An Overdue Thank You Note to Teachers

Sometimes, I wonder what teachers are thinking when they write little encouraging notes on students’ assignments. And what I mean by that is, I wonder if they expect them to make any impact. So many teachers go into the profession hoping to change and shape students’ lives—to lead them to success and teach them to thrive. But, more often than not, they see an entire class fail a test (that the previous class did fine on), a student cheating, a generation whose writing abilities are seemingly growing extinct, or another parent complaining about her child’s grades. Meanwhile, there are those few students that never miss class, always come prepared, obviously study, and consistently do a good job. The teacher puts a small comment on the (probably too long) essay and moves on. The student continues doing what he/she always does. Nothing is said (though the kid who pulled his answer out of thin air has plenty to say about his grade).

Several teachers throughout my schooling career have been faithful commenters. The comments are usually small. Took five seconds of the teacher’s time, max. But they have had lasting influence on me, not that those teachers have ever known that.

She probably never realized that the smiley faces she put on the top of my paper when I did well made my entire day, because I was struggling with the adjustment from homeschooling to “normal school,” I felt behind when it came to math, and her class was the hardest class I had (and she was one of the teachers I admired the most).

There is no way he could have known that it took me three hours to complete that assignment, because I cannot be anything but nauseatingly thorough, even if I try. He could not have known that it was actually done from 11 p.m. to 1 a.m., because I had dinner, church, and dorm devotions before I could ever even touch my pile of homework, and, halfway through, I had to take a few minutes to sob, because I was sleep deprived and homesick. All he knew was that I did my best, and he wrote “Your usual excellent work,” not knowing that doing assignments with a headache, minimal sleep, and an accompanying cry-fest was how I usually accomplished that work.

When she wrote “an excellent critique,” she could not have known I downloaded the assignment to Dropbox, thinking “I know my instructor will hate this. I have never done APA, and I had to cut out the majority of what I had to say to make it as short as she wanted. This is terrible work, and this will be the first impression she has of my writing.”

I doubt my teachers know how comments like “Wow!” “Excellent!” and “Great work!” have motivated my academic career.

Because, a lot of the time, it is the “A” students that get the least recognition. We work hard, and nobody expects anything else. “A” is so normal, not many think to congratulate you on it. The attention must be directed to the student who might not pass or the one who does not make use of intrinsic motivation.

Student gets an “A.” You do not congratulate him. He still gets another “A.”

Student gets an “A.” You do congratulate him. He still gets another “A.”

It is hard to see your actions making any difference, but believe me, they do. It was those smiley faces that let me know you were proud of me, and that I was going to be okay. It was the little comments on my discussion forums that motivated me to keep doing my best, even though I knew that people who worked half as long as I did got the same exact grade. I wanted you to know that I would keep working at the top of my game, because you noticed. It was that comment on my first article critique that has kept me from giving up hope on all future writing assignments. It is the little “wow’s” and “excellent’s” on my homework assignments that have made your other homework assignments from being so tedious, because I know you notice and appreciate thorough work.

So, what are you thinking when you write those comments? That they will be overlooked? Fleetingly appreciated, then forgotten? That maybe they are not worth your time?

They are. Please, do not stop. You never know when your “A” student is on the brink of giving up hope—and his/her GPA. And you never know which comment may be the little tug that pulls the kid back and gives him/her the motivation to keep going. Because we respect you. We appreciate  you.

We thank you.

Hard Times~Good Things

Psalm 84: 11, 12

“For the Lord God is a sun and shield:

the Lord bestows favour and honour.

No good thing does he withhold

from those who walk uprightly.

O Lord of hosts,

blessed is the one who trusts in you.”

