I’m sitting at the counter, jittering from my intake of caffeine, waiting to take a final, and seriously thinking about the future.
To be perfectly honest, I’ve been a little disoriented lately. Thinking about what I’ll do next is so tiring, sometimes.
Because every time I think I’ve figured everything out about what I’ll be doing and where I’ll be in a few years, something changes. My desires change, my situations change, anything and everything and it sends me into a mental frenzy.
If you couldn’t tell from any of my previous posts, I’m one of those classic Type-A, list-writing, goal-driven, oftentimes perfectionistic girls.
I’ve written about how much this affects my life – about how it’s caused me to struggle with accepting grace, accepting my worth, and living fully, freely, wholly.
But this year, this 2017, I’ve implemented some things into my life that have helped me make grace tangible, my faith just as a part of my life as every other thing on my lists.
And the first thing is my Done List.
Many people in the world have to-do lists; whether chicken-scratched on a loose scrap of paper, dictated into Evernote, or perfectly printed in a notebook, we’re all familiar with the concept. It’s our own human way of organizing our lives, of creating little goals with checkboxes and a dose of self-motivation thrown in.
But I don’t use to-do lists. I use something called a Done List.
Every good story involves some kind of journey.
I’ve been thinking about my journey a lot, lately. Thinking about how in five years I’m gonna look back on this moment and remember the things I felt, the things I thought, what I did and who I spent my time with and how I lived my life, and I’ll be so far removed from those things then.
I’m looking ahead to the day I’ll look back and see how things have changed.
How I’ve changed.
How those around me have changed.
Because even now, I look back, and I’ve learned, and grown, and changed so much. Even the very way I approach life now is so different. I have different perspectives, different struggles, different voices in my life I listen to.
This year so far has been one of conversations, of thinking, of beginning to define myself.
Something that often crosses my mind is this thought: Who am I?
And I can go through the surface things. I can say I’m a college student, a sister and daughter, a musician, a writer. But are those things enough?
I’ve been playing with this idea, of being rather than doing. Focusing on who I am, not just what I do as the definition of me.
On my own, I can do a lot of things. I can write articles and play music and be kind and use my mind. I can. But if I am to place my entire value, the sum total of my worth into these things – where will I be when these things fall away?
I can’t believe it’s been two years since the inception of this blog; two long years, yet it feels like a blink to me.
Looking back on old posts today was nostalgic and slightly embarrassing as I read over the awkwardly-crafted words – but it reminded me of the adventure I’ve been on since 2015.
I’ve learned so much just by going for it. By living. By trying new things, like starting a blog when I had absolutely no idea what I was doing.
I’ve learned that people connect with honesty, vulnerability, and openness, instead of someone trying too hard to be funny.
I’ve learned how important it is to listen – not just talk.
I absolutely, positively, love life.
Not that it’s easy, or pain-free, or pleasant all the time. It’s not.
But after a long string of posts about God feeling so far away, and finding hope in pain, and saying no, and inadequacy, and doubting God’s promises, and searching for meaning – I think we need a post on celebrating life.
Sometimes we wake up in the mornings, with a to-do list a mile long, a mess to clean up, and stress to deal with – and it’s honestly rather difficult at times.
But what if we decided to wake up with joy?
I’m back to the beginning again.
It’s funny – sometimes I think I’ve got it all figured out.
I write these posts, I journal, I speak, I talk with friends – and sometimes, I feel like I’ve solved everything. Like I have all the answers, and that maybe, this time, I’ll really have control of my life.
Ironically, however, I think I’ve got it all covered and then I struggle again.
I write about true identity being found in Christ and yet I find myself playing the comparison game, over and over.
I write about hope in pain, and soon after I find myself, once again, stumbling in the darkness, losing faith in any light.
I write about living in grace and the very next day I battle overwhelming guilt and shame.
And here’s the kicker – all this leads to is more guilt.
There’s a whisper in my head, reminiscent of the Serpent in Genesis 3, saying, “Did God really say His grace covered everything?”
Love’s crazy and amazing.
It’s past one o’clock in the morning. I’m writing, I’m thinking, I’m praying, I’m dreaming. I’m reading, I’m hoping, I’m feeling, believing.
Nights like these are good nights for me. Every so often I glance up from my journal and fix my gaze on my twinkle lights, my sky-blue walls, my slatted shades, my messy space – and I take a breath again.
I’ve never been in love. At least, not yet. Sure, I’ve had a few crushes here and there, like we all have had growing up, but there’s something about love that just captivates me, awakens my senses to something greater.
As I sit here on my bed, legs tucked gently under me, clad in an oversized sweatshirt, leggings, and hair such a mess…I’m honestly quite overwhelmed.