What a weird thing to admit, but, here I go – I generally dislike running into people I know on the road. I find the whole bit taxing, the thinking of a general topic, the I haven’t seen you in a while? What do you do now? They tell me something about working in insurance or banking or being in med school now. They ask about me. The question does not ricochet well, it seems, because I tell them where I work, and what I do, and almost 100% of the time, they cut me off and ask, no, I mean what are you gonna do after that.
I do not have an after yet, so that’s the usually the conversation ender. I spend the rest of my leisurely walk hoping I crossed the street before I let myself ruin the rest of my day.
They don’t tell you that adulthood requires a lot of self-negotiating. I do a lot of inner bargaining just to get things done, to show up in places, be there early, to grow out of teenage tendencies (I’m 22 now. Medyo overdue), to continue and always be giving people the benefit of the doubt. So I remind myself about being sure. I’m here because God put me here. That usually does the trick. Quiets my mind. But it does not empty my pockets of all the stones. The walk home is still hard.
I hate how I let people make me feel like I’m still behind, even after all the horrible catching up I had to do. I’m not behind, by the way. Life is not a race. But the way they phrase it, man. What are you doing after, when are you gonna work on your dreams, what are you gonna do to buy a house
I self-monologue it all away.
The past weeks have been very humbling. And I’m now wary of using that word, because I discovered that to be humbled doesn’t feel like a small house, clean tiles, white linen dress. It doesn’t feel like a slight tap on the back as opposed to a thundering applause. To be humbled feels embarrassing. It feels like eating dirt. Humus. Earth. Feels like being dragged across the mud. It reminds me of what man really is, you know. We got nothing to show for. We act like we can boss God around but we really can’t. On what grounds, people?
It’s been incredibly humbling – get the connotation – to let God decide what is good for me. Or what is sufficient, for now. Maybe forever. I sang Christ is Enough for me recently and it felt like ash in my mouth. I wanted it to become truth so bad. But my heart has claws and is reaching everywhere all at once.
I was invited to a wedding last week. I was seated with 3 other couples and my brother. In the middle of the reception I turned to say something to my brother and he was not there. The other couples, too. They stood up to go to the photo booth, to sit with our other friends, to dance. I sat there in my dress and with my sore back. I felt really, really, sad. Then alone. Then I scolded myself. This wedding is not about me. The wedded couple is literally several meters away from me, dancing their first dance. But, damn, how lonely was that night.
I came home to our beloved shack. I’m not even gonna describe it anymore, you’re probably sick of me hating on it. I repeat to myself, Christ is Enough as I looked at everything I wanted to leave or change or improve. That includes looking into a mirror, most days. Christ is Enough. My eyes have to be constantly trained. God forbid I look at anything else but Christ.
I got nothing to show for. Frankly, my college degree feels like nothing, nor my dreams. But I cling to what I heard when He called me, when He said I will lay down my life for others and I will seek Him first, even if He does not do what I think He would do for me. My sufficiency in Christ is being shaken and the sludge and ugly parts are falling off. All of you can see it. My twitter is a mess.
I started reading this book a friend gave me. The author married a fisherman and she followed her husband into the trade. Everyday she wonders about the life she chose. She said,
In Luke 5, Jesus said to Simon, “Don’t be afraid. From now on, you will fish for people”. They pulled up their boats, left everything and followed Him. Christ is enough.
Yesterday I was looking for a stock photo to use for work – when I stumbled upon that neon sign saying, this must be the place. I repeat the words back to myself, like a chant. Then a prayer. If this is what God says is good, then this must be it. If this is where I should be, day after day, if this is where He is magnified the most, then maybe I’m a little bit more sure. It gets a whole lot easier to breathe in. This must be my Gennesaret. This must be the place.