Upon Returning Home: Reflections on Summer Staff, Grace, Growth and Everything In Between

            Well folks, I’m back on the grid and despite my previous blog post, I did not end up spending my month in the trees. In fact, quite the opposite. I ended up in the bakery, feet on the floor, under cover from the elements, including the sunshine. How I ended up there? Well logistically a post went up on our Facebook page about a week out desperately seeking a baker. I jumped (no pun intended) at the chance to not be suspended from those wires and to my surprise I was switched from ropes to the bakery. But beyond that, I knew in my core that God had provided me an answer to my ceaseless prayers. Needless to say I was ecstatic, mostly. Working in the bakery meant spending every beautiful day inside, and it meant I wouldn’t have the chance to interact with nearly every camper each week. And although I wrestled with the creeping fear that I’d later regret my decision, I’ve come to realize that God knew exactly what he was up to when He put me in that kitchen.

Not So Much Myself

            Through my 29 days of service I learned some pretty cool things about not only myself, but about this endlessly awe inspiring God we serve. The first day we got there we jumped right in to the work we’d be doing. Within my first hour of being in the bakery I was given a brief tour, taught how to scoop cookies to freeze and how that was different than scooping to bake, met too many people to remember everyone’s names, and was handed a metal skewer and told to clean a months worth of crumbs and dirt out of a floor drain. Needless to say I was overwhelmed. And I began to learn that I really have become a lot more reserved, at least initially, than I was in college.

            I was always confident and crazy and truly myself right from the get go, but not this time around. Going to Saranac and not knowing a single person was really hard for me. It took me a while to open up and reveal my true self to these new friends. For the first three weeks I felt little pieces of this newly fashioned outer shell slowly chipping away, but it wasn’t until week four that I really felt like myself in this sea of once strangers. And I was really surprised by this. Marks of time, of heartbreak, of loss, they’ve really come to define me, and I didn’t quiet realize this until I got to Saranac in June.

Grace Upon Grace

            Not more than a few days in to my 4 weeks as a baker I had to measure some yeast. I’d never measured yeast before, and come to think of it, I’m not sure I’ve ever really used yeast at all. So there I was, completely unaware of the weight of yeast, trying to measure it on this yellow ounce scale in a baker’s container I’d zeroed the scale to. I’m pouring and pouring until I empty an entire bag. And I’m awkwardly trying to look like I know what I’m doing but I’m watching the needle on this scale bounce and rest at the 2-ounce line. It’s frozen there, like actually stuck and I need it to get to 14 and I don’t want to ask for help because that’s admitting that I really have no idea how to complete this actually very simple task. But I didn’t need to admit my error because in the most loving way possible Morgan, one of the full time staff in the kitchen, came over to me. In the sweetest tone and with a smile she suggested that I might have used too much yeast, and that the scale actually circled around past it’s maximum and was now stuck at 2 ounces. So after removing a majority of the yeast from the container I found the needle landing safely at 14. I had done it. Of course, my perfectionist, need-to-do-everything-right-to-gain-approval self freaked out and over apologized for my error. What I didn’t realize at the time was that this was an example of something I’d heard talked about in the kitchen during my first few days.

            I first heard about this “grace upon grace” thing during one of three tours I got of the kitchen on my first day. And while I understood it conceptually I’m not sure I fully grasped it in my core until I started making mistakes, like I did the day of the yeast situation. We ended up putting the extra yeast I’d poured into a bin, labeled it and put it in the reach in freezer. For about a week we joked about my error each and every time we reached into that freezer and pulled out that massive bin of mistake yeast. And I began to realize it’s okay to make these mistakes. It’s okay to ask questions. It’s okay to fail, and to not know what you’re doing right away. I’ve always sought perfection as a way of earning my right to be whatever it is I’m trying to be, in this case a baker. But I don’t need to be perfect, I only needed to work hard and serve well.

