But everything you see's not the way it seems -- Tears can sing and joy shed tears.
We're talking about Time this month @ St. Ned's. The other day during staff meeting we were discussing whether we think we live in the past, the present, or the future (hint: the right answer is 'the present'). And I suddenly realized that, earlier this year, I lost my future and I don't think I've really gotten it back. And I'm not especially sorry about that.
I started out the year engaged to Dennis, living with him in Oakland, planning the wedding, and with some certainty about where God was calling me to be. I had my future pretty well mapped out, and then it all fell apart and I stopped having a future that looked like anything specific.
I spent a lot of time trying to get that well-defined future back. I thought about rushing into seminary, just to feel like I was on a path, any path. I tried to make everything seem more solid than it was, because I'm not good with ambiguity. I'm just not. I like my life to be nicely mapped out. I liked being able to say to people, "Well, I know exactly what I'll be doing for the next five years or so."
It's strange to be in a place where I don't really have any goals that can be measured. I'm not very concerned with making more money right now or having a "better" job or having the answers about my vocation or anything else that my parents can write in their Christmas letter. Not that they have one, but you know what I mean. I'm just kind of sitting here and waiting for further instructions.
When I was totally focused on the future, all I could do was work toward it, to try to make that imagined thing real. I missed a lot of what was going on in my actual life as a result. Which, i-ron-ick-ally, probably led to losing that future, at least the way I thought it was going to be.
I don't know what will happen with me and Dennis now that we're together again, and I'm not really invested in needing to know. I'm just happy to have him around. It's a joy to love him.
I am starting to understand the point of the really horrible desert times. Maybe there are people who can move forward and deepen their faith in the midst of great joy. I'm not one of them. It's hard for me to trust people who say that they get more of a spiritual boost from the great times than the lousy ones. When I'm happy, it's more of an 'I'll just stay here, thanks' kind of energy. Shield the joyous. I don't start thinking about how I can rub off a little more skin to get down to the real stuff at that moment. For me, the most rewarding work happens in the low times, when I actually notice that God is there and would like to have a wuuuuuurd with me. I'm not saying that I'm cooperative, just that if it's gonna happen, it happens then.
The thing I learned this year is that I can go into the desert and deal with some of the really ugly stuff, with complete faith that I will come out again at some point. Maybe that's obvious to most people, but it's new for me; I've always been of the, "Well, this sucks. Guess this is where I live now. Might as well get used to it, because nothing will ever be good again," ilk as soon as I get a little bit of sand on my toes. Perspective? Not my strong suit.
This is what dear uncle Screwtape calls the law of undulation, and I see why it's dangerous (from the demon's viewpoint) for us to find about it. When I shut down that unpleasant little voice in my head that takes away all the hope, I'm free to live in the present moment and be really alive to what's happening, because God is there and there is movement.
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