Deep down I am a people pleaser. I want to control and protect my image and how people think of me.

I think we all do.

But, I also think we are all crying out from our souls for someone to be real with us…so that we can have someone to be real with in turn.  

the man under my house

I grew up around houses. I lived in one. I watched them being built. I watched them being sold. I built my own out of Lincoln logs on my grandparent’s floor.

Two rules for Lincoln logs with Papa: whoever dumps them out of the bucket has to pick them up, and no matter what you always start your house with a strong foundation.

I was always the one who dumped them out of the bucket.

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Tonight, there was a man under the floor of my house. Right now, there is dirt all over the inside of my house, FROM UNDERNEATH MY HOUSE. Weird. I understand that my home is not built on a concrete slab of a foundation…but really…there’s just dirt under there?

So we had roaches. Apparently, the good kind. Our kind didn’t fly, or reproduce uncontrollably. Or something. Either way they were roaches and they kept drowning themselves in our sink. So today the exterminator(s) came.

The first one showed up early. He was almost done by the time we even got home from work. All I had to do when I walked in the door was sign so he could charge my credit card. Perfect.

Really, it was perfect.

When exterminator #1 was about to leave he got a call from exterminator #2, who would be inspecting for termites. I didn’t have any firm plans so I said sure, have him come as soon as he can. Later exterminator #2 called me and made sure I still wanted him to come. This was at 6:45…their window was 5:00-7:00pm…just under the wire exterminator #2, but sure come on over…should only take about 45 minutes to an hour? 

Sounds great.

Some quick texting and I had dinner with a group of friends set up for 8pm, just the perfect amount of time according to my calculations and exterminator #2’s timeline.

It ended up being one of those nights that you look around as you are talking to exterminator #2’s children on your driveway (wondering why his kids were there…so were we) and think this is just ridiculous.

Then, all of a sudden, one of the children says “I know your friend, she was our leader at VBS last week”. And you think “sure that makes sense, she must have seen Jess come home”

…except she didn’t. She recognized her picture on our fridge…which she saw from the porch through the window on our back door. Because she is a child on a service call, and kids do and say whatever they want. 

And THAT is when you realize just how weird it all is.

I didn’t get to meet friends for dinner until after 9:00…I didn’t even bother ordering because I didn’t want them to have to keep waiting. I scammed food off my friend’s plate. Not the enchiladas I was craving. Not even close.

I have a tendency to get really irritated and super frustrated when things mess up my plans. Especially when I feel like I am letting people down (it was my idea to have dinner and I barely made it there before the restaurant closed).  But as I sat on my couch thinking about the amount of stuff I have to put back in cabinets and the amount of dirt I need to get off my floor and the possibility of termites or that the wood holding up my house might rot…I prayed.

I prayed for patience and I prayed that I could show love and show grace even when I was being inconvenienced. And I hope I did that. I do know that after talking with this man’s children that I’m not going to call and complain to his supervisor about the various things I wanted to at first.

Tonight children helped me understand a little more about seeing people for more than the service they are providing me. They are awesome kids and he seems like a great dad.

I want to be better at loving people. I want to be better at seeing people the way Jesus sees them.

Loving people means being willing to be inconvenienced; to have your plans put on hold. But it also means having a pretty amusing conversation with a ten-year-old and a seven-year-old on your front porch on a Thursday night.

Plus, at the end of the day I have to remember that Jesus was a lot more than inconvenienced because of his love for me. 

drinking through a fire hose

I’m sort of “drinking through a fire hose”.

Pretty terrifying image if you let things get too literal.

Twice in my life this phrase has been thrust upon me.

The first time: a sympathetic advisor checked in on my rapid transition into a very visible and influential campus leadership position…

…the second time: today, as I used it myself to describe my relationship to the onslaught of information I am ingesting.

I called my parents tonight. My dad asked about the peach trees. I said I hadn’t made it back there to check on them in a while. He advised I “put some water on them so they don’t get stressed”.