Miracles

            Early on I heard about how “miracles happen every day in the kitchen.” One of the shortcomings of my faith is my struggle to fully and honestly believe in miracles. But after this month I’m coming to understand that a miracle isn’t some grand thing backlit with golden rays. No, miracles can be big cookie baking in 12 minutes flat when every other week you have to put it in for extra time and this week you got it in the oven late to begin with. Miracles can be pizza coming out on time even though they were started three hours late. Miracles can be finding 600 hot dogs you thought you lost. Miracles can be somehow plating 600 pieces of cake in 27 minutes with only four sets of hands. Miracles can be having just enough snickerdoodle cookies already frozen so you don’t have to make and scoop 800 more. I began to realize that miracles are God’s way of reminding us that He’s really got things under control. We might try to have it all together, time things just right, measure, scoop, pour just perfectly, but lets be honest, we’re not in control. Sometimes we under scoop cookies, sometimes we forget to count adult guest, and sometimes we spill quiche mix all over the kitchen floor. But even still, even through all of that, we never miss a meal, every person gets fed, and that can’t be on us, that’s gotta be God because there’s no other explanation for it.

Numb Hands (Enough Strength to Face the Day)

            I didn’t realize when I signed up for Summer Staff that I’d be working 15-hour days. But upon arriving I quickly learned that the majority of my days would be spent either in the bakery, setting up for the County Fair, frozen stiff for Tableau, or lugging chairs all over camp in the rain and dead of night. After the first day I wondered how on earth I would even be able to work so hard for so long. But now looking back I realize that there is no way I did that on my own. The first week my feet were swollen and hot and sore, my legs burned and my muscles felt like I stretched them well beyond their breaking point. My eyes felt heavy like the lids were actually 5 pound weights and my right hand started to swell and ache almost immediately. I thought for sure I’d keel over on the floor one day and not get up until someone dragged me to my bed. But you know what? After the first week it didn’t get harder, it actually got easier. It got easier to get out of bed in the morning and not feel dead, it got easier to stand on my own two feet and hold myself up, it got easier to keep my spirits up. But that wasn’t me, for sure it wasn’t me. If I was left to my own devices I would have surely ended up keeled over on the floor. But Christ gave me strength. He honestly gave just enough strength to face each day. And it really was enough.

            There was a trend running through the right arms of those of us in the kitchen. It started with the bakery intern, Amanda, and her numb arm. Her fingertips would get so numb in the morning she couldn’t feel her phone to turn her alarm off. And soon my friend Sparky in the kitchen found her right arm aching so badly she couldn’t sleep through the night. And now here I sit at my laptop almost a week later and still a sharp pain shoots through my right wrist as I move my fingertips to hit the keys. The knuckles of my middle and ring finger on my right hand haven’t been able to crack since week one even though they’ve both desperately need to. For weeks I couldn’t even get my rings on my swollen fat fingers if I had coated them in Vaseline. But despite the cramping I felt deep in my palm and the sharp pain in my wrist, despite the numbness of Amanda’s hand and wrist, despite the throbs that coursed through Sparky’s arms at night, we kept going. We kept scooping cookies, and duffing bread dough, and we kept dancing and singing and laughing and smiling through the pain, or the inability to feel anything we touched. And that surely wasn’t of our own doing.

Sin Talk Wednesdays

            Every Wednesday at Saranac this summer the camp speaker talks about sin. On our first Wednesday at camp, our Summer Staff Coordinator, Ben, told us how crazy stuff happens at Young Life Camps on Wednesdays. I didn’t believe him. No way would he convince me that somehow crazy things happened because the camp speaker was talking about sin. It’s a coincidence; crazy things are bound to happen at a camp of nearly 600 people. But let me tell you, I quickly learned that he was right.

            The second Wednesday at camp was enough to sell me. It started at 6am when two of the AM interns found the lock on the cooler had been put on incorrectly the night before, making it impossible to be unlocked with the key. But since the kitchen opens earlier than any other building on camp, it took a while before anyone on maintenance could come and cut the lock off. Unrelated, there was an egg shortage in the area that resulted in a menu change from egg breakfast to quiche, which surprisingly takes fewer eggs. But quiche has to be made in the large mixer, the same large mixer the bakery needs to make pizza dough for dinner that night. This menu change did buy me one extra hour of sleep, allowing the bakers to come in at 7 instead of 6 while allowing the AM cooks to use the mixer. But when we got in at 7 on this particular Wednesday we found the cooks just beginning the quiche mixture. It wasn’t long before we were informed that halfway through the process they noticed the strainer they were using to strain the eggs was dirty, which meant everything had to be thrown away and they had to start over from the beginning. Now we were really far behind and by the time the pizza dough was done and prepped for the PM cooks the whole kitchen was nearly 3 hours behind schedule. After lunch I learned that Meghan, the other Summer Staffer in the bakery and 1/3 of our hands wouldn’t be coming back into work as she’d been feeling sick all morning. This left us a down a set of hands for scooping ice cream sundaes, a task that required nearly a dozen people. Each week all of the adult guests at camp had the chance to help in the bakery scooping ice cream sundaes and provided us with those needed hands. This week, though, there were only four. With Amanda and me that would be only six. But it had to get done anyways. Upwards of 350 bowls of ice cream had to get scooped. So the six of us plus one willing PM kitchen intern got down to it, each taking on the role of multiple people in a dizzying race against the melting ice cream to get it done in what seemed like record time.

