The Choice of Apathy

"I could care about school, but I'm graduating in May."

I cringed as I heard this statement, walking down the hill from class the other day. Immediately my mind felt outrage mixed with sadness. Outrage at the flippancy of it. Sadness at the truth of it.

In some respects, I understand the feeling. 'Senioritis', as we often call it sets in and plants itself. And its stubborn and hard to uproot. There are numerous moments when motivation was scarce and when I honestly felt as though I didn't care a whole lot. I get it.

But I also know that while we do not always have control of our immediate emotions, we do have control over our response to them. Sometimes we want to want something. But we don't actually want it. That is a tough place to be. And I have learned that in those moments, we have a choice. We can choose to allow those emotions and the apathy to rule our lives or we can choose a different path. We can choose to 'boss around our emotions' at times and persevere in the midst of feelings of apathy.

Apathy is a powerful motivator... to do nothing. And often times it wins in the battle of our will. Often times, we give in to apathy and choose to do the easy thing. The un-risky thing. We choose to take the path of least resistance and an overall attitude of not caring sets in. That scares me. It scares me because I know how easy apathy is. The feeling of apathy is not one that we can always 'will away' but we can and do choose what we will do in the midst of apathy. I also know that the Lord does not allow us to remain in apathy. We are called to more. Much more.

Paul reminds the church at Rome to not be slothful in zeal but fervent in spirit in chapter 12, verse 11. This has been a struggle since the dawn of time. Apathy is easy. Taking action is hard. But, often times the hard things are the most worthwhile. Life-giving. God honoring. And they matter. They matter a lot.

So I guess my challenge to myself (and to you) is to choose to do what is right even when my feelings don't line up. To choose fervency instead of apathy. To choose the 'road less traveled' instead of the path of least resistance.

Because our choices matter.

The Art of Singleness

I am a Christian. I attend a private Christian University. I am 23.

There is a campus wide joke that goes around- "Ring by Spring." And everyone "gasps" when you graduate and aren't in a serious relationship or engaged.  Its mostly good fun, but there is also some truth to the sly statements that make their way into conversation.

This is the time of life when people my age are dating seriously, getting engaged and married and even starting families. I have friends my age who are all of those stages.

And I love it. I love that I get to journey with my friends who are in relationships. I get to hear about the ups and downs. I get to hear about the things they love about their special someone. I get to listen as they tell me about dates and qualities that they admire.

I love that I get to go bridesmaids dress shopping with my girlfriends that are engaged. I love that I get to brainstorm and help dream up ideas and color schemes and the perfect day for my good friends. I love that I get to stand up on the altar with them as they promise to 'forever.'

I love that for my newly married friends, I get to glean wisdom from them as they share joys and lessons learned. I love watching as their lives become one and their dreams and passions merge into one.

I love that I get to check up on my friends that are having kids and get to touch their pregnant bellies and talk to their little one. I love watching them become parents and I love seeing the light that comes as that child enters the world. I love holding their precious little one and supporting them on their journey of learning how to change diapers and make a bottle.

It is beautiful.

Relationships, marriage and families are a gift from the Lord. I firmly believe that.
But you know what I also believe? I also believe that singleness is a gift. I believe that there is so much to gain and learn and experience during the single years.

I have not always felt like this, in fact, it is a relatively recent (as of about a year ago) realization. Growing up, marriage was always the ideal. It was always what I strove for. It was my ultimate goal. And I still desire it, deeply.

But it is no longer my end goal.
It is not the only thing I want to do with my life.

I want to travel. I want to disciple and mentor. I want to live in community. I want to counsel. I want to eat lots of cheese. I want to be serving in the church. I want to work with kids. I want to live near my family. I want to grow in the Lord. I want to become fluent in Spanish. I want to spend time overseas. I want to read the Classics. I want to decorate a home. I want to take pictures. I want to plan events. I want to teach. I want to love. 

All of these dreams are achievable outside of marriage.  I have been learning that one way to use the single years well is to become passionate about something and to pursue that wholeheartedly. Have a purpose. Don't live your life waiting for the perfect macho man. Your life is valuable TODAY, single of married. 

When I really started pursiung what I loved was when contentment seemed so much closer. It seemed as though contentment found me when I stopped 'waiting' to get married and instead focused on serving the Lord and others now.

I love that the Lord does not use us in only one stage of life. He uses us in each stage. And looking back, I am glad that I am not married during this season. I get to do some things that would look a lot differently or would be pretty difficult to do as a married person. I get to live with 22 other girls and do life with them everyday. That is pretty unique. I can travel as it fits in my schedule and budget. I get to spend all of my time investing in friends and family.

Indeed, singleness is a gift. And I am oh, so grateful that the Lord was patient enough to teach me that. As Christians, we are called to have a high view of singleness, as Paul does, in 1 Corinthians 7.