I could have used a sprinkler…but the idea of spending the time to position it perfectly just didn’t seem right. Not when I knew that I would probably forget to turn it off and that it would come back to haunt me on this month’s water bill.  Now my ankles itch.

Twice today, first from a friend and then in a book, I interacted with the idea of meeting God through service; through every day work or tasks…or through the physical discomfort of tending the earth.

I am seeking to meet God. So now my ankles itch. And at work today I felt my face drifting to that familiar overwhelmed look. I’ve never done well at hiding emotions. I think it freaks people out. I think everything about the way I felt today was invigorating.

I’ve once again found myself in a position that I admit that I cannot do on my own. The first time this happened I was much more anxious to embrace what I was about to take on. This time I am surer that my God will equip me for wherever I am led.

Becoming MSC President at Texas A&M the year we reopened the Living Room of campus…is overwhelming for someone who dislikes public speaking and feels very awkward in social small talk situations. It literally took me to my knees. It took me to prayer because I knew that nothing I did within that position was by my own efforts or skill. It was all the grace of God. The grace God showed me in the little steps of preparation that led to that point; and the grace God showed me as every day I learned to navigate and do the very best that I could.

I can see God’s hand all over the opportunity I now have to serve at Waco Habitat for Humanity. I am learning a lot in a very short amount of time. And I love it. I love the challenge. But more than the challenge I love that as I drove around town running errands today, going through my list of things and meetings to accomplish I had to stop and pray that somehow God would help me get it all done. And God did.

The peaches outback are growing. They aren’t drinking through a fire hose the way I often do. In fact, they are about to face a very dry Texas summer. But as I stood outside tonight providing them something they desperately need I thought again about the waters in my own life. I think about the times I spend with God each day reading scripture or reading books or reflecting and I know that those times are strengthening me to always turn to back to my source as I face whatever powerful gushing may come.

Urge Day

Urge Day. It’s an elusive date…one that Katherine* and I created years ago as we bonded over our same irrational/inappropriate desires. You know the ones. Those urges that pop into your head that if you carried them out things would get dicey for your social life. Things like standing up on a table in a restaurant and singing at the top of your lungs, squirting ketchup at someone, shoving a friend/stranger off the sidewalk…the list goes on and on. The movie “The Purge” is a rip off. Of me. And Kat. Urge Day was founded/discovered/birthed YEARS ago.

Except we forgot what day it is.

I’m sure by now you’ve caught on…on Urge Day you get to do everything you want. That pesky conscience is silenced. [I should say here that I will NOT be seeing “The Purge” (Seriously…they even used the word “urge” in their title…come on). Mostly because they stole our idea…but a little because it sounds terrifying.]

I’m maybe more of a chicken/a little more responsible than this post is letting on. I spent A LOT of time thinking in terms of risk management and safety for large groups of impetuous freshmen/sophomores/grown-ups…and now, as a result, in every situation I see 15 potential ramifications to the action I am about to take. Shoving someone off a sidewalk can get you sued.  

Some people come into your life and change you for the better, simply by their existence. Kat is one of those people. My favorite life lesson that Kat’s existence has taught me thus far is wrapped up in urges. She refuses to do things out of obligation or guilt. She just really and truly doesn’t care what people think. She is trying to bring back scrunchies (which I’m against on principle, but we’ve remained friends despite this). I want to be more like Katherine. Over the years I have drifted more and more in this direction.

I require a fair amount of down time. I love reading. I really enjoy cooking. Writing is a thing in my life. Yet sometimes I feel the pressure to go out and be with large groups at every opportunity because I might miss out on something, when in actuality sitting at home sounds really nice.

Life is about balance. We can’t act on every urge but we can pick the ones that are important to us…and it doesn’t have to be the same urge every time. We can choose the ones that help keep us sane for that moment. We can be honest and realize that trying to do everything doesn’t bring fulfillment. Sometimes we need the quiet solitude; or time with one good friend to reconnect with who we actually are and face areas where we might need to grow.

