April

Last week started off sunny and beautiful, but by noon on Monday my world had turned upside down. An unexpected phone call, the discovery of shocking information, and the end of a seemingly wonderful relationship. It seems cruel by nature to wake up on a beautiful day and have no idea that what is to transpire in the next few hours will break your heart.

My full time job last week was to keep myself from spiraling into despair, bitterness, and anger. I intentionally kept my mind busy and full because I didn't want to go down the painful path of "why?" After a few days, the tears dried. I took a walk on my lunch break and wondered, "Why am I so peaceful?" What happened Monday morning was one of the worst things that could have happened. I will look back and be shocked that I lived through it, quite honestly. It would make one of the saddest, most interesting chapters in a memoir. So why am I so peaceful, I wondered? Well, there was only one explanation: there is a peace that passes understanding. If I try to wrap my head around why I have peace, I can't. And that is the point. I walked and thought: I am peaceful because of identity. It wasn't in him. It's not in my humiliation. It's not in what does or doesn't happen to me. It's set in stone 'til the day I die, and in that sense, nothing changed last week. I am peaceful because people are praying for me. God hears them and works. And the Spirit prays for me, with groaning too deep for words. (Rom. 8) That truth has lifted me up in many a despairing moment when I don't even know what to pray anymore. 

While last Monday morning was, to put it bluntly, somewhat traumatic and completely awful, something else happened then, too. I received an acceptance e-mail from Westminster Theological Seminary. I know that these two wildly contrasting life events did not occur on the same morning coincidentally. I'll never know exactly how God works, but maybe He allowed them to happen at the same time as a kindness; one area of life held loss, shock, and grief, but another area held hope, joy, and thankfulness. 

I've written before of how pain and joy coexist. Cruel, horrible, unexpected. Thankful, surprised, hopeful - all words to describe the emotions of this season.

I am not the kind of person who goes to seminary. I am not even the kind of person who went to college. It's a difficult thing to try to explain why getting accepted into WTS is so significant. The thought of getting a master's has just been completely unattainable for people like me. I was never given a roadmap for higher education or help in obtaining it. I was never told that it was necessary or even good. The thought of getting a master's was a dream, but not a desire. I wouldn't have dreamed of putting it in the desire category, because I knew that it would never happen. Having it as a dream was safer; I could think about it, but I never had to tell anyone and I didn't have to face the reality that it wouldn't happen. I prayed about this dream for over a year, and to my shame, I did not think that God would do anything about it. 

I hope I never, ever forget that I technically do not even meet the requirements to be accepted at a seminary, but I was accepted anyway. I hope I never forget that God made a dream a reality. I hope I never forget all the years that I thought this was absolutely impossible. I hope I never forget the feeling of knowing that He had purpose for my life because on a really bad day, He sent really good news that altered the course of my future significantly.

The Lord gives and the Lord takes away. I know this to be true. Like Job, sometimes I feel like the things I care about the most are ripped from me; it has been a theme in my life for years now. It has caused greater pain than I thought I could bear many times, and that same pain has been the source of much spiritual, personal growth. He takes, but He gives in the first place. He gives what I really need, not what I think I need. The work He does in me to ultimately make me more like Him is more important than anything, and nothing has accomplished that like disappointment and heartbreak. In that sense, the hard things are proof that He gives good gifts. I remember reading in a book years ago that what He does in a Christian's life is never punitive. That struck me (partly because I had to look up what the word "punitive" meant). It has stayed with me, though, as a truth that comes to mind in suffering. If I could only understand God's love for me, the pain of suffering would ease. If I could remember it in every moment, I would have joy instead of sorrow. But I am weak, and He knows that, bearing with me and working through my weakness, my humanness, to accomplish His purposes. It's one of the most beautiful, backwards parts of Christianity: the best things - like the comfort and love of God - are known and experienced because of the worst things.

So He takes, but He gives, too. And I am thankful for both. 

Thankful for views like this to enjoy while walking, thinking, and praying.