            Later that day as we were cleaning the floors in the bakery we did a recount on the brownie number for dessert that night. And wouldn’t you know it, 64 brownies short. That’s one entire pan. It was an easy enough fix, though. Making brownies is pretty simple, just add water to the mix and pour. But a trip to dry storage to grab another bag of brownie mix revealed yet another hurdle in this endless day of chaos. There was no more brownie mix. We had to make a batch from scratch. Morgan, though, offered to make it, allowing Amanda and me to throw in the towel on what was later deemed the worst day of the summer in the kitchen. But I’ll tell you something, when I got to dinner that night, and praise God it’s a late dinner that night, every camper and staff person had a pizza ready for them. Every brownie got cut and plated and dusted in powdered sugar, even the 64 made from scratch just hours before service. I’m not going to say that we just worked hard enough to get it all done, because in between those moments of pure chaos were moments of prayer. Even through those sprints I took between lining sheet trays with empty ice cream cups and running finished trays of sundaes into the freezer I was praying. I think we were all praying. Sometimes out loud as we duffed 30 ounces of pizza dough and watched the time tick by on our watches. Sometimes in our heads as we searched all over for just one more bag of brownie mix. And our prayers were heard and surely answered.

            If this day alone wasn’t enough to back up what Ben had told us on week one, our final Wednesday in the kitchen absolutely removed any shred of doubt in my mind. We came into the bakery at 7, and the quiche was well underway. Ryan, the AM kitchen intern told us he’d be done in 5 minutes, perfect. After he stopped the mixer, he and Sparky, and AM Summer Staffer in the kitchen, lifted the mixing bowl into the rolling trash can that we use to transport the mixing bowl. As they rounded the corner into the kitchen, and fully out of our sight, we heard a crash. “It just can’t be the quiche,” Amanda said. It really truly didn’t sound like the mixing bowl, it sounded like something smaller, some less significant. Or maybe I just wanted it to sound that way. When we walked around to see what had fallen it was like seeing a brutal accident on the highway. You want to respect the victims by not looking but you just can’t seem turn away at the same time. There on the floor, all over the floor, was the quiche mixture. 200 eggs, gallons of heavy cream and milk, a yellowish white pasty fluid all over the ground. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked. It was like that moment was frozen, the air still. Later on Sparky told me that watching that bowl fall to the ground was like watching it in slow motion. Slow enough to know you were screwed, but too fast to do anything about it.

            But after that moment of suspension, it was all hands on deck to clean the slick floors and remix the quiche. The floor was met with squeegee’s and mops, the bakery cracked all 200 of those eggs with a perfect balance of speed and precision, the milk and heavy cream were remeasured and in what seemed like no time Ryan again stopped the mixer and asked me to help him lift the mixing bowl back into the rolling trash can. This time making it to the kitchen fully upright.

            Two things really astonished me about this whole quiche ordeal. First, the grace with which the situation was handled. Ryan didn’t seek pity, nor did he feel inadequate to remake the quiche after it spilled. Rather, he assessed the situation, made a game plan, and put it into motion without a second of hesitation or second-guessing or insecurity. And everyone else in the kitchen jumped in any way they knew how. We cracked eggs like it was a race and the prize was 500 well fed campers and leaders, we cleaned the floor like it had never once been cleaned before, and we somehow managed to get the kitchen and the bakery back on their feet. And by some crazy trickery of the clocks we even had pizza dough done ahead of schedule.

            So yes, the affects of Sin Talk Wednesday are real, and they can be seen first hand in the kitchen. But what’s bigger than that is the closeness of our God on days when He knows His children are most vulnerable. It was through His provision that we were able to make it out of that kitchen every Wednesday close to on time and with every mouth fed. It was through his provision that we were able to make it out of that kitchen on any given day. Because miracles happen in that kitchen everyday, especially on Wednesdays.