Coach Carver, a beloved family friend and CCC professor, posted this verse and some of his personal commentary just the other day. I have recently purposed in my heart to always read his updates, because I have been noticing the side effects of not being surrounded by Bible classes, God-fearing professors, RD’s, RA’s, and DL’s every day of the week. Just like my muscles, which have not been worked as hard since school started as they were this summer, my spiritual life is experiencing atrophy, and I need more support than I am taking in. Of course, his words were exactly what I needed to hear on that particular day. In fact, I’ve been needing to hear them for quite some time, but maybe my heart was not ready to receive them until now. Coach emphasized, “No good thing does He withhold, that is, nothing He deems good for us at the present time.” To be 100% honest, I selfishly have been thinking that I need more “good” than I feel like I’ve been getting.

It made for a crazy start to nursing school,
but Micah's birth and quality time with BOTH
my sisters is something I would NEVER change.

This semester has been hard so far, and not for the reasons I thought it would be. They are easing us into the nursing program, so this is not the hardest I have ever been pushed academically (yet). In fact, the stark difference of school dynamic and only having classes three days a week have made it very hard to get settled into a study routine, and I feel like I have been doing the bare minimum. Not only that, but the first month or so of school was a whirlwind of nephew, sisters, and spontaneous weekend trips, so, at that time in particular, I was really just keeping my head above the water (more accurately, God’s grace and mercy were keeping my head above the water). Add onto this the transition from living on a campus—with constant social interaction and support—to living at home as the only child (since all the other ones have done those things called marriage and moving away). A wonderful woman—wife of one of Berean’s teachers/coaches—warned me of one of the main things I might go through with this transition: loneliness. You see, she did almost the exact same thing that I am doing. She lived in this area, went away to CCC for a couple years, then returned home to finish college locally. She mentioned how hard it was to go from living with 7 other girls to living at home with just her parents for company. Though she loved her parents, it’s just not the same, and loneliness is likely to creep in. I really did not expect this to be a huge deal for me; after all, I have some friends here, and I have made new ones. But she was right; living with parents and going to visit friends is not the same as living with friends. I have found myself jealous of the other CCC kids who, despite having been reluctantly jolted from their Florida community into new colleges, are, many of them, at a school with at least one other Clearwater student. They are dispersed, but not alone. I have felt very alone.

Speaking of thankful for new friends,
if it weren't for this girl, who knows
how I would have survived so far!
God brings people along right when
you need them! 

It makes it sound like I don’t appreciate my friends here, but I do. I am so very thankful for my friends, old and new; they have already helped me through so much. But Clearwater was a home to me, and those people were family. There was an intimacy there that was grown through time, laughter, and shared heartaches. And those friends were always around when I needed them—literally steps away. I am probably the world’s worst person at keeping up with people, so that also doesn’t help things. Nor does the fact that Matty’s schedule and mine are painfully incompatible 85% of the time—long distance stinks more than I thought it would. And I did not have glowing expectations to begin with.

So here I was, bemoaning my circumstances. I have yet to settle into school—academics being the one thing in my life that I usually have a sort of a handle on. There is no longer Easter Library at which to meet up with Stacie, Matty, Colton, and/or Harrison—to “study” (i.e. drink unreasonable amounts of coffee, laugh, and somehow learn along the way). There are no post-dinner walks with Matty to unload my stress and worries and day events. Em is no longer around to overdramatically share academic concerns. Stacie can’t grab me on our way out of DL meeting and force me (in her gentle and loving way) to fess up with what is bothering me. There’s no Colton to serenade us all with his guitar as we actually do get work done in Steele lobby. No Nienhuis to sit in my room as I do my devos then talk about life with me before I head to Cantorum. (And there’s no choir/Cantorum to satisfy my musical side.) There is no brunch on late Saturday mornings, surrounded by people who know me, get me, and love me…or endless fruit. There are no calls from Gerson when I oversleep (thankfully, I haven’t overslept yet), or Adam to give me a hard time when my brain isn’t functioning 100%. Or Yeater to give me a hard time….regardless of how my brain is functioning. Or a never-failing pun or moment of Mumford obsession from Jake. Life is feeling tedious, and school, unending. I felt like I was missing out on the good and getting an overwhelming dose of mediocre.

