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).

When Classy Doesn't Cut It

I still remember agonizing over what could be the core of that rubber band ball.

            I was a kitchen worker (T.E.A.M. member—now “Secret Service Member”) at camp. Ninth grade. And Hector was still the T.E.A.M. leader. In one of our Bible studies, he held up his famous rubber band ball. I don’t even remember how heavy it was. It was huge. Band-upon-band, wrapped around a small core. A core that only Hector knew.

            “This is not a rubber band ball,” he told us. “The rubber bands are just what are covering the true core of this ball. Only I, the creator of the ball, truly know what this ball is. You can only see what it has been covered in.”

            He went on to explain that we do this in our lives—we apply rubber bands to our core. God created us to be something/someone, but we seek identity in other things. We apply “rubber bands” to our lives, because we want people to see us as those things.

            I don’t think I realized, at the time, how much I did, and would continue to do, just that. It’s something I’ve always done. Perhaps I’ve mentioned before that my motto is basically, “go big or go home.” It’s not so much something that I have consciously implemented in my life as much as it is something ingrained in my character from the beginning. As Matty said to me last night, “You either walk really fast, or you walk really slowly. You’re either really loud or really quiet.” I go to extremes. So when I find something I like, I go at it—hard. And I tend to wrap it around myself like a rubber band, wanting people to see me as that. To associate me with that.

            I like old-fashioned things, and I have a high appreciation for class. I wear high heels and pencil skirts with my shirts neatly tucked in and topped with a cardigan. My hair is often swept back into a tidy bun, hair sprayed to perfection. While I tend to wear neutral colours (often simply black, white, and grey), my lips are most often painted with a vibrant red (courtesy of the influence of my dear friends Katelyn and Lauren).

            I’m known for being a studious person, so I embrace my nerdiness to its fullest. “Yes I just casually quoted Jane Austen in normal conversation—I’m sorry You didn’t notice; let me point that out for you…” type of thing. Tease me for studying too much? You probably just made my day.

            My blood type is O-negative; the universal donor. Which I find pretty special.

Those are just a few things—to give you a good picture of what I’m talking about.

            Today, I had all my rubber bands in place. After only a few tries, my hair kindly complied with my wishes and formed a bun swept over to the side of my head, a braid pulled over as a band on top. My sheer, cream shirt, grey cardigan, and black pencil skirt cleanly contrasted with my cherry-red lips. Even my fingernails were painted red—a rare occurrence, indeed. Finally, I bravely wore my 4-5 inch, off-white, satin heels with sparkly platform and heel. My thick black-rimmed glasses and trademark pearls topped it all off. I looked everything I ever want to look. But was I satisfied?

            Nope.

            In fact, I was struggling with personal spiritual/emotional things for most of the day. Because even though I looked the part, it didn’t satisfy me. To everyone else, I looked just right—but I knew that, inwardly, I wasn’t.

            I ended up sitting down and exposing many of the lies I’ve been telling myself for so long. Lies that control and enslave me. Lies that pinch and pull and shove me into tight molds that I have forged from personal ideals and values.

            People look at me, and what do they see?

The girl who looks like she just walked out of the 1940’s?

The girl who studies a lot and gets good grades? 

            But is that who I am?

            What about when I don’t have time to get ready in the morning, and I end up wearing jeans and a t-shirt?

            What about when I don’t get my assignments done, or I don’t make the grade I wanted on the test?

            (My blood type isn’t going anywhere—I don’t have to worry about that one)

            But really, what happens when those things are gone? That’s a scary idea for me. Because when I seek to find my identity in earthly things, I’m always faced with the reality that those things are temporary. I’m constantly striving to find identity in things, and when they fade, or when other people start claiming them for themselves and outshining me, I feel like part of my significance is sapped away from me.

            And I’m left wanting.

            But that’s exactly what I needed. I needed to see that I was searching in all the wrong places for security. Sure, I was seeking security in Christ, but not in every area. I was looking for Christ, plus style. Self-image. Intelligence. Kind of like the “All I need is a little bit of coffee and a whole lot of Jesus,” mentality.