Humility

            I have to say that working in a kitchen may be one of the most humbling experiences I’ve had. As a camper at Saranac in the summers of 2010 and 2011 I never once thought about where my food was coming from. To be completely honest if you’d have asked me about it I’m sure I would’ve assumed the desserts were just bought somewhere in bulk and then served out to camp. I definitely didn’t think about the people working in the kitchen, sweating because opening windows compromises the dough’s ability to rise and because long pants and hats are required at all times, even with four ovens roaring at 350 degrees and temperatures outside crawling into the 80’s.

            So if I didn’t think about these cooks and bakers when I was a camper, chances are most of these campers I served didn’t think about me. During Work Crew Summer Staff Night at the end of the week (a time for all of us to stand on stage and share a little about our experiences in hopes that some of these campers would feel called to the same kind of work in the future) we stood on stage and shared our names, where we’re from, and what our job was. More times than not, campers cheered for individual people even though they were asked to hold all applause until the end. But what was interesting was that everyone that got singled out was someone on ropes or waterfront, never the program techs, or us in the kitchen, never those of us with behind the scenes jobs. And that’s really okay. There’s something important to be learned from working in a position where virtually no one at all see’s you. And I’m so thankful to have learned that, to have adapted and grown thankful for my position. Because just as each one of us is a part of the greater body of believers, each of us play a different but essential role. We in the kitchen are essential in God’s eyes, and that’s all that really matters.

Selfless Service

            What does truly sacrificial service look like? I’ve learned about it as an Orientation Leader, I’ve discussed it with my mission teams both years I went to Haiti, and I’ve even read about for classes I’ve taken in my four years at Gordon. And while I’ve seen glimpses of it, in the way my mission team gave up their spring break to travel to the 100 degrees of Haitian heat to build homes for a week, and in the way my apartmentmates sought to serve one another by doing their dishes or bringing home food for one another, I’m not sure I’ve ever seen it in such an overwhelming magnitude.

            At Saranac it was like living in some parallel universe, one more like the one we were originally designed to live in. It was a world without hesitation. Eggs needed cracking? We’ve got it. Work Crew could use some extra hands in pits? Summer Staff is on it. Bussing tables? We’re all lending our hands. It was incredible to see the way people put themselves last in order that others loads could be lightened. How can I help? What can I do to most effectively alleviate stress from this situation? Where can I be most useful? It was like these were the first questions we were made to ask. And here at camp we were asking them. We weren’t passively ignoring situations as they’d unfold around us without seeking a way to help. Even after we’ve worked our own full days and finished all of our own work. Even after all of that, we still searched for ways to lend a hand. Even if it meant losing an extra hour of sleep, even if it meant getting your hands dirty, even if it meant learning how to brown sausage when you’ve never cooked meat before. Serving became not just our mission, but our only way of living.

The Power of Prayer

            I’ve never been good at praying. There it is. I’m terrible at praying. Truly honestly the worst. I’ve tried to discipline myself but after a few weeks of good momentum something inside me breaks and laziness leaks in through the holes in my soul and soon I’m flooded and my prayers are dry as stone. I’ve tried praying at set times every day, I’ve tried praying out loud, I’ve tried going on prayer walks, I’ve tried praying through journaling. And they all work for a little while, and then it becomes stagnant. I get too caught up in saying something overly rehearsed and when I begin to sound less than eloquent I stumble and fall. And sometimes I fall asleep praying, and most times my thoughts drift into my to-do lists and my fears and my worries. And isn’t that just the most ironic thing you’ve ever heard? I’m here talking to the God who created my very being and my very next move and I’m neglecting to listen for Him because my worries are screaming too loud in my big ears.

            But if there is one thing I’ve come to know from Saranac is the true impact of prayer. Every time Tim, the camp speaker began speaking, we prayed. Every time the weather threatened an outdoor meal relocating indoors, we prayed. Every time we begin an event, we prayed. And you know what, those prayers did some pretty radical things. If nothing else, 344 kids came to know Jesus this past month, and that’s pretty sweet. Our prayers were answered and God’s faithfulness permeated even the trickiest situations. Of course not every prayer was answered in the way we hoped, but that’s not how God operates. We’re praying to receive His will, not our desired outcome. And at the end of the month, I have to say His way is the only way I would’ve wanted things to go anyways.