Look how funny he thinks he is, tickling me as if it's cute...
 Only 32 more days, and he'll be in Chatt! He has been the
strong optimist this time around, insisting that we will see
each other "soon," even when "soon" meant the longest stretch
of being apart that we've had to stick out since we started dating

Then I read that post, and I was reminded that God is giving me exactly what I need right now. He wants me to be here, doing what I’m doing, because it’s what is best for me at this time. It’s not robbery that I have to be two states away from Matty; it’s the optimal distance for us right now. It’s not drudgery that I have two years of nursing school; it’s a blessing—one that I know I don’t deserve. It’s not unfair that I’m away from my CCC family; we are all with whom we are supposed to be with, to grow us and teach us most efficiently. God taught me so much in my two years at CCC; I have to remember that those lessons were to prepare me for where I am now. And where I am now has lessons to prepare me for wherever I head next. And all those lessons combined will help me through the rest of life, where I will continue to learn and grow and be surprised. I must focus on Christ, my sun and shield, trust in Him, and walk uprightly. I must not be sluggish—academically or spiritually. He is not withholding any good from me, and I must not withhold any worship and praise from Him.

“I will sing of the steadfast love of the Lord, forever;

with my mouth I will make known

your faithfulness to all generations.”

Psalm 89:1

Happy Drugs, Hills, and Hospitality

Favourite spots from my running route

“Say ‘yes’ to drugs!”

The whole Microbiology class chuckled as our professor made this challenge with great enthusiasm. As I laughed, a little extra glee trickled in, mixed with pride. Because recently, I’ve been saying ‘yes’ to drugs—and I’m loving it.

Now. to you who are growing concerned, thinking, “She’s only been in a secular college for a few weeks and she’s already gone off the deep end!” you can relax. The “drugs” we were discussing were hormones—endorphins being released during and after vigorous exercise. My professor, Dr. Wollert, was asking if any of us had ever been addicted to exercise.

“Anyone? Really? This isn’t a bad thing… seriously? None of you. I have a class of couch potatoes, I see. Come on, it’s great! You get done and suddenly all these endorphins are kicking in and you’re just like, ‘ah yea! This is great! I’m like high right now!’ This is a good thing—say ‘yes’ to drugs!”

I’ve been running more and more over the past year. I started out small, only being able to do about a mile. Then I started consistently running 1.5 miles. Then I bumped it up to 3.1 sometime over my last semester at school. However, running a 5k in Florida is NOT the same thing as running a 5k in Tennessee. Where I live here, in TN, it’s all hills. My neighbourhood is like a rolling tide, with barely a flat space to be seen. Besides, down to the cul-de-sac and back is only about a mile. If I wanted to do 3.1, I’d have to do three repetitive runs of nothing but excruciating hills. No thank you. One day I tried a different route, bravely leaving my neighbourhood, and found that it’s about 1.5 miles down to a local airfield (one of the little ones for little, privately owned planes). The route has hills, but they are relatively scattered, gradual, and not nearly as vicious. The only bad ones are the one leaving my neighbourhood at the beginning of the run, and the one leading back up to that one when I am coming back. I quickly worked my way up to being able to run the whole thing (all-in-all it’s about 3.1-3.2), and now I’m working on shaving seconds off my time. My times are still longer than they were in FL, but that doesn’t bother me at all, because I’m working way harder than I was there (FL is flatter than a pancake, and I was right at sea level. Running was a breeze). And the more I run, the more I love it and the more I want to do it. Not necessarily always during the run—sometimes I just want to be DONE. But right after I finish, and as my breathing staggers its way back to normalcy, I begin to feel stronger, greater. The endorphins that sustained me as I finished are now running rampage through my resting body, making me feel glorious. The sense of accomplishment. The hormones. It’s wonderful. No matter how good or bad my time is, as long as I don’t quit, I feel like a superhero when I’m done. And I want to feel that again. When I’m feeling lazy the next day or just don’t feel like taking the time out to run, I remember that feeling. I want it. So I run. I wouldn’t say I’m addicted, but I definitely understand the feeling. The desire to reach that high again. And I just get the little one that comes with a 5K—I can’t imagine how euphoric those marathon runners’ highs feel like!

