Sometimes I micromanage.
I always have. I like to fix things (and people). I like to figure out the answer, as if life is just one big soduku puzzle waiting for me to arrange the numbers in the correct order. Something in me thrives on the ability to analyze a situation from every angle and consider every possible outcome, and I can often intuitively deduce which is most likely to occur. Occasionally this comes in handy… in healthcare, for instance. Other times it’s a pain. Ordering off of a menu stresses me out. Too many options. I’ll just have what he’s having (unless he’s having something with sausage in it…).
The inability to micromanage effectively, as well as the impossibility of micromanaging an unforeseen and unpredictable future, lead to worry. Recently I suddenly realized that in one year, one month, and three weeks, I will graduate from Belmont. Holy cow.
I’m not ready.
For starters, this college kid has a modest yet significant chunk of college loans looming overhead. That bodes ill for following my soul to Africa anytime soon after graduation, and the very thought of working in the American health care system leaves me physically and spiritually nauseous (leave it to me to pick a major whose associated profession has no appeal whatsoever for me anywhere but the third world…). Well-meaning rationalists across the nation have made it their life mission to track me down and demand to know how I expect to support myself or make enough money to feed the children I intend to collect. If I am thankful for anything right now (and I most certainly am), then it is for the presence of my best friend, who has resolutely answered, “Manna,” every time I have voiced those concerns myself. There is wisdom in that humor. God will not abandon us.
I cannot imagine that another year of busywork and red tape and “formative readings” and handouts about machines that do your job for you but will never be around when you really need them will even begin to equip me for the world I have been called to. I fervently hope I am wrong.
I have no idea where I’m going or how to get there. I mean, I have a continent in mind… and I my have mentioned a certain wonderful family in a forgotten village in the corner of a beautiful sub-Saharan country that has captured my heart… but deciphering the difference between God’s leading and one’s own desires can be stickier than a maple syrup explosion (you’re welcome for that visual).
And sometimes in life you find yourself walking next to someone, and before you know it you’re accidentally holding hands with no desire at all to let go as your heart whispers, "God has been good to us." Now there’s a whole other vat of syrup to sift through. Suddenly your life and your future begin to intertwine with another’s. It’s this odd kind of negotiation where really you’re bargaining for all of the same things, but minor little details (like the timing of a one-way trans-Atlantic plane ticket) begin to whisper doubt and anxiety into your control-freak micromanaging heart—not because of dissonance (quite the opposite), but due to unfamiliarity with the concept of belonging to a two-part harmony and irrational fear of singing the wrong note (there’s a reason I only sing in the shower, folks...).
I always have. I like to fix things (and people). I like to figure out the answer, as if life is just one big soduku puzzle waiting for me to arrange the numbers in the correct order. Something in me thrives on the ability to analyze a situation from every angle and consider every possible outcome, and I can often intuitively deduce which is most likely to occur. Occasionally this comes in handy… in healthcare, for instance. Other times it’s a pain. Ordering off of a menu stresses me out. Too many options. I’ll just have what he’s having (unless he’s having something with sausage in it…).
The inability to micromanage effectively, as well as the impossibility of micromanaging an unforeseen and unpredictable future, lead to worry. Recently I suddenly realized that in one year, one month, and three weeks, I will graduate from Belmont. Holy cow.
I’m not ready.
For starters, this college kid has a modest yet significant chunk of college loans looming overhead. That bodes ill for following my soul to Africa anytime soon after graduation, and the very thought of working in the American health care system leaves me physically and spiritually nauseous (leave it to me to pick a major whose associated profession has no appeal whatsoever for me anywhere but the third world…). Well-meaning rationalists across the nation have made it their life mission to track me down and demand to know how I expect to support myself or make enough money to feed the children I intend to collect. If I am thankful for anything right now (and I most certainly am), then it is for the presence of my best friend, who has resolutely answered, “Manna,” every time I have voiced those concerns myself. There is wisdom in that humor. God will not abandon us.
I cannot imagine that another year of busywork and red tape and “formative readings” and handouts about machines that do your job for you but will never be around when you really need them will even begin to equip me for the world I have been called to. I fervently hope I am wrong.
I have no idea where I’m going or how to get there. I mean, I have a continent in mind… and I my have mentioned a certain wonderful family in a forgotten village in the corner of a beautiful sub-Saharan country that has captured my heart… but deciphering the difference between God’s leading and one’s own desires can be stickier than a maple syrup explosion (you’re welcome for that visual).
And sometimes in life you find yourself walking next to someone, and before you know it you’re accidentally holding hands with no desire at all to let go as your heart whispers, "God has been good to us." Now there’s a whole other vat of syrup to sift through. Suddenly your life and your future begin to intertwine with another’s. It’s this odd kind of negotiation where really you’re bargaining for all of the same things, but minor little details (like the timing of a one-way trans-Atlantic plane ticket) begin to whisper doubt and anxiety into your control-freak micromanaging heart—not because of dissonance (quite the opposite), but due to unfamiliarity with the concept of belonging to a two-part harmony and irrational fear of singing the wrong note (there’s a reason I only sing in the shower, folks...).
Tonight my church hosted their monthly hour of prayer. I knelt next to a pew on the terribly cold concrete floor, and I watched while my King laid bare my heart and picked through those things I hold most dear, those prayers I’m afraid to pray because I’m afraid of the answers or the implications and responsibilities associated with acknowledging them. Most of it had little to do with anything mentioned here, but roughly halfway through the hour a high school girl of about fourteen slipped into the pew next to me. She was one of fifty kids her age here on a mission trip from Oklahoma; they did an impressive amount of service with the church and in the community over the last few days. She asked if she could pray for me.
She prayed that I would find joy and peace in service to Christ.
How beautifully simple.
It really was a deceptively simple prayer—the kind that comes from the mouths of the sheltered innocent or the exceptionally firm in faith. I am neither and struggle for such words.
And so I’ll be really honest with you tonight. I’m terrified. I’m worried about some things that are way beyond my control and others that are uncomfortably within my sphere of influence (for I am prone to stupid decisions with painful and long-lasting consequences). I am trying desperately, with all of my heart and soul, to represent Him well, and more often than not my attempts resemble a little girl clumsily traipsing around in her Father’s overcoat and shoes, attempting to convince the world and herself that she is smarter and stronger than she really is.
Yes, I am terrified.
She prayed that I would find joy and peace in service to Christ.
How beautifully simple.
It really was a deceptively simple prayer—the kind that comes from the mouths of the sheltered innocent or the exceptionally firm in faith. I am neither and struggle for such words.
And so I’ll be really honest with you tonight. I’m terrified. I’m worried about some things that are way beyond my control and others that are uncomfortably within my sphere of influence (for I am prone to stupid decisions with painful and long-lasting consequences). I am trying desperately, with all of my heart and soul, to represent Him well, and more often than not my attempts resemble a little girl clumsily traipsing around in her Father’s overcoat and shoes, attempting to convince the world and herself that she is smarter and stronger than she really is.
Yes, I am terrified.
But perfect Love drives out fear. The Peace that surpasses understanding is a gift of undeserved Grace and unrelenting Mercy, and Joy radiates from the overflow of a heart redeemed.
“Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you. I have called you by name; you are mine.” Isaiah 43:1
He knows my name.
He will not abandon me.
“Do not be afraid, for I have ransomed you. I have called you by name; you are mine.” Isaiah 43:1
He knows my name.
He will not abandon me.
Man, I remember those days! "I went to college like I was supposed to. NOW WHAT?!" :) I don't have all the answers you seek, but I do believe that if God called you to something, He will work out all those details for you. He who began a good work in you will be faithful to complete it!
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