Friendship and Fam

            I showed up to Saranac not knowing a single person. But I left with a whole new family. Isn’t it crazy how a shared love of Christ can bind people so closely? I had some pretty real conversations at Saranac, conversations that make you really think about who you are and who your God is. Hard conversations that leave you different than when they found you. And in all of that I found a family. We laughed, and cried, and hugged, and jumped into life head first. We sought opportunities to serve one another and love one another and fight for one another. Gaps between Work Crew and Summer Staff and inters were shattered and we blended into this one big, crazy, happy, weird family.

            And I’m especially thankful for the family I found in that kitchen. The kitchen I awkwardly walked into on the first day having not a clue in the world how to bake a single thing for 600 people. The kitchen where we could help each other recover from what could have been irrecoverable disasters. The kitchen where laughed loud and cried real tears over bowls of cookie dough, and broke the handle off the cooler door, and sometimes snuck extra pizza dough upstairs for a snack, and got chased out of for getting caught eating brownie off the pan. The kitchen where we made fun of each other like siblings but then hugged it out at the end of the day. Between everyone in the kitchen and everyone outside of the kitchen I found this crazy family. And it’s because of their love and willingness to serve that I was spurred on to work even harder and with a bigger smile.

Many Thanks

            I am so thankful to have had the chance to work in a kitchen. There is something life giving about doing work that goes pretty much unnoticed with a bunch of Jesus loving people. There is something sacred about waking up when the sun does and walking across a quiet and subtly hazy camp to begin your day’s work. There is something soothing about turning on all of the lights to illuminate a once darkened space when even the sun that slants through the windows is dim. Working in the kitchen wasn’t like anything I feared it could be, it was exactly where I needed to be. It was exactly the work my hands were being prepared for while I was too busy to notice. God had planted me in that place for a purpose. Working on Summer Staff was like nothing I’ve ever done before and like everything I’ve always needed to do. I am so thankful to Tim Johnsen for encouraging me towards Summer Staff while I was at camp for Work Week, and to Allison, one of my best friends, for her relentless pursuit to get me to Young Life 6 years ago. I am thankful for my Summer Staff family, and for the interns in the kitchen, specifically Amanda who became a friend even after she really got to know me. I am forever grateful for the work of young Life across the world and the way it is used to reveal Christ to kids and lead them into a relationship with their Father. I went to Saranac as an older version of myself, less refined, and less likened to Christ. But coming home I know I’ve been changed, and I am so thankful for that.

Saranac Village Work Crew and Summer Staff Session Two 2015

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To New Heights: The Terrifying Walk in Obedience

Walk in obedience to all that the Lord your God has commanded you, so that you may live and prosper and prolong your days in the land that you will possess.

Deuteronomy 5:33

I must walk in obedience to the Lord. I must walk in obedience to the Lord. I must walk in obedience to the Lord.

This is what I keep telling myself, it is what I keep reminding myself. Just about a week ago I was privileged to have one of life’s doors slammed shut in my face. A job that I had applied for way back when I was still a college student all those weeks ago fell through. It was possibly my “right-out-of-college” dream job. Working at and for a school I love whole-heartedly amongst people who are called to a similar mission. Having the opportunity to remain a resident of the North Shore for just a little while longer. It all seemed so perfect. But life has a way of shutting the door, or rather, God has a way of shutting the door if it isn’t the one we’re meant to walk through. I’ve found some comfort in this knowledge but the struggle as old as time presents itself within me yet again, and I’m discouraged thinking I know what’s best for me.

But as I stood there staring at that shut door I felt a tap on my shoulder, one that forced me to turn around. However, when my head spun around to catch a glance at who was seeking my attention all I saw was another door. Only this one was wide open. I felt drawn to it, as if Love’s hand was reaching from within to grab hold of me before I turned back around to knock on that shut door. And as I got closer to the opened door I could see what was inside, the chance to serve on Summer Staff at Saranac Village for Young Life. Summer Staff is something I’ve always wanted to do but have never done, but this time the call was irresistible. I applied for one of the very last openings they had and within a day I was officially accepted to serve. It seemed so simple.