 It’s also starting to be one of my coping strategies when I’m stressed or upset. Now, I know that I can’t depend on running to make myself happy—I need to find my joy and peace in Christ, because, like, any drug, the feeling from running fades, and I’m still left with my problems to deal with. However, going running is progress for me. I hit a bit of an emotional low this past Spring semester, and I had a lot of free time on my hands. Slowly, I started to realize that I was just trying to sleep away my problems. If something was frustrating or upsetting, I would go straight to bed and nap. It got to the point where, if I was upset or provoked in the slightest, my body would start to shut down and get really tired all of the sudden—even if I was fully rested and completely functional minutes before. It was not the best coping strategy. So now, instead of sleeping, I’ve started wanting to run instead. I’m not one of those people who can think while they run. Or pray. I don’t get that. Like yea, I think a lot while I’m running, but I have almost no reign over what thoughts go through my head. They’re scattered and disjointed, and they flip over and over without me even realizing it. Basically, when my body goes for a run, so does my brain. I try the whole praying thing or planning or sorting out my feelings—yea, no. It doesn’t really work. I can do it for about ten seconds, but soon I just find myself repeating,

“And Lord, please be with (insert name) and help them. Uh. Life. And. Be with (insert same name), because. Uh. please be with (same name).”

You see. It really gets nowhere. I applaud and envy all you who can have special prayer times during your workouts. Really, I do. I just can’t focus my mind like that.

So running is basically 30 minutes of going. Pushing. Thinking random thoughts: mostly escape plans of “what would happen if someone tried to abduct me right here?” or “I really like this field. It’s pretty. It distracts me from the fact that I’m running uphill right now… no. don’t think about the uphill. Pretty field. Think pretty field.”

That’s just about as deep as my mid-run mind gets. Actually, I get a lot of first paragraphs of potential blog posts mentally written during some downhills. Obviously, they don’t often develop. Nor do I often remember them afterwards.

However, running has given me more than happy drugs and a sense of accomplishment. It has let me see goodness in random people.

Running as a young lady can be a little intimidating. I don’t usually feel particularly intimidated, but I’m always afraid someone is going to tell me I can’t anymore because it’s “not safe” or something. I’m not stupid or naïve, so I do try to practice good runners’ safety. And, as previously mentioned, probably at least 40% of my rambling runner thoughts are epic escape plans for if I were to be attacked at any given moment (another 5% goes to the thoughts of “Good glory breathing is rough right now—would I even be able to scream?” A question that was answered the day that, despite the fact that I was taxed from just running a steep hill, I unintentionally screamed when a dog behind a fence surprised me. It was out before I realized what I was doing, almost making me doubt whether or not I had actually screamed. My strained vocal cords, however, assured me that I had). Yea, I am extremely wary of the cars that pass me. And people (though I rarely ever pass people aside from the ones mowing their lawns). However, there have been some occurrences that, though I was in no danger, the caution that other people had for my safety reminded me that, while there is danger of running alone (there’s potential danger in basically everything we do, honestly), and there are creepers out there, there are also nice people out there.

The first experience was right in front of my house at the very end of my run. The final stretch for me is going down a big hill at the entrance of my neighbourhood, sprinting the flat space in front of my house, then turning up into my driveway. On my descent, this certain day, our neighbour’s dog, Mo, decided to come out and remind me of her existence. I got to the place where I would normally sprint, but Mo was RIGHT there. RIGHT next to me. Barking and nudging up to me. She likes to run after people to begin with (never hurting, just annoying), and she just had a litter of puppies. So now she thinks she needs to remind us all that this is her territory. Like I said, she never hurts anyone. And her owners were out in their lawn, so I didn’t really think any harm was going to come to me, but she messed up my final sprint. And, the whole last stretch, I was pushing her away, saying “no, Mo! No! Go home!” I got back to my house, the neighbours came and got Mo, and I began climbing the stairs up to my front door. As I did so, I saw a car drive slowly down the road with its windows rolled down. It was the same car that had passed me to leave the subdivision when Mo was pestering me. The man in the drivers seat leaned his head out and said,

“I’m sorry I did not stop when that dog was bothering you. Are you okay? I should have stopped.”