Last night I spent time with a lot of the people I love here in Waco, and it was perfect…and tonight when offered another night out…I chose to clean the house, hang out with the Roomz, cook dinner, watch Downton Abbey, and write this blog. There was a point tonight when Mumford was blaring through the kitchen and I thought about how happy I was about following this evening’s urge and how glad I was to be in that moment.

Happy Saturday. Happy Urge Day.

 

 

 

*This is Katherine. Or Kat. Or Kafs. Yes, those are socks on our hands. Friendship socks. Yes, we did recite a secret friendship chant the first time we put them on. Also, that’s me on the left.

somewhere between Waco Dr. and IH35

I’ll be blunt. I did not want to spend three years in Waco. As with many things in my life I saw my time at seminary as a stepping stone to get to the next goal. In my case, overseas somewhere sharing the Gospel and helping meet local needs whatever those might be. I trace this negativity back to an A&M vs. Baylor football game with an Old Ag…apparently there is some DEEP rivalry here…mostly one sided from the best I can tell…but let’s just say it mirrors our attitude toward “T.U.” and just like most longhorns don’t really give much thought to Aggies…neither do we toward Baylor, but they certainly think about us. [I feel it is important to point out here that we won that game. And although I myself did not purchase a “Sucks to B.U.” t-shirt…I still smirk every time I see one as it hits that soft spot in my heart for clever digs.]

But I digress. This Old Ag gave me a forewarning of some, shall we say, persecution as I arrived in Waco at the end of last summer. Every swipe of my A&M debit card tied to every sidelong glance at my Aggie Ring deeper ingrained my distaste for this place God called and provided for me to be for three years. Add to that the illogical city planning that when coupled with my ever deteriorating sense of direction left me lost in corners of the city I’m not sure anyone else has traipsed. Then I found out 3 years isn’t even a realistic amount of time to finish my MDiv…it is going to be more like 4.

One day when complaining about the weather (as I write this I wonder how anyone puts up with me at all with all of this complaining and negativity) my roommate said that she has a hard time complaining about the weather because God created it and for some reason allows it to be whatever it is.

So with this God-centered attitude ringing in my ears (which at the time I was probably annoyed about, let’s be real) I set back out to school or to try to find the grocery store or something. As I reached the crest of the hill on Valley Mills between Waco Drive and IH35 I was suddenly overwhelmed with the truth that God created Waco. God created the people that call it home. God provided in incredible ways to give me the opportunity to know God better in this place at this time. God loves Waco and I should too.

I’ve found lately that God likes to introduce a big idea to me and then let it marinate for a bit as little, daily things transform that idea into a belief and eventually into a lifestyle. Today as I drove through Austin past all of the places and things I have loved my whole life I realized that I love Waco. And it’s hard to articulate why. I just do. I love my school, which to be honest I still just think of as Truett and not Baylor…but maybe that will change one day. I love my church; I love the genuine community, the honesty, the desire to serve God purely and cut out things that hinder that pursuit. I love my friends and their stories and how God has intertwined them into mine. I love the farmers’ market. I love the old buildings downtown, and the ducks that refuse to eat the stale bread or over-salted WingStop fries that I throw at them. I love my jobs; I love getting to be a part of something bigger than myself at Waco Habitat and that God allows me to use my talents and passions there, I love that I get to research the topic of missions even when I’m not in any missions classes. This process of loving Waco has helped me love God deeper, or maybe loving God deeper has helped me love Waco. I don’t know, maybe it is both.

This time is not a stepping stone. There is no goal other than learning to love God deeper every day as I learn how to love the things God loves and has placed me amongst here and now.

james and the tiny peach

I know next to nothing about gardening. I avoided the activity like the plague until very recently; to me there was nothing more unappealing than dirty, dusty hands, sneezing, and sweat.