But God doesn’t always call us to an easy field of mission. And He doesn’t always make the decision to obediently follow Him easy. I’ve learned this so many times, and yet I still so often fail to follow Him. I’ve learned about the discomfort of obedience both times I’ve been to Haiti, in the decision of which college to go to, or which study abroad programs to drop out of last minute. And now again, I’ve learned that it isn’t always easy to walk in obedience. In fact, more times that not it feels like you’re going against every grain in your body. And this time God has literally called me to new heights of obedience.

On my application I checked off nearly every job listed in the preferences section; retail, snack bar, craft shack, program tech, laundry, housekeeping, landscaping. But as my eyes scanned across the email I received upon the approval of my application I didn’t see any of these words. In stead the email read: “I wanted to let you know that we have a ropes position open. Is that something you would be interested in?”

ROPES?!

ROPES?!

You have got to be kidding me…

Looking back at both of my trips to Saranac as a camper there is one thing I can say was definitely my least favorite part of camp. Any guess as to what that is?

I have been terrified of heights my whole life. Until just a few years ago I couldn’t fly on an airplane without being driven to the verge of tears. I don’t climb trees, I have no desire to skydive, I’m not thrilled about the idea of going to the top of any massively tall buildings, and just the other day I felt afraid sitting on the top of a lifeguard chair. My fear of heights runs deeper than the roots of the tree’s I’ll be suspended from in just two and a half short weeks.

But do you know what I responded back to her email? “Wow that’s incredible. I am so down for that!” And I wasn’t lying. You see, in the moment of response I was just overwhelmingly elated to know that I had the chance to serve on behalf of an organization that led me to Christ in the first place. There was fear big enough to take that away from me. But as the days passed and I really began to look at what I’d be doing, where I would be stationed, I felt fear grip me like never before. I’m talking, palms sweating, can’t sleep, nightmare-inducing fear. My only hope is that I can grip those trees as hard as the fear’s got me right now.

A day or two ago I was talking to my parents and I said, “If it wasn’t for this ropes thing I would be 100% excited for Summer Staff. But since I got put on ropes I can’t be fully excited because I’m so scared. Like honestly, of all of the positions to be open why did it have to be ropes?!” And in that moment I was hit with an answer. “Because I’m being called to walk in obedience, and if it were easy it wouldn’t result in any form of growth. It wouldn’t lead me into deeper relationship with my Creator.” Duh.

So I’ve been turning those eight words over and over in my mouth. And they feel so heavy. I must walk in obedience to the Lord. On paper it sounds good, but in practice? That’s another story. It wouldn’t have been service to the Lord if it didn’t require sacrifice. But sacrifice, to me, always seems like something tangible. Sure I’ll be sacrificing my cell phone, my computer, social media. But those are all sacrifices I’m totally okay with, so does that even make them sacrifices anymore? (Now I’m getting off track because my mind moves a mile a minute). But anyways, I don’t often see sacrifice as something abstract. But this time around I have to sacrifice my comfort, my physical comfort. I’m not sure why this is such a new thing because going to Haiti sure wasn’t comfortable. But this is a different kind of discomfort, one that I’m almost more reluctant to give up than the comfort I find myself leaving during my time in Haiti.

I know with a full heart that Saranac is where I’m supposed to be next month. And I’m realizing that more specifically, it’s perched 30 feet up on those platforms made of 2x4’s where I’m supposed to be next month. I’m not sure now what I’ll learn up there, or how I’ll grow, but I do know one thing for sure, I am surely going to learn and grow. And if by nothing more than a literal perspective change I am going to see God in still new ways. And I can’t be anything but excited for that.

My hope is that after four weeks of ropes I’ll come to love it, or at the very least not be terrified of it. Please pray as I endeavor into this new unknown. Life shouldn’t be lived within the confines of comfort, this I know, but man, is it going to be hard to strap on that harness and begin the climb upwards to new heights.

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Graduation Rumination XIX - Living in Limbo

May 21, 2015.

I’ve been a college graduate for 5 full days. I’ve been an unemployed college grad for just as many. I never thought that I wouldn’t enjoy these days, the ones where I go to bed without setting an alarm, wake up anytime I want, and spend the day reading or watching Netflix or taking my dogs out to play. I never thought this kind of life was one I could grow tired of in just five days. In fact, I’ve always sacrificed any kind of summer income for these lazy, hazy days. But a lot of me wonders if it’s not the days themselves I dislike, but the idea that they’re serving as simply a filler, a time of limbo where I can’t really commit to anything until I figure out my future. These days are so different, so new, so unknown, unlike any days I’ve ever lived before.

