So it hit me either last night or this morning that this is actually happening. For better or for worse, I'm leaving the country in T minus 24 hours, and right now, all I'm hearing is have a little faith. Things are better than they were a few weeks ago. I've opened up a little, been a little bit brave, and discovered that I'm a little less alone than I sometimes believe. And I've decided a few things about these next few weeks
I've decided that I'm not going to let fear get the best of me. I've been talking about how much teaching scares me, how utterly convinced I still am that I'm going to get out there and fall flat on my face, That this trip is going to be the one that brings me to the realization that I can't do this. Yesterday, I spent a lot of time poking around Hilary Sherratt's blog thewildlove (probably one of my favorite places to find a pep talk), and in one of her posts, she writes about how the opposite of fear is not courage, but trust. The opposite of fear is opening to whatever the world has to offer, trusting that, yes, I will disappoint and be disappointed, I will wound and be wounded, but in the end I am not consumed. In the end, in failure, in weakness, in hardship and disappointment, I can only grow. So I will relax a little, knowing I'm in good hands. I'll go into these next three weeks, take them as pure gift with my defenses down, my heart open, trusting Him and my teammates and my people praying back home to carry me. I will believe that, whatever task is set in front of me, whatever challenges, whatever barriers rise up is only an opportunity to grow. I will take the wild leap of faith in believing that I can do this. I will walk into these lives, ready to learn from them, ready to absorb their hearts into my own. I will trust that what I have and who I am and what I do is enough--that He makes it so.
I've decided that I'm going to love every community I'm given for what it is rather than what I expect it to be. Going into something new, I try to compare it to what I already know, ways of loving that I'm already familiar with, and I'm finding that this, more often than not, leads to frustration and tears and the belief that I don't fit. This pattern has happened multiple times since starting college, and it takes time to learn how to relate to a community, to learn its language and how to express and receive love. Only now am I beginning to discover and celebrate the differences between the cultures of the communities I love---my family, my church family, my small group, my wing, and now my Philippines family, this group of men and women who believe that all students can learn and that education is a cause worth dedicating our lives to. The funny thing is, I tend not to believe that I belong to these communities I'm learning to love. Left to my own devices, I seem to shy away from the rigor of figuring out that particular community. I seem to enjoy counting myself out before someone else can, wallowing in the self pity and the belief that I'm not meant to belong anywhere rather than opening myself to the messy, awkward, beauty of knowing and being known. I'm not exactly sure why yet, but I'm going to work on that this year---starting with this brand new community, the 20 something people I'll be sharing the next three weeks with. I'll learn how to love them well, how to both trust them with myself and be a safe place for their hearts. I'll learn to value this group of people, their idiosyncrasies and sense of humor, their hearts and stories for what they are and how God chooses to work in and through us.
I think the biggest thing I've decided is that I'm going to learn to see through the lens of His goodness. Because the world warps when I try to figure out the world based on my own feelings and perceptions. Because I am the one with emotions that rage and fears that whisper, and given enough time with these voices, I am bound to begin mistaking them for truth. That I am what I do, that my process isn't good enough, that I don't belong. That loneliness, rather than being a longing for community, is proof that I am alone. That I have to earn what I want and too bad when I come up short. So this year, I will make a concentrated effort to cling to truth, to the Cross that I've always believed and often forget, to the truth that doesn't change and has a way of shifting everything else back into perspective. Because He's the one I'm following, I don't have to look like the people I'm walking with. My story is not their stories. My story is not your story. It is tied together with your story, and if we put them together, the picture of His goodness comes into focus just a little, but it doesn't make the whole story. So this year, I'm going to grab tight to His hands, hang on tight to every bit of truth I can glean from Him. I'm going to lean into His word, His story, what He says about me and trust it to be enough. And when I doubt, when I fear, when the truth warps a little, I'm going to quiet myself enough to hear Him say "Talk to me."
Instead of closing with my usual flippant 'Here goes nothing' this morning, clinging to the promise that nothing is ever nothing and nothing is ever wasted, I'm going to try something new. Instead of closing with my words, my expectations, I'll close with His expectations, His words over us as we jump in to this new year...
"Behold, I will do something new,
Now it will spring forth;
Will you not be aware of it?
I will even make a roadway in the wilderness,
Rivers in the desert.
