Lost, broken, and unsettled. Not to be that dramatic girl that disgusts everyone, but those are the words that describe my summer. In more ways than one, God has emptied my hands and forced me to give up my dreams. The little imp inside of me tells me He empties to fill; that He's taking away my idea of "good things" and replacing them with His idea of "good things"—which are the best things. That when this is all said and done, I will have been re-blessed so much, I will have nothing to do but bubble up with happiness and fly.
Or. Or maybe He's just emptying me, period. Maybe He knows how prideful I am, and that the only way to save me is to make me walk the road that is high and dry. He won't let me settle. Oh sure He'll bring me times of respite, like Italy, but the respites will always live up to their definition: Short. Temporary.
Then the fear creeps in. I know God loves me, but I also know that those people—the ones He loves, you know?—have to walk through fire. God purposefully allows hard, hard things to happen to His children, all in the name of love. I trust that it's out of love. I really do.
Similarly, I also trust that when my parents disciplined me when I was a kid, they did it out of love too. How did I respond to it, though? Just like I'm responding to God: in fear. It is out of fear that I obey. I don't remember being spanked. I was too little when that happened to remember it. But, I do remember the feeling of dread, of fear. That stuck with me, and, give or take a few, kept me amazingly out of trouble pretty much the rest of my life.
I fear God. Because the God who heals and dries tears and compassionately touches the untouchable is also the God who wiped civilizations out via plague, natural disaster, and invasion. He is the God who can be known, but cannot be understood. He is the God who, on a day soon approaching, will turn this earth into the last place you ever want to be—and then the unbelievers will die and go to hell and realize they were wrong: an earth facing the wrath of God was better than a hell where they are separated from Him forever.
True, for that same forever I and all His other children will live in glory, more fully and more beautifully than we could ever imagine... That is what gives me hope. But for now...for now, I'm still here. I'm on earth. And I have to live. The kicker? I have to live in a manner that will please this God I fear, this God who, I have a sickening premonition, is not going to let me please him with a quiet life where I mind my own business and do my own thing. I have an inkling that the life He's yanking me towards is one that requires steel-toed boots, a hardhat, and a soft heart that He can easily break.
Since I love Him, I'm in. I'll try to please Him.
But I don't really know how. And I'm freakin' scared. And it's freakin' hard. Jesus lived 2,000 years ago, the Bible was written to a people of the same age, and though I know He and it are just as relevant today, it's hard being a girl growing up in 21st century, self-seeking, sex-and-stuff-and-status-is-everything-America, and walking out the truth when few in my culture are. (Last time I checked, hardhats aren't all that fashionable.) Church culture [to an extant] is even more discouraging and disorienting.
It's not fun growing up and leaving my naive, wispy ways behind. In the midst of all these swirls, I'm having to make decisions that will form the rest of my life. I don't know how to live, and yet what I say "yes" and "no" to now is going to shape how I live the next several decades.
This summer, when I am the most wrecked I've been in a while, I've also had to define my future more than I ever have. In the past, I've made considerably safe decisions. Recently I've made decisions that aren't exactly safe. Decisions mean I also have a bit of a game plan, so I'm not quite so lost or unsettled anymore. But I'm still scared, because I've chased dreams before...
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