I had one of those moments in church this morning. The ones where you try to ignore how emotional you feel and anticipate the tears starting to build up. And before you know it, there's no holding back.
The sermon had just finished and I was already in this contemplative state I get in after a good teaching. Using Elijah's story in 2 Kings, my pastor spoke on how we live a life of difficult transitions. One after another they come flying at us. And each person in the Bible has asked the same question to God during these times: "Can I even handle this?" And His answer each time is this: "Of course you can't, but that's why I'm here. And I will never leave you."
Most of the people reading this know that I am finishing my degree in December and moving back home to Michigan to kick start my teaching career. I couldn't be more excited for what's ahead. But there is a long, confusing, difficult bridge I have to walk across before I can get there. I have to grieve the ending of the most epic years of my life thus far. As the sermon wrapped up, I was feeling the immensity of this time of life, and how fleeting my days are that I have left in New York. I feel myself slowly shrinking, smaller and smaller into this vulnerable state.
After the sermon is done and before we celebrate communion with everyone, my favorite part of the service occurs (and I think it's everyone's favorite part, too). The band starts to play music softly and we welcome the children back into the sanctuary from their age-based instruction. I'm sure you can picture it. They start trickling in, some nervous to walk in front of everyone, some thrilled to see their parents after what seems like lightyears of separation. There are giggles, quick scuffles across the rooms as they reunite with their moms and dads. It is a precious few seconds that always reminds me of who I am . And today, I let myself cry and resonate with those little ones.
I am still this little daughter of Jesus, so excited to come back to Him and rest in the comfort of his lap. Ready to take communion together and remember the heart of why I even have the faith that I do.
It reminds me that I am still a child, a little kid that doesn't really know what she is doing and feels helpless most of the time.
And that's where I'm at right now. I've mastered the art of looking like I have it all together. But my confession here is that I cry often thinking about leaving college, my friends, the Hudson Valley, & these mountains and lakes to journey back home and start life for real. I'm not ready for this.
But these are the moments where I find myself needing that important reminder from Abba: "I will not leave you."
He has called me to more than just an identity as a college student. He has given me more of His Spirit so that I can do more with my life. And He isn't going anywhere in the process.
As scary as life is in these transitions, I know that these growing pains are what keeps me close to Him. They remind me I am insufficient in taking care of myself. I need my Heavenly Dad to hush my anxious heart and reignite this dream-driven spirit to walk even where I can't see my destination.
Jesus walked on water; if he did that, then I can keep walking ahead too.
The sermon had just finished and I was already in this contemplative state I get in after a good teaching. Using Elijah's story in 2 Kings, my pastor spoke on how we live a life of difficult transitions. One after another they come flying at us. And each person in the Bible has asked the same question to God during these times: "Can I even handle this?" And His answer each time is this: "Of course you can't, but that's why I'm here. And I will never leave you."
Most of the people reading this know that I am finishing my degree in December and moving back home to Michigan to kick start my teaching career. I couldn't be more excited for what's ahead. But there is a long, confusing, difficult bridge I have to walk across before I can get there. I have to grieve the ending of the most epic years of my life thus far. As the sermon wrapped up, I was feeling the immensity of this time of life, and how fleeting my days are that I have left in New York. I feel myself slowly shrinking, smaller and smaller into this vulnerable state.
After the sermon is done and before we celebrate communion with everyone, my favorite part of the service occurs (and I think it's everyone's favorite part, too). The band starts to play music softly and we welcome the children back into the sanctuary from their age-based instruction. I'm sure you can picture it. They start trickling in, some nervous to walk in front of everyone, some thrilled to see their parents after what seems like lightyears of separation. There are giggles, quick scuffles across the rooms as they reunite with their moms and dads. It is a precious few seconds that always reminds me of who I am . And today, I let myself cry and resonate with those little ones.
I am still this little daughter of Jesus, so excited to come back to Him and rest in the comfort of his lap. Ready to take communion together and remember the heart of why I even have the faith that I do.
It reminds me that I am still a child, a little kid that doesn't really know what she is doing and feels helpless most of the time.
And that's where I'm at right now. I've mastered the art of looking like I have it all together. But my confession here is that I cry often thinking about leaving college, my friends, the Hudson Valley, & these mountains and lakes to journey back home and start life for real. I'm not ready for this.
But these are the moments where I find myself needing that important reminder from Abba: "I will not leave you."
He has called me to more than just an identity as a college student. He has given me more of His Spirit so that I can do more with my life. And He isn't going anywhere in the process.
As scary as life is in these transitions, I know that these growing pains are what keeps me close to Him. They remind me I am insufficient in taking care of myself. I need my Heavenly Dad to hush my anxious heart and reignite this dream-driven spirit to walk even where I can't see my destination.
Jesus walked on water; if he did that, then I can keep walking ahead too.