I've decided that I'm not going to let fear get the best of me. I've been talking about how much teaching scares me, how utterly convinced I still am that I'm going to get out there and fall flat on my face, That this trip is going to be the one that brings me to the realization that I can't do this. Yesterday, I spent a lot of time poking around Hilary Sherratt's blog thewildlove (probably one of my favorite places to find a pep talk), and in one of her posts, she writes about how the opposite of fear is not courage, but trust. The opposite of fear is opening to whatever the world has to offer, trusting that, yes, I will disappoint and be disappointed, I will wound and be wounded, but in the end I am not consumed. In the end, in failure, in weakness, in hardship and disappointment, I can only grow. So I will relax a little, knowing I'm in good hands. I'll go into these next three weeks, take them as pure gift with my defenses down, my heart open, trusting Him and my teammates and my people praying back home to carry me. I will believe that, whatever task is set in front of me, whatever challenges, whatever barriers rise up is only an opportunity to grow. I will take the wild leap of faith in believing that I can do this. I will walk into these lives, ready to learn from them, ready to absorb their hearts into my own. I will trust that what I have and who I am and what I do is enough--that He makes it so.
I've decided that I'm going to love every community I'm given for what it is rather than what I expect it to be. Going into something new, I try to compare it to what I already know, ways of loving that I'm already familiar with, and I'm finding that this, more often than not, leads to frustration and tears and the belief that I don't fit. This pattern has happened multiple times since starting college, and it takes time to learn how to relate to a community, to learn its language and how to express and receive love. Only now am I beginning to discover and celebrate the differences between the cultures of the communities I love---my family, my church family, my small group, my wing, and now my Philippines family, this group of men and women who believe that all students can learn and that education is a cause worth dedicating our lives to. The funny thing is, I tend not to believe that I belong to these communities I'm learning to love. Left to my own devices, I seem to shy away from the rigor of figuring out that particular community. I seem to enjoy counting myself out before someone else can, wallowing in the self pity and the belief that I'm not meant to belong anywhere rather than opening myself to the messy, awkward, beauty of knowing and being known. I'm not exactly sure why yet, but I'm going to work on that this year---starting with this brand new community, the 20 something people I'll be sharing the next three weeks with. I'll learn how to love them well, how to both trust them with myself and be a safe place for their hearts. I'll learn to value this group of people, their idiosyncrasies and sense of humor, their hearts and stories for what they are and how God chooses to work in and through us.
I think the biggest thing I've decided is that I'm going to learn to see through the lens of His goodness. Because the world warps when I try to figure out the world based on my own feelings and perceptions. Because I am the one with emotions that rage and fears that whisper, and given enough time with these voices, I am bound to begin mistaking them for truth. That I am what I do, that my process isn't good enough, that I don't belong. That loneliness, rather than being a longing for community, is proof that I am alone. That I have to earn what I want and too bad when I come up short. So this year, I will make a concentrated effort to cling to truth, to the Cross that I've always believed and often forget, to the truth that doesn't change and has a way of shifting everything else back into perspective. Because He's the one I'm following, I don't have to look like the people I'm walking with. My story is not their stories. My story is not your story. It is tied together with your story, and if we put them together, the picture of His goodness comes into focus just a little, but it doesn't make the whole story. So this year, I'm going to grab tight to His hands, hang on tight to every bit of truth I can glean from Him. I'm going to lean into His word, His story, what He says about me and trust it to be enough. And when I doubt, when I fear, when the truth warps a little, I'm going to quiet myself enough to hear Him say "Talk to me."
Instead of closing with my usual flippant 'Here goes nothing' this morning, clinging to the promise that nothing is ever nothing and nothing is ever wasted, I'm going to try something new. Instead of closing with my words, my expectations, I'll close with His expectations, His words over us as we jump in to this new year...
"Behold, I will do something new,
Now it will spring forth;
Will you not be aware of it?
I will even make a roadway in the wilderness,
Rivers in the desert.
20“The beasts of the field will glorify Me,
The jackals and the ostriches,
Because I have given waters in the wilderness
And rivers in the desert,
To give drink to My chosen people
The jackals and the ostriches,
Because I have given waters in the wilderness
And rivers in the desert,
To give drink to My chosen people
SO. Here goes something...whether we see it or not.
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