            No. No no no. You just need Jesus. Yea, I get that I’m taking that very literally and probably too seriously, but we really do think like that sometimes! More times than we’d like to admit, I’d wager.

            What do I really need? What am I to be seeking?

“Whom have I in heaven but you?

And there is nothing on earth that I desire besides you.

My flesh and my heart may fail,

but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.

 For behold, those who are far from you shall perish;

you put an end to everyone who is unfaithful to you.

But for me it is good to be near God;

I have made the Lord God my refuge,

that I may tell of all your works.”

Psalm 73:25-28

“If then you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God. Set your minds on things that are above, not on things that are on earth. For you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God. When Christ who is your life appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.

Colossians 3:1-4

            I don’t really know how to wrap this up. Indeed, I barely feel like I communicated what I wanted to in this post to begin with. Because it’s still something turning over in my head. I’m still discovering areas in my life where I’m more messed up than I previously realized. I’m still seeking truth to fill in the gaps where I have exposed the lies. And I don’t have all the answers. I don’t know all the right verses. And I’m not going to get this right on the first try.

            But it’s easier to clean up when you’re so painfully aware of how dirty things are. And I have the great physician to help me heal. I have the creator who made me—who gave me my core, and desires that I seek Him. Find my identity in Him and who He made me to be. That all my actions and desires are pointed towards Him and my sanctification—for His glory. Not so I can feel good about myself, so that I’m more confident and self-liberated. No, that’s not what I need. I don’t need to feel confident in myself, because if confidence came from how I feel about myself, then a little bit of lipstick would do the trick. Just throw a few more rubber bands on. But being classy isn’t going to cut it. My confidence needs to be in Christ. My boasts are only in Him and the work that He has done. Through my weakness and insufficiency, I—and others—can see His mighty hand at work in the life of someone so undeserving and inadequate as I.   

Faith in the Faithful

In my “Ready, Set, Sophomore!” post, I described my feelings about going into the fall semester: “I don’t think I have ever felt so inadequate for a task in my entire life.”

It was a pretty accurate description of my entire semester. That semester pushed me to my limit—within the first few weeks.

A little window into the inner-life of last semester Lydia:

·      My schedule was jam-packed. Looking at my planner for last semester is still sickening.

·      Within the first few weeks, I began to become very homesick—that feeling grew and persisted throughout the entire semester.

·      My average amount of sleep per night was 4 hours. Every once and a while I would get 5 or 6—that was a really big accomplishment. Whenever I had an A&P test, it was more like 2 or 3. (Friday nights I would be sure to schedule 10 hours to try and make up for the torture I had put my body through earlier in the week)

·      I became so sleep-deprived that sometimes the sight of a bed could cause me to burst into tears, and the feeling of flannel (the fabric basically all my pajama pants are made out of) had the power to make me sick to my stomach and crave sleep with my entire being.

·      I was the most emotionally unstable I have ever been.

·      I cried myself to sleep probably at least once a week—if not more—just because I was so tired and I wanted to go home so badly.

·      It was the longest semester of my life.

My friend Emily (if you are my friend on Facebook or follow me on Instagram, she’s my lab partner—the girl with me in all the dead cat pictures) were reminiscing the other day about last semester and the state we were in (her semester was very similar). We sat there wondering how on earth our bodies survived.

But really, we know.

I know, because, as terrible as last semester was, and as much as I am so glad it is over, it taught me so much about my Heavenly Father.

Because when you reach the point where you know you can’t go any farther…

When you physically cannot handle the task in front of you…

When you seriously do not have enough time to finish everything you need to…

You have a few choices:

1.     Give up—do that thing that you’ve been on the brink of doing since 8^th grade. Just quit. Quit trying so hard. Quit studying so much. Quite caring. Embrace the failure and just deal with it.