I explained that I was fine and she didn’t hurt me. (If you’re questioning me talking to strangers, he and I were actually quite far apart, and he was making no move to exit his vehicle—he genuinely was checking on my safety). After expressing his disapproval of the dog’s owners and receiving further confirmation on my safety, he left.

He had apologized. Apologized. Because he hadn’t stopped when he first saw the dog getting all up in my space. He had obviously felt so guilty that he had turned around at the top of the hill and drove back, unable to go on when there was a potential dog attack occurring behind him—one that he could have prevented.

The next one really has nothing to do with safety—it was just one of those little blessings, being reminded of the beauty and simplicity of childhood.

It had been a rough run, and I did not feel like braving my last hill. I had opted to run in the evening, thinking it would be a good time, and letting me get things done throughout the day. Eh—nope. The roads were busy with people getting back from work. So not only was I being stopped at intersections, I also had to drink in these people’s exhaust trails, because who doesn’t want contaminated air when they’re struggling to breathe to begin with? I thought it would be cooler, running at 6 p.m. I did not account for the fact that, though the sun was lower in the sky, it 1) was still beating on me, just from a different angle, and 2) had been baking the ground all day, so now the heat was coming from above and below. And lots of people were home, so they were mowing their lawns! Because there’s nothing like a lung full of allergens as you run. Okay, so I was being pretty grouchy. And I wanted to just walk my last hill. But I knew that I would hate myself for it after. But I still wanted to do it. I was debating, still running, when I passed this house. In the lawn stood these two little boys. One was probably 6 or so, the other was probably more around 3. He seemed very young, but apparently old enough to be potty trained, because he was wearing nothing but some little-boy unders. As I passed, they both smiled and waved, and one of them, in his high, innocent voice, chipperly called out, “HI!” I responded with a smile, a wave, and new determination to finish that run.

The most recent occurrence was today. I am usually much too proud to walk during a run. It almost never happens. I pray (literally) for loss of consciousness before I am willing to quit. However, today there were different things interfering with my run, and, honestly, I just wanted more peace. I wanted a quite walk. I just, didn’t feel like running. It wasn’t that I was too tired. I just wanted to walk. So, about ¼ way in to the second half (I had already turned around at the skypark and was heading back home), I passed this adorable little house. It’s one of my favourite ones to pass. It’s sweet and quaint—with a not so sweet and quaint “NO TRESSPASSING” sign in the front lawn. And there are always people about, it seems. I believe grandparents live there, and their kids and grandkids are often visiting. And if there aren’t people arriving or leaving as I pass, I usually see the old man in his screened-in front porch. So they do often see me, as well. I don’t know if they’ve grown used to seeing me run past twice in a row, or if it was the sight of a young lady who was obviously just running but now is walking down the road that triggered their concern. I had just been distracted by some little creatures in the gutter, so I had slightly mis-stepped and had to regain my proper footing. Maybe they saw that and thought I was struggling. I don’t know. But, as I passed the house, a man and his (very) young son were walking out of the screened-in porch. They stood there in the doorway (quite a distance from the road where I was), saw me, and called out, “You alright?” I smiled, assured him I was, and we all three went on our merry little ways.

These little things were so simple. They weren’t superfluous. They didn’t try to come to me, but respecting the universal knowledge that someone approaching you as you run by yourself is going to be taken as a threat, they called out to make sure I was fine. Didn’t pursue. Didn’t press me when I assured them of my safety. They just checked and went on their way.

Perhaps you’re more pessimistic than I, and you still see these as threatening. You may be even questioning whether or not letting me go out on my own is such a good idea after all.

