Over the course of the past few months a realization has slowly been working its way into my brain. I managed to keep it at bay for quite a while, but I think it's time to face it . . . I'm growing up.
I don't really know how it happened. I suppose it's a result of a conglomeration of things . . . me asserting my independence more and more, turning twenty, getting a real job that actually pays a somewhat respectable salary, getting a new car that I'm actually paying off and plan to completely own by the time I graduate, passing the halfway point to getting my undergraduate degree, etc. I knew it was coming. I spent all of high school wanting this to happen. I've craved independence for years now. It's kind of exciting.
At the same time, I don't want to grow up. The thought of having full responsibility for my financial situation terrifies me. Responsibility in general is rather frightening. Knowing that I have to be out in the real world soon . . . yikes. Seriously. It finally started to hit me the other day that I only have three semesters left before I graduate with my B.A. in psychology. It's kind of bizarre.
Until recently, I was absolutely convinced that I knew what I wanted to do with my life. Unfortunately, I've been thinking more and more about the future, and the more I think, the less certain I feel. I want to do so many things. I want to get my master's degree in social work, but I don't know if I really want to be a social worker. When I consider how angry I get when I deal with the kinds of situations I'd face in that line of work, I almost think I'd get myself into trouble. I love photography, but I've discovered that if I do it for someone else, it's just not that enjoyable anymore. I love to write, but I don't see myself turning that into a career, either.
Maybe I should just be a hermit.
Showing posts with label growing up. Show all posts
Showing posts with label growing up. Show all posts
Saturday, August 16, 2008
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Thinking about the Future
I've been doing a lot of thinking lately . . . particularly about the semester after I graduate from Northwestern. I'm graduating a semester early, so the plan has been me working for that spring semester and then going off to grad school the next fall. At least . . . that's been the plan until recently.
Last spring break I went on a missions trip to Tijuana, Mexico. We worked at a mission called La Roca . . . it's basically a shelter for battered women and their children, a place where they can stay as long as they're willing to earn their keep helping with chores and such, where the children can go to school, where they can learn skills to help them make it on their own when they decide to leave, and most importantly, where their souls can be fed. In the week or so that I was there, I absolutely fell in love with the place. The ministry is one that is very dear to my heart—it shares my passion for battered women. While I was there, I felt for the first time in my life that I could possibly live and work quite happily outside of the country . . . or even outside of the Twin Cities.
That feeling hasn't left me in the almost 11 months since I returned from that trip. I could probably count on one hand how many days have gone by since then that I haven't thought about Mexico. Now, I'm gearing up to go back in less than 6 weeks for another spring break missions trip to the same location . . . and I've made a decision that could mean me taking the greatest step of faith of my life so far. When I go back to Tijuana, I'm going to ask the director of La Roca about the possibility of working there for the 6 months or so between graduation and grad school.
Even as I'm writing this, the idea sort of startles me. I've thought about the possibility off and on since I was there last, but not until the last couple of weeks has it seemed real to me. Never in my life had I considered going into missions, even short term. I simply didn't see that as my future. Even now, going to a Bible college, I'm not majoring or even minoring in missions. All that I know of missions is what I have seen and heard from friends and family who have served/are serving around the world. I cannot see myself as a missionary.
However . . . I can see myself working and serving others in another country, at least short term. I suppose they're really the same thing, but me being a missionary is just . . . such a foreign concept. I can love people, I can serve people, I can help people . . . but win people to Christ? I'm tempted to laugh out loud at the thought. I know very well how wretched of a sinner I am. I don't need a fire and brimstone sermon to convince me of that. I fail in so many ways every single day of my walk with God. Half the time I don't even really know what I believe beyond the very basics of Christianity, but I do know that I do NOT believe in shoving my beliefs down anyone's throat. I can engage someone in a philosophical and theological debate, but unless I feel a clear nudge from God, I won't push such a debate into a "you're going to hell unless you believe in Christ as your Savior" conversation.
It's ridiculous that such an image comes to my mind when I think of myself being a missionary. None of the missionaries I have ever had the privilege of knowing come across that way. Unfortunately, that seems to be the general impression that the rest of the world has of Christianity, and because of certain encounters that I've had with other "Christians," I'm afraid I often find myself agreeing with that impression.