2.     Plod along and continue to drain yourself, growing more hopeless every backbreaking step.
Or…

3.     Rest in the strength of the Almighty, and be awestruck every day by His continuous provision and love.

I believe God showed me a little more of His character every day through the struggle that was last semester. I saw it when He brought things to my remembrance and helped me retain what I studied about the neuromuscular junction at 1 a.m. I saw it when He gave me the strength to get out of bed in the morning, even though I had just gotten into it a couple/few hours before. I saw it in the grace and patience He gave my supervisors at work for those mornings when I didn’t get out of bed in time. I saw it on the days that I sat crying, staring at my countdown for Thanksgiving break, wondering if I could make it another day, let alone three more weeks—but in my heart hearing that still, small voice, reminding me that God is a faithful Father. He knew my schedule before the semester began—allowed it to be the way it was. Every day He gave me strength to get through it. And every day I could look back on the one before and see His mighty hand and know that the same mighty hand was over the new day as well.

            Speaking of fathers, God used my earthy father—and mother—I know. They prayed for every test. Every paper. I swear, my parents have prayed me through college thus far. Not to mention my dad and brother both helped me substantially with my Doctrines paper; they basically told me every source I needed to look up and read—and then some. And then there was Matty—bless that boy.

God used my amazingly supportive
family and friends to pick me up
and help me keep going. 

It’s a commonly known fact that boys don’t like it when girls cry. They don’t what to do. It’s not a leak that you can fix with a wrench. Sometimes, nothing fixes it. Matty will never admit to this, but he’s a pro at dealing with me when I cry—and I cried so much last semester. And I was tired, oh, so tired. One night at dinner, I looked down at my iPod and checked my Thanksgiving countdown. I think the countdown read 3 weeks? I could not do three more weeks. One more day was too much, it felt. And I had an A&P test the next day. I was so tired, but I knew I wouldn’t get to sleep until 2 a.m. at the earliest. It was too much. I lost complete control of my emotions. The tears began as a trickle as I slowly put my iPod back into my purse. But then the dam broke, and my head was down on the table as I sobbed and sobbed. I told him that I wanted to go home—something he had been hearing from me for most of the semester. He sat there and comforted me, eventually saying,

“All right, get up. We’re going to Starbucks and getting you a milkshake” (what he calls Frappuccinos).

“No….I….can’t. I…have…a…test. I don’t have time… I don’t have time for anything.”

“Come on, you’ll be fine. You have your notes; you can study in the car. You need a pick-me-up.”

“You…didn’t….bring…your…keys…to…dinner.”

“Oh yea, you’re right...”

Of course, he didn’t give up that easily, and he had another key handy, and he took me to Starbucks to cheer me up.

But he didn’t just use Starbucks. Matty doesn’t struggle with idolizing schoolwork like I do, so he is really good at teaching me balance. At night when he would walk me back to my room, he would often part with me with the words,

“Unless the Lord builds the house,

those who build it labor in vain” (Psalm 127:1 ESV).

During prayer, he would often thank God for my diligence and pray that God would help me honour Him with my work. He would pray that I would work unto Him and not unto men, and that God would give me strength and rest.

One weekend, Matty went with his friend Isaac to visit
Southern Baptist Seminary in Kentucky.
They drove through and stopped in Chattanooga. There, Matty
bought me chocolate from our favourite coffee shop and he
brought back a fall branch from Chatt so I
could have a little fall from home. 

            And God answered those prayers. I remember one week last semester, I honestly and truly did not have enough time for everything I had due. It was a Wednesday (I was usually up until 1 or 2 on Wednesday nights working on assignments on a normal basis). I had assignments due the next day. I had church to go to, and I couldn’t skip because we had made commitments in youth group. It was also White Glove—the bane of every resident student’s existence—that night. In the smidgen of time I had between classes and church, I frantically tried to complete my White Glove jobs. It came to a point when I realized, I’m not going to get these done. It’s impossible. But I had faced a lot of impossible things that semester. So, with rag in hand, I wiped down the bathroom wall and prayed, What do you have in store for me this time, Lord? I can’t do this, and You know that. You always provide and humble me with Your amazing plans. How are You going to show your power this time?

I wasn’t challenging Him. I wasn’t being a smart alec. I just had this peace—I knew that God has something in store for me. Worrying was pointless—and faithless. So I continued cleaning, and within minutes Nadia, a girl in my unit, came to me.
            “Hey, I’m done with all my White Glove jobs—want me to help me with yours?”