As I’ve grown I guess I’ve realized I’m more like my parents than I thought. Our shared interests not only encompass gardening now, I also enjoy antiquing. Sometimes I am shocked by my own growth and progression into things that I once so adamantly rejected.

My parents are incredible servants and full of knowledge and wisdom. This is actually something I have always known, unlike a lot of teenagers/adolescents/young adults, but as I grow older I see this truth in ever increasing richness and through a diversity of examples.

This weekend they once again gave up their free time to come up to Waco and work on my (their) house. We painted my room, fixed (paid a professional to fix) electrical issues, and my dad tended to the mass chaos surrounding our peach trees. As I stood bracing a particularly unruly tree branch so he could stake it and help it bear the load of this years’ potential harvest; I began to learn.

I learn by doing. My study guides are full of flow charts, outlines, and pictures that help me visualize the processes and facts I am trying to commit to memory and ingrain in my being. As I stood there with tired arms I began to ask my dad questions about how to care for these trees so that I might have the chance to harvest some good, edible fruit. He demonstrated that I would need to prune the extra growth. The idea of pruning has always been a perplexing one for me. Why would you cut off something that is growing and thriving? Why would you sever and remove what has made significant progress at being a part of this plant?

To these unspoken thoughts my dad responded with the teaching that you have to cut off the excess so that the energy can reach the fruit. We must cut off the things that may be good and pretty, or sometimes gnarled and ugly, because ultimately they are unhelpful and are choking potential life…life that can be used to encourage nourishment and growth beyond the tree itself.

But that hurts. I don’t know if plants feel. They can’t tell us, but I liken the raw wound on the tree with its exposed sap to some of our wounds, both literal and emotional. They sting. We trust that they will heal, even amidst fear that they won’t. We know it won’t look quite the same in that spot. Nothing may ever grow there again.

My arms are legitimately fatigued at this point. But I am learning. I’m getting more comfortable with this idea of pruning. Then, my dad instructed me to pull off some of the fruit if I find it is growing in clusters. It isn’t just the extraneous growth that we must be wary of…but some of the fruit itself. So I followed his instruction and removed a cluster of baby peaches and tossed them in the compost pile. Sometimes we follow instruction even when we question its validity.

Upon further reflection I see now that the point is the same. If these three baby peaches are competing for energy none of them will be able to grow to their fullest potential. So we remove two, and pray that the third isn’t eaten by a squirrel before we get to taste the product of our pruning.

There are a lot of applications here. Gardening themes are used throughout the Bible and I am enjoying this time of tactile discovery as biblical truths are brought to life in my own backyard. Much like my peach tree, there are things in my life that are extraneous. For me I would say worry falls most often in this category. God is pruning that from me.

For me, the clusters of peaches that are now rotting in my compost pile are the most intriguing. They represent my life when I am spread too thin; when I am reaching for breadth of impact instead of depth. When I am dreaming of far off places and future impact instead of appreciating the opportunity I have to root deeply here in Waco now. At times I am called to be obedient and remove, or accept the removal of, these things from my focus and life even when I don’t understand why.

What I find to be the most beautiful part of this whole process is that even those peaches that are rotting in my compost pile serve a purpose. They will become food for a whole new crop of potential produce that will inhabit my yard this fall.

Just because our fruit doesn’t end up the way we anticipate, with its juice dripping down our chins, doesn’t mean it is unimportant. It still matters. It is a part of the bigger story.

 

 

 *after my Dad read this post he amended his statement that two of the three peaches in the cluster should go…perhaps taking only one away is sufficient. I guess it all depends on the circumstances and what we discern as the best choice at the time.

"You don't do well with the unknown..."

Thursday morning at 10:30 I had to be brave. Turns out, I am not very good at being brave. I like being prepared. I like knowing what I am walking into and having multiple plans for how to respond if faced with varying situations. Being brave to me means facing a situation with confidence and conviction with no worry for what the outcome might be.