I’ve always known what was next. I’m a planner. I like to live by a schedule; it keeps my anxiety at bay. I’ve always known another school year awaited me in the fall, or parents were eager for me to return home to babysit their children in the summers. But now I don’t have any of that. I don’t have any set plans except for a possible job I’m waiting to hear back about, a dream job of sorts that I’d sacrifice nearly anything for. But until I hear back I can’t commit to replanting my roots here in Connecticut. Because if I do and then I’m called away, well, then what? I’d have to sever those baby roots just as they began to take hold in the soil. But on the other hand, I can’t just sit around doing nothing while I wait to hear if for some reason someone saw more potential in me than the other six candidates I’m up against. Because those chances aren’t necessarily in my favor and if I find out a few weeks from now I don’t have a job in Massachusetts then I’ve wasted so much time around here. So what are these days for besides waiting?

The tough part about the waiting game is the inability to commit. I’ve always been a commitment person. I don’t like breaking commitments, and in a sense, I commit in order to plan and schedule. People keep asking me things like, “are you going to Florida to visit your grandfather in July?” “Are you excited for your trip to Block Island?” “Do you want to go to a Needtobreathe concert with me in New York in August?” And I keep telling them the same thing, “I don’t know, I guess I have to just wait to see about jobs.” I mean, what other answer can I give them? I’m not trying to sound like I’m entitled to have it all figured out. And I’m not even trying to say that this is some unfortunate situation I’ve found myself in. Everyone goes through this time of limbo at some point or another, heck, some people never fully find their way out of it. I’m just thankful for 21 and a half years without it, not everyone gets that. So I’m in no way trying to sound spoiled about this, this isn’t some, “woe is me” cry because I, just like everyone else, can’t make fun plans because of work (or the prospect of it, at least). I’m just trying to cope with the lack of control I’m experiencing.

I suppose this season is one that will teach me to be more flexible, more malleable. I tend to get a little too rigid, a little to structured. I suppose this season is one that will grow me into a more patient person. I tend to be a little more impatient than most. Maybe I’ll become more capable of enduring long periods of unknowns. Maybe I’ll be to adapt to changing circumstances. In some way or another I know God is growing me and maturing me through this. I just didn’t realize how desperately uneasy I’d be. My appetite isn’t the same, my stomach is in knots, and I feel oddly lethargic. It’s as if every bit of my normally peppy disposition has been drained and replaced with the character of a student mid finals week. I can’t say I saw this much unease coming, but I can tell you it’s not all that fun…

…but the waiting game is never fun. It’s never ideal. It’s never something people long for, especially me. But I’ve got to hear back sooner or later about this job. If I get it I’ll be elated. If I don’t, well I have a back up plan – one that includes taking a few months to just relax, so that isn’t half bad. But until then, until I know for sure either way, I’ll wait, as patiently as I can, and endure living in limbo. Maybe I can even learn to enjoy it. Maybe I can learn to find beauty in these days that don't seem to matter much more than their waiting, because in reality, they do matter. And even though I don't have it all figured out, that's okay, it's just a part of the journey.

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Graduation Rumination XVIII - The Closing of a Chapter, The End of an Era

May 16, 2015.

I graduated from college today. It doesn’t even feel real, but I am so full of emotion. Joy, sadness, excitement, relief. Every conflicting emotion there is, I am feeling it in full. I’m not sure the true effect of leaving Gordon has set in yet, and I’m not sure when it will – I’m honestly a little nervous for that. But for now I am so thankful to family and friends who have loved me and supported me these past four years. And I am so thankful to God for getting me to Gordon and for gracefully sustaining me throughout my time there. Gordon has been home and it has provided me so many opportunities, ones that challenged me in ways I never anticipated, and ones that grew me immeasurably. I am so thankful for each and every one of those opportunities, for each and every person who made Gordon home, and for each and every joy I’ve been so blessed to experience. It is the end of an era now, and I can’t believe my college chapter has come to a close; it feels like just yesterday I was headed for orientation. But somehow four crazy years have passed, and now I look ahead to the next chapter while always holding close the memories I’ve made, and the love I’ve received these past four years.

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