We passed White Glove with flying colours. I got to church on time. I finished my assignments. And I had another amazing blessing to add to my list of reminders of how loving and gracious and mighty my God is.

            Last semester is over. This semester has begun. And what does this semester look like?

·      12 credit hours

·      Sleep

·      Free time

·      Social life

            Sometimes I feel guilty for having such a light load. Sometimes I’m afraid people are going to think I’m lazy. But then I just remember that this semester is a gift from my Father, just like last semester was. He is giving me a much-needed period of rest. This fall, Lord willing, I will be in nursing school. I will be entering into quite possibly one of the most (if not the most) taxing experiences I have ever been through. But I can face that prospect, knowing that my God is faithful. He has provided every ounce of energy and every grade along the way. If He didn’t want me where I am, I know I wouldn’t be here now, for it is only through His grace that I have made it this far. If He wants me to make it through nursing school, I will. Right now, I am thankfully accepting this half-time break that He has provided. I know that before I know it, the deafening buzzer will sound, and I’ll be right back in the game, facing a fierce and tireless opponent. I am weak. I am slow. I am inadequate. But I know,

The Lord is the everlasting God,

the Creator of the ends of the earth.

He does not faint or grow weary;

His understanding is unsearchable.

He gives power to the faint,

and to him who has no might he increases strength.

Even youths shall faint and be weary,

and young men shall fall exhausted;

but they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength;

they shall mount up with wings like eagles;

they shall run and not be weary;

they shall walk and not faint.

(Isaiah 40:28b-41 ESV)

Adventures and Alterations

Unexpected.

Here I sit at gate B22 in Atlanta airport, waiting for my flight that will whisk me away on a grand adventure all the way across the country to see my sister and her husband in Seattle. Seattle. Washington. Across the country. Are you getting how incredible this is? I mean, if you don’t know how far away Seattle is, go watch “Sleepless in Seattle,” and Tom Hanks will break it down for you.

I was not expecting this trip in the slightest. This was my grand surprise Christmas gift from my parents—probably one of the most amazing gifts I have ever received. I had in my mind how I expected this Christmas break to go, and with one little box containing a toy airplane and a flight itinerary, all my expectations were swept away and replaced with the thrilling reality that I would get to see my sister—soon! 

That’s basically my life these days. False expectations and unexpected new plans. I hope that doesn’t sound like I’m complaining; I most certainly am not. God has just taught me a little something about His sovereignty over this past semester. You see, I went into this semester thinking I knew what I was going to do, and it involved graduating through Clearwater. However, all my plans fell away when I was informed that I could not stay at Clearwater and start nursing school the semester I wanted (fall 2015). So I changed plans. I started thinking about other schools to transfer to, or about going to my planned nursing school without going through Clearwater (that probably doesn’t make much sense unless you know the whole situation—just know that I was making various plans). It shook me up a bit at first, having to change plans like that. However, over time I began to accept and adjust to my new expectations. I didn’t know what school I would end up at or how everything would work out, but I knew that I couldn’t finish through Clearwater, and I would probably end up going home to Chattanooga for nursing school. Just when that had settled in and I was mentally ready for the change—PLOT TWIST.

Somebody high up in my college’s administration was thinking about me—me—and decided she wanted to provide a way for me to be able to still get my degree through CCC. The timing was incredible. I was making my schedule up for the spring semester, expecting to not graduate through CCC, so I didn’t register for all the classes that they required of me. Then the new opportunity came up, and I shifted my classes once more, making it possible for me to complete all the classes that CCC required of me.

I love the nursing school CCC is partnered with. Their facilities are beautiful, they have a fantastic reputation, and everything is great. However, it would be significantly less expensive if I were to go to a nursing school in Chattanooga. I would still get my RN (like I would at the other school); I just wouldn’t get a bachelor’s degree through CCC, which is not really a big deal. When I came home for Thanksgiving break, my mom took me to visit Chattanooga State Community College to talk to people there about what classes I would need, what their school is like, etc. After that meeting, I knew what decision I should make: I need to come home next fall. The decision wasn’t a big blow; I was expecting the same thing earlier this past semester, after all. Both schools are great nursing schools, and there are pro’s and con’s to both, so it wasn’t breaking my heart, having to go to one over the other. It was just another change of plans. Right when things had shifted, they were shifting back. It was a little overwhelming.