So lets love and honor marriage for the gift and blessing that it is. But lets not idolize it. Lets not make it the 'be all, end all' of our lives.

Because the Lord is big enough to use us no matter what our relationship status.

The Fear of Grief

"No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear". -C.S. Lewis (A Grief Observed)

I am no stranger to fear. Anxiety has made a nest inside my heart for as long as I can remember. Even so, grief has a way of exponentially increasing that. A supposed firm and stable foundation is now shaken. What had always been is no more and that sense of security is gone.

Grief is scary. In my most honest and hardest moments, I can admit that I am terrified. Grief does not abide by a schedule. It does not debrief. It does not warn. It simply invades. It digs up emotions and threatens to undo. Grief today looks different than grief tomorrow. Nothing is certain with grief, it seems. It is a raging monster that is not tamed. And that is frightening.

Questions race through my head:
What if the grief is worse in three months?
What if it affects my ability to do school, Resident Assistant duties, community life?
What if I am not giving myself the proper time and place to grieve? 
What if I am stuffing my emotions?
What if I forget her? Her voice? What she taught me?
What if our family never feels 'normal' again?
Will this blaring hole in our hearts always feel so massive?

Grief has some odd side effects that are perhaps unexpected. I forget everything. No joke, I sometimes forget the names of my friends. The names of people I have known for a long time. I forget details.

Also, I feel drained most of the time. I love what I do. But it is so draining to process through grief. To talk about grief. To explain grief.  I need to talk about it. So I do. But it takes so much more energy than is in my tank most of the time. People always say at some point in the conversation,  "...enough about me, I want to know about you..." I dread this, because I struggle to put my chaotic and unkempt emotions and thoughts into words. And I hate it. Because, try as I might, I cannot put them into words well. Having a lack of words is frustrating. I am not loud, but I seldom lack the words to express myself. This is one of those times that words simply do not do justice to what is in my heart.

Right now especially, a break from thinking about, processing or talking about grief is refreshing. And yet, being asked about it gives a permission to share my story. Both permission to speak, and permission not to speak are needed. My roommate is a champ at this. She is heaven sent.

So I leave with many more questions than answers. Not having resolved much of anything, but simply knowing that perhaps leaving with questions is what spurs conversation and community. And maybe questions and unfinished thoughts are alright. Maybe fear and processing is a crucial part of the journey.

Maybe we're not meant to be finished yet...

Control.

I've had this tab open on and off for three days now.
The desire to share is present, but the ability to put it into words escapes me...
Perhaps my ramblings will make sense to some wandering soul.

This week has been rough.
Realizing my own tendency of allowing fear to boss me around was a punch in the gut.
Realizing (once again) the fact that I am a needy and desperate soul, clinging to my Savior brought me to my knees in humility.
Emotionally drained. Mentally tired. Physically exhausted.

I long for control. When I think about how much I do that stems from the desire to be in control, I am astonished.
And that is part of what makes loss so difficult-- our sense of control is shattered. And we quickly realize that we had much less control than we convinced ourselves of.

Control gives me a sense of security-- false security, that is. It makes me think that I can live in comfort and I can know what is coming. And that makes me feel safe.
I like feeling safe.
I like comfortable.
I like security.
I am not a risk taker. I am not an adrenaline junkie. I prefer and am perfectly content in my comfortable and familiar surroundings.

But comfort and safety was never my lot. It was never our lot. We are not promised comfort, this side of heaven.

Perhaps my intense desire for control stems from a lie. The lie that I somehow know what I need better than the One who created me. The lie that He isn't good. The lie that perhaps I will have to walk this journey alone. Its self preservation. And it keeps me from walking out on that limb called 'faith' and allowing Him to change my scared and stubborn heart.

As I have recently started walking this journey my Father has whispered to my heart-- 'Hannah, do you trust me? Do you know, even in the midst of hardship, that my heart is good? Rest, be at peace, my child, you are in my arms of love.  I will not forsake you.'

And I rest a little more. Remembering His great faithfulness.

From the prophet Isaiah: "You will keep him in perfect peace whose mind is stayed on you. Because he trusts in you." (26:3)

Bruised Reed

Last weekend I went camping with my family. It was an end of the summer family vacation and there is not one picture to show for it. Not one.

One of my favorite parts of camping is sitting by the camp fire, simply enjoying creation (and making s'mores isn't bad either!) As I was doing just that, God's voice began to stir in my heart. He showed me the fire in front of me and spoke words of life and truth to my soul.

As I watched the fire come to life, I realized a few things. To start a fire, it takes a lot of paper. And the paper burns quickly-- it cannot be sustained by just paper for long, small sticks must be added, and then larger pieces of wood, and finally logs can be placed on the fire, and it will burn steadily and slowly. And after all of that is gone, embers remain. Hot coals are still present under the surface, and in fact, can be fanned into flame once again.