For all intents and purposes I was prepared. I had poured hours, months even, into what I was about to walk into and do. But Wednesday night at 9:00 I found myself hyperventilating on my back porch coping, or not coping, with the fact that absolutely anything could happen the next morning. It would all come down to me drawing a question out of a bag; a question that I would hopefully know well enough to talk about for twenty minutes. It could be one of twenty options…covering a range of anything found in the first half of the Old Testament.

So maybe I’m being a little bit dramatic about a final exam. Then again, maybe I’m not. Maybe God used this anxiety and fear and ultimate success on my test to show me that given preparation and faith things would turn out alright. There are so many people around me that love me regardless of my definition of success for myself. As I leaned on the railing of my back porch feeling hopelessly ill-prepared the only thing I could do was listen to my mom when she said, “go to bed, you do better with things in the morning”. So I did. Once again this week I let go of my study plan and clinging to control and doing things on my own terms.

Thursday morning I still didn’t feel prepared. My sweet roommate left a written prayer stuck to my Keurig for me to read first thing. “…Lord, remind Liz that her worth is in you…”

So my test turned out alright, I probably made a good grade, but in the hours leading up to the exam I came to some freeing realizations, and looking back I realize that I was successful, regardless of the grade. I learned an incredible amount about the Bible this semester. I experienced God in a more personal way than ever before. I prayed that God would teach me how to pray and an exciting journey began as God is doing just that. I learned that God has placed incredible people in my life to help shape and form me, but ultimately it is God I must lean on. God is faithful. God is loving. God  is merciful. God is full of grace. These are things I experienced personally this semester, and no grade can reflect, justify or diminish that.

So, it turns out I don’t do well with the unknown…but thankfully I have people in my life that love me enough to call me out on that and be supportive even when I can barely breathe. I have a God that cares for me, teaches me, and disciples me in ways that are beyond my expectations and understanding.

All things considered this semester was wildly successful…and challenging…but through it all I am encouraged and filled with the peace of knowing that God will carry me through many more unknowns.

Wherever you are...

“Wherever you are, be all there” –Jim Elliot

This quote has been on repeat in my mind and life since I stumbled upon it while writing a paper about Elisabeth Elliot last semester. Various truths ring from it depending on the day. Today the Lord used a friend to speak this wisdom to me once again.

This semester the Lord is teaching me to rest. I am currently taking one of the hardest courses I may ever take. Amidst the study plans and overflowing syllabus over and over the Lord keeps urging me to put down my books and to wander around outside. Or lie on my floor and think. Or have that extra-long conversation with whoever just happened to cross my path.

I am a planner. Making lists, determining the most efficient route to accomplish errands, scheduling my day so I can fit in maximum activities…these are all things that fill my mind and notepads. Yet, somehow, when I toss these things aside (which lately is more often than not) everything still gets done…and more. There is a richness to living a day at a time, even a moment at a time. A peace in truly being ALL THERE…wherever that may be.

I am a planner and I count it as a gift, but sometimes our gifts become our vices. My planning allows me to be efficient; to accomplish many tasks and keep a step ahead. But when I allow my planning to extend beyond the day I have been given I find I am clinging more to control than faith. When I catch myself playing out scenarios of future situations I have to stop and realize the futility. I realize there are things I am missing around me right now. I am wasting time.

So today I wandered around campus for an extra twenty minutes just because it was so pretty. I took a study break earlier than planned and ran into a friend. Through our conversation he spoke to me words I needed to hear. For months I have been toying with the idea of blogging. It is an intimidating thing. Putting thoughts out there in a world where they can fly around the internet and out of my control in seconds. I know the power of words because of my personal formation that has come from other people’s musings. It’s a lot of pressure. But when Emmanuel said, unprompted and out of nowhere, “you should blog”…I felt I had to listen.

I was planning to study all day…but I’m thankful I traded some of that time to wander and just be.