Maybe that's why I feel like God might be calling me into . . . well, a missionary role of sorts. Maybe He's calling me because I could use the proof that even someone as confused and sinful (and often stupid) as I am can be used by Him.
The idea of going into missions (at least short term . . . after grad school, God alone knows what I'll be doing) scares me. A lot. But not nearly as much as I would have expected it to. I know that I can't possibly do it on my own . . . but if God is working in and through me, the possibilities are virtually endless. So whether I wind up in Mexico, somewhere else in Latin America, or on the other side of the globe . . . I think it's going to be ok. Challenging, yes . . . uncomfortable, yes . . . but good. Because no matter what happens, God will still be good, and He will still be God . . . so what in the world am I worrying about?
Last spring break I went on a missions trip to Tijuana, Mexico. We worked at a mission called La Roca . . . it's basically a shelter for battered women and their children, a place where they can stay as long as they're willing to earn their keep helping with chores and such, where the children can go to school, where they can learn skills to help them make it on their own when they decide to leave, and most importantly, where their souls can be fed. In the week or so that I was there, I absolutely fell in love with the place. The ministry is one that is very dear to my heart—it shares my passion for battered women. While I was there, I felt for the first time in my life that I could possibly live and work quite happily outside of the country . . . or even outside of the Twin Cities.
That feeling hasn't left me in the almost 11 months since I returned from that trip. I could probably count on one hand how many days have gone by since then that I haven't thought about Mexico. Now, I'm gearing up to go back in less than 6 weeks for another spring break missions trip to the same location . . . and I've made a decision that could mean me taking the greatest step of faith of my life so far. When I go back to Tijuana, I'm going to ask the director of La Roca about the possibility of working there for the 6 months or so between graduation and grad school.
Even as I'm writing this, the idea sort of startles me. I've thought about the possibility off and on since I was there last, but not until the last couple of weeks has it seemed real to me. Never in my life had I considered going into missions, even short term. I simply didn't see that as my future. Even now, going to a Bible college, I'm not majoring or even minoring in missions. All that I know of missions is what I have seen and heard from friends and family who have served/are serving around the world. I cannot see myself as a missionary.
However . . . I can see myself working and serving others in another country, at least short term. I suppose they're really the same thing, but me being a missionary is just . . . such a foreign concept. I can love people, I can serve people, I can help people . . . but win people to Christ? I'm tempted to laugh out loud at the thought. I know very well how wretched of a sinner I am. I don't need a fire and brimstone sermon to convince me of that. I fail in so many ways every single day of my walk with God. Half the time I don't even really know what I believe beyond the very basics of Christianity, but I do know that I do NOT believe in shoving my beliefs down anyone's throat. I can engage someone in a philosophical and theological debate, but unless I feel a clear nudge from God, I won't push such a debate into a "you're going to hell unless you believe in Christ as your Savior" conversation.
It's ridiculous that such an image comes to my mind when I think of myself being a missionary. None of the missionaries I have ever had the privilege of knowing come across that way. Unfortunately, that seems to be the general impression that the rest of the world has of Christianity, and because of certain encounters that I've had with other "Christians," I'm afraid I often find myself agreeing with that impression.
Maybe that's why I feel like God might be calling me into . . . well, a missionary role of sorts. Maybe He's calling me because I could use the proof that even someone as confused and sinful (and often stupid) as I am can be used by Him.
The idea of going into missions (at least short term . . . after grad school, God alone knows what I'll be doing) scares me. A lot. But not nearly as much as I would have expected it to. I know that I can't possibly do it on my own . . . but if God is working in and through me, the possibilities are virtually endless. So whether I wind up in Mexico, somewhere else in Latin America, or on the other side of the globe . . . I think it's going to be ok. Challenging, yes . . . uncomfortable, yes . . . but good. Because no matter what happens, God will still be good, and He will still be God . . . so what in the world am I worrying about?
Monday, September 24, 2007
Tough Questions
"Why did God bless me with such wonderful friends?"
"Why does growing up have to hurt so much?"
A dear friend of mine asked these questions last night as we sat together on my couch. I didn't have an answer. All I could do was hold her and find the same questions echoing back in my mind.