Or maybe you’re fine, but you see nothing super special about these small interactions. “So what?” you might think.

But to me, they meant a lot. They weren’t responsible for me, but still took the responsibility of checking on my safety. They didn’t pursue me or push me. There was nothing threatening in any of these interactions. They just showed me that, were I in danger, they would have helped. Otherwise, they’ll leave me be. People like that aren’t always around. And I don’t put my trust in the presence of strangers. But being reminded that there are people out there who, not only won’t bother me, but would help me if I were to need it—that put a smile to my face. Because what if Mo had attacked, and his owners weren’t around to notice? That man would have been there to save me. What if I had passed out on the side of the road in front of that family’s house? Someone would have been there to pull me off the street.

We expect everyone to be an enemy—sometimes that keeps us safe. Because there are people who will take advantage of weakness. Even ones that will feign hospitality so that they can get your guard down and get at you. But it’s good to be reminded that not everyone is terrible. There are people, random people, who not only aren’t going to hurt you, but are willing to help you if they needed to.

And when you mix happy hormones with hospitality, you get one encouraged runner.

It's important to remember that running is an excellent excuse
to wear an absurd amount of neon:) 

How Do I Know?

            I’ve been so excited about the prospect of nursing school. Yes, I know it will be hard. I know I’ll cry—a lot. I know it will take all I’ve got. But I feel like I’m finally going somewhere. Come fall, I’ll finally be able to say that I’m a nursing student. That’s waaaay different than being a “nursing major.” All “nursing major” means is that I’m taking all my prerequisites so I can become a nursing student. I knew the nerves would come full force at some point, but they just hadn’t hit me—until orientation.

            I had nursing school orientation just this past week. Yes, nursing school itself doesn’t start until the fall, and I have two summer classes to get through before then, but orientation was this week since there are about five zillion things one has to do before nursing school. Buy uniforms. Background check. Drug screen. Physical. Immunizations out the wazoo. Etc, etc. So orientation is to help us know what we’re doingm and start to prepare our poor, innocent minds for the monsoon of challenge that is awaiting us all. And, because I’m a big girl now, I went to orientation by myself. Moma wasn’t there to drop me off or show me to the room. I drove there (which, of course has to involve some form of getting turned around a couple times, because, hey! It’s me!). I found the room (with the help of another girl and her mom, because they changed the room on us). I walked in.

It was huge.

I know Chatt State is NOT Clearwater. I knew everything would be bigger. But I guess I’m just too used to small classrooms. Not lecture halls. Long tables with swivel chairs, layered and layered, leading to the podium and two projectors in the front. And there was a stage, also, I think. I don’t trust my memory. I swear, everything inside of me was shaking.

I don’t belong here. I don’t belong here. I don’t belong here…

Good gracious, Lydia. Pull yourself together.

True to myself, I walked down, down, down the isle to the second or third table from the front and sat at the seat closest to the aisle. Looking around, I noticed that everyone else had matching papers (hard to miss, seeing as one of them was fluorescent orange). I leaned over to the woman next to me, separated by an empty chair between us,

“Excuse me. Where did you get those papers?”

“There were on the first table as you walked in.”

“Right. Thanks.”

So back up, up, up I walked to the entrance, finding the three stacks of paper on the far left of the first table (to my credit, from the angle that you walk in at, they are partially hidden by the seat in front of them). I take the papers. Then down, down, down. I tried to not think about what all the people who were starting at me were thinking about. I wanted to vomit. Or cry. Maybe both. Most of all, I just wanted to run. But I did what I have found to be the most effective thing to do in such circumstances. I steeled myself. Shoulders back. Head high. Look like you know what you’re doing. Feign confidence, and it will often come to you.

The rest of the meeting was like a winding West Virginia road. My emotions were going one way and then another, all the while feeling like I was teetering on the edge of a cliff, with only a small guard rail keeping me in line. Fear to excitement. Doubt to positive anticipation. Wanting to cry then laughing out loud. Praise the Lord for the head of the nursing program—that woman was wonderful. As nervous as I was, she made me feel quite at home with hear easy manner and great sense of humour. The farther I went, the easier things got, until, finally, it was time to go. Those three hours, thankfully, went much quicker than I anticipated (hopefully my three hour class sessions this summer will as well).