Through all of this God was reminding me of what it looks like to walk with Him. Often times that initial moment of salvation, when we accept God's grace and begin living for Him is epic and dramatic. It is an emotional high that we often expect to continue. Its like the paper that starts the fire-- awesome, and needed, but not something that can be sustained for long periods of time. As we grow and mature in our walk with Jesus, we move from always needing to experience that emotional high, to simply being able to burn steadily for Him, day in and day out. We stop expecting Him to work for and serve our every emotional whim, and begin to realize that its a lot more like a relationship. A lot more like a steady, unceasing devotion to Him. We become like the logs. Sometimes there are flare ups in the 'fire' that is our lives, but mostly, its just a steady burn. And that lasts. And that is how it should be.

God also brought Isaiah 42:3 to mind-- "A bruised reed He will not break and a smoldering wick He will not snuff out." Appropriate, right? This is a verse of hope. To me it speaks of God's faithfulness, patience and enduring love for His children. It reminded me that God sees even the tiniest glimmer of hope. He sees the 'embers' under the surface, and that is enough to fan into flame a fire once again.

The point is: our lives with Christ were never meant to be a continual series of emotional highs to sustain us. It was meant to be a relationship. And relationship involves both highs and lows. Both are important for character transformation. Both are needed. Its a steady burn. And in the moments we feel faint. Weary. Drained. Fatigued. Doubting. The embers remain. He has not given up. He will not snuff out a smoldering wick. His faithfulness continues through all generations.

So, I step out with wobbly knees, and a trembling, fatigued heart, and I remember that it is the slow burn that sustains. I remember that in the moments when I feel faint, God is working on the embers in my heart, drawing me close to Him once again.

And my heart can be at rest.

Mistakes.

I have officially dubbed this summer as 'summer of mistakes'. I am interning with a local organization and I am passionate about the work that they do, but I am new there. And being new means making mistakes.

I am also working at a new job. There are details and an overload of information and protocol to remember and abide by. And naturally, there are more mistakes made there.

Some days I come home and feel defeated. I often feel like I should make fewer mistakes then I do, and discouragement sets in. But I'm not allowed to stay there long. In those moments, when I am tempted to start finding my worth in what I do, that is when God steps in and reminds me that making mistakes produces character. Making mistakes teaches and shapes me. Making mistakes keeps me humble. And perhaps most importantly, making mistakes keeps me reliant upon Him.

A quote that has become a favorite, probably because it is so pertinent for me during this season of life is this--

"If you're not making mistakes, then you're not doing anything. I am positive that a doer makes mistakes." -John Wooden

Its true, too. I think as a society at large we value doing things 'right.' We value performance and sometimes we begin to find our identity in what we do, rather than who and whose we are. That is a dangerous thing.

When I was a child I would often say whatever was on my mind, even if it was majorly un-tactful and cringe-worthy. I learned how to communicate tactfully by doing it wrong first.

I learned how to solve unexpected problems that arise with a calm demeanor, only after trying first to solve them with anxiety and a raised voice. I found out quickly that that only made the situation worse.

I learned how to pick my battles by choosing all the wrong ones initially.

As difficult and uncomfortable as the mistakes can be, I am convinced that they are necessary. They are necessary in order to teach, mold and shape. And, when its all said and done, we come out, hopefully, a little more like the One who created us.

So, in closing, I'll leave you with the brilliant, Thomas Edison, (who, by the way, tried a buzillion different ways to make a light bulb, before finding the one that worked):

When You're in the Cave...

I came to a realization today as I was working through some tough news that I received about some family members.

I do not understand God or the way that He works. But I trust Him. 

Its been one of those seasons where it feels like my family is walking through a dark cave, trying to feel our way around without any light source. And we keep hitting walls. We run into holes in the ground. We grow fatigued and weary. It feels scary and overwhelming at times. But there is an odd, uncanny peace. A peace that transcends even the toughest, most unexpected circumstances. Its as though we know, we will make it out of the cave. We don't know when, and we don't know how, but by golly, we will make it out.

And its more than just wishful thinking, its rooted in truth. In a knowledge of who our Father is, and what His character is. 

I realize it sounds glib to say 'it will be okay.' It doesn't make the pain or the hardship any less real, but it is a reminder that heaven is our home, and there, tears, sorrow and grief will be nonexistent. There there will be rejoicing, praising, worshiping and only healthy relationships.

But, no, its not okay. It hasn't been okay for a while. Sickness. Broken relationships. Uncertainties. Lack of communication. Loneliness. They are very real. For my family and for countless others. And its alright to admit the hardship. Its alright to grieve. Its alright to cry. God is pleased with our honesty and authenticity before Him (not convinced? Read any of the Psalms).

So I sit here, both saddened and rejoicing. Saddened for the tough season we're all walking through. Saddened for the hurt happening around me. But rejoicing that there can be and is peace in the midst of suffering. Rejoicing that my God goes before His children, even when they're walking through the cave.

source: weekendnotes.com