That first question has been on my mind a lot lately. I have the most amazing friends in the world. I totally don't deserve them. That's really struck home in the past couple of weeks. I hadn't been doing very well; I had found myself in a bit of a slump. It's a pretty normal thing for me, and I know I would be out of it soon enough. Usually when I'm in such a slump I can keep up a pretty convincing façade. My issue are my issues, and I'm used to dealing with them on my own. But last week . . . last week I couldn't keep up the act. In fact, by the time Friday rolled around, people I would never have expected to notice were asking what was wrong. Friends that were super busy went out of their way to ask how I was doing and give me hugs. It made the slump a lot more survivable.
Being in college makes me ask my friend's second question a lot more than I used to. Growing up is painful. I spent most of my childhood waiting for the day I could get my driver's license, and almost every day after my sixteenth birthday waiting for the day I could move out of my house. Going home on breaks, I still find myself waiting for the day when I can move out. But really . . . growing up is hard. It's terrifying. I still struggle to comprehend the fact that I'm a legal adult. I don't feel like I'm mature enough . . . or responsible enough . . . or strong enough.
That's been my biggest battle over the past month or so. No matter what I do; no matter how much I try to talk myself into thinking otherwise, I'm never quite strong enough. I see my friends struggling to get by . . . I watch my parents fight with my brother . . . and I realize that in the end, there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. I can't even keep my own life under control for more than a couple of hours, so how could I possibly help anyone else?
I've always wanted to be stronger than I am. I've always felt the pressure to be strong. My friends turn to me when life doesn't go the way they planned; my brother turns to me to defend him when I'm home; my parents turn to me when they can't figure out what to do with my brother . . . and I expect myself to be able to do it all. But I can't.
I can think of few issues I find more difficult in my relationship with God. I want to be self-sufficient. I want to be able to take care of myself and everyone around me. At the same time, I know the only way I'm ever going to get anywhere in life is by surrendering it all to God. Surrender . . . being a living sacrifice is hard. It's so much easier to jump off the altar and run away screaming. At least that's how it seems. When I think about it, though . . . I tend to make a royal mess of things when I'm trying to run my own life. God definitely does a much better job. I'm just too proud to let Him.
"Why does growing up have to hurt so much?"
A dear friend of mine asked these questions last night as we sat together on my couch. I didn't have an answer. All I could do was hold her and find the same questions echoing back in my mind.
That first question has been on my mind a lot lately. I have the most amazing friends in the world. I totally don't deserve them. That's really struck home in the past couple of weeks. I hadn't been doing very well; I had found myself in a bit of a slump. It's a pretty normal thing for me, and I know I would be out of it soon enough. Usually when I'm in such a slump I can keep up a pretty convincing façade. My issue are my issues, and I'm used to dealing with them on my own. But last week . . . last week I couldn't keep up the act. In fact, by the time Friday rolled around, people I would never have expected to notice were asking what was wrong. Friends that were super busy went out of their way to ask how I was doing and give me hugs. It made the slump a lot more survivable.
Being in college makes me ask my friend's second question a lot more than I used to. Growing up is painful. I spent most of my childhood waiting for the day I could get my driver's license, and almost every day after my sixteenth birthday waiting for the day I could move out of my house. Going home on breaks, I still find myself waiting for the day when I can move out. But really . . . growing up is hard. It's terrifying. I still struggle to comprehend the fact that I'm a legal adult. I don't feel like I'm mature enough . . . or responsible enough . . . or strong enough.
That's been my biggest battle over the past month or so. No matter what I do; no matter how much I try to talk myself into thinking otherwise, I'm never quite strong enough. I see my friends struggling to get by . . . I watch my parents fight with my brother . . . and I realize that in the end, there's absolutely nothing I can do about it. I can't even keep my own life under control for more than a couple of hours, so how could I possibly help anyone else?
I've always wanted to be stronger than I am. I've always felt the pressure to be strong. My friends turn to me when life doesn't go the way they planned; my brother turns to me to defend him when I'm home; my parents turn to me when they can't figure out what to do with my brother . . . and I expect myself to be able to do it all. But I can't.
I can think of few issues I find more difficult in my relationship with God. I want to be self-sufficient. I want to be able to take care of myself and everyone around me. At the same time, I know the only way I'm ever going to get anywhere in life is by surrendering it all to God. Surrender . . . being a living sacrifice is hard. It's so much easier to jump off the altar and run away screaming. At least that's how it seems. When I think about it, though . . . I tend to make a royal mess of things when I'm trying to run my own life. God definitely does a much better job. I'm just too proud to let Him.
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