I got to kick off Christmas break by studying for my TEAS test, which is a test that Chatt. State requires for application into their nursing program. After that was all done and I got a little rest time, I got to spend a big chunk of one day with my mom, applying to both nursing schools—the one in Tampa and the one in Chattanooga. (just in case I don’t get accepted into Chatt. State; I may even be applying to some others here in the near future). My church here in TN knows my current plans, and some here have asked me when I’m coming home for nursing school. I told them my expectations, but I also told them that I did not know for sure what is going to happen. You see, I’ve learned that, really, I don’t know anything for certain except that God is in control. I sometimes wonder why God changed the mind of CCC to have them let me finish through them if I’m not going to do it after all. However, even though I am most likely not going to take their very generous offer (though I am very grateful for it), God still taught me a special lesson through that major plot twist: He can do anything. Of course, this is something I already knew—something that has been taught to me from a very young age (**insert Sunday school song here**). But how often do we actually expect Him to do something so radical in our own lives? Change plans so that something that was previously not an option now is? I know I wasn’t expecting it. And I was quite in awe when the plans changed. I didn’t include all the details in this post, but so many things were involved—so many things were going on that week—the fact that the woman changed her mind that day was obviously a God-thing. God will do whatever He sees fit to get me wherever He wants me. So I really have no need to worry about the next step. I can plan for it—should plan for it—but I don’t know if God’s going to throw a detour in there. He might. I don’t know.

Usually I am a control freak. Usually, not knowing the next step scares the crud out of me. Usually I panic…

It’s amazing what college does to a person.

It’s just that I have seen so clearly God’s intimate involvement in my life. His power. His control. I’m just not scared anymore. Yes, sometimes I really, really wish I knew for sure what is coming next. I mean, I have to order books. I have to schedule classes. What if I mess up? What if I count my chickens before they hatch? But, at the same time, I have peace knowing that God is powerful, and He provides for His children. I plan on writing another post soon about some of the experiences I had last semester, seeing God’s provision in my life. Looking back on this semester, I know that my part is to “trust in the Lord with all [my] heart and do not lean on [my] own understanding. In all [my] ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight [my] paths” (Proverbs 3:5&6 ESV). It really is that simple. It may not always be easy, but it is simple. I learned that verse years ago. I have always believed it. But I didn’t always see it in action. Now that I have, I see what an exciting thing it can be.

My good friend Katelyn and I love adventures. We love going on them, creating them, 

thinking of them, reading of them… Our adventures may not always look like adventures to other people, but we do savour each and every one. This trip I’m on to Seattle is a great adventure (by the way, I boarded the flight a while ago and am currently traveling at 499mph with a head wind of 26 mph at an altitude of 31,091 feet—if your curiosity stretches further, the outside temperature is -60 °F, I have traveled 1,198 miles and have 1,015 miles ahead of me, with only 2 hours and 06 minutes more to go—and by the time I got that all written, most of that information has already changed, of course, but I still found it all fascinating, so I decided to share).When I was still sitting at my gate, I texted Matty, “I’M GOING ON AN ADVENTURE” (probably for the zillionth time, or so). He responded by telling me that everything is an adventure… and isn’t that true? Life is crazy. Does a day ever go by where nothing unexpected occurs? Even if you’re expectations are that everything is going to be unexpected, if that comes true, then your day went as expected, making your day unexpected… Sorry. I’ll stop that.

My point is, God has me on a great adventure. I don’t know what’s coming next—just that He’s in control of whatever it is, and “we know that for those who love God all things work together for good, for those who are called according to his purpose” (Romans 8:28 ESV). Right this very second, I’m in one of those lovely little sub-adventures within my great adventure—it’s one of those adventures that Katelyn and