However, during those low emotional points in the session, I began doubting myself more than I have in a very long time.

I can’t do this. I can’t. I’m not cut out for nursing school. What am I doing here? Why am I here? Why did I decide to do this again? I’m never going to make it. I don’t even want to try. I’m trapped. There’s no going back.

Praise God for the ways He works in our lives. Sometimes He makes things bumpy along the way to comfort us in the future. You see, the only reason I could combat those thoughts is because I knew—I KNEW—that they were false. Because I know I’m headed where God wants me. Why? Because there’s no way on this green earth that I would have even made it this far if it were not for God’s grace.

I began to think of the scene from Enchanted when Giselle and Robert are walking through the park discussing Robert’s relationship. In proper Disney style, Giselle breaks out into song, asking Robert, “how does she know you love her?” Now, disregarding the fact that perhaps having yellow flowers sent when the sky is grey is not a 100% verification of love, a point is made: often, we know someone loves us, or we are reminded that they do, because we can see it in their actions. Now, what does this have to do with me and nursing school? Well, you see, during my last few weeks of classes at CCC, my RA asked me how I was feeling about leaving and going to nursing school. My response was this: “I’ve never been so sure that I’m where God wants me and going where He wants me than I am right now.” How do I know? Because of the ways—incredibly numerous ways—that He has provided for me to get here. Honestly, the road to nursing school has been kind of crazy, and my plans have been shifted, shaken, and turned completely upside down more times that I can recall. Right when I would think we had everything sorted out, another curve ball was thrown. And I’m grateful. I’ve learned so much through this experience. Mostly, it is this:

“The heart of man plans his way, but the Lord establishes his steps” (Proverb 16:9).

Yes, it’s good to plan. We shouldn’t walk through life willy-nilly, never preparing, never being a wise steward of what we have been given. But as my RD cautioned the DL’s and RA’s in regards to our plans for the summer, “Hold on to them loosely. Be open to the changes God may wish to make to them.” My mom and I have had to plan and prepare a lot for my upcoming nursing education (mostly my mom has done the planning and preparing, I will admit). But sometimes—most of the time—something has come along to alter our plans, or even completely erase them at times. Through it all, God has taught me to trust Him, because every time something “bad” happened, He showed me His power and provision in ways I would not have gotten to see otherwise. Getting into Chatt State in-and-of-itself was a huge indicator that it was His will for me to go there, because that program is competitive.

And that’s how I know. Because, while Moma and I have been planning our ways, God has very clearly been establishing our steps. I wouldn’t be where I am if it weren’t for His provision. Every plan that went awry, every unmet expectation, every phone call to the college that resulted in another hoop to jump through—God’s hand was very clearly directing us through each one and providing us an incredible way through. I can see through His works, His provisions for me, that Chatt State is my next step. And there was my comfort during that intimidating orientation. I don’t know how I would have made it through—how I would have even made it to my seat—if I did not have the assurance in my heart that God has provided the way into nursing school, so He will provide the way through it. I know that it is more than likely that I will have to face unexpected barriers along the way. Things may not—very likely will not—go the way I want them to all the time. But I’m okay with that. Because, so far, when things don’t go my way, it’s because they’re going God’s way, and His ways are so much greater than mine (Isaiah 55:9).

It would be a lie to tell you that I’m not scared of nursing school. Facing what I know will probably be one of the most academically challenging seasons of my life is insanely intimidating. Not to mention I get to go through the lovely experience of being the newbie again. Which means I have to work on making new friends. Adjusting to a new environment. Learning how to balance this new academic workload with other things like friends, family, work, and leisure.

But every day I try to cast all my cares and anxieties on God, because I know, I have seen, that He cares for me (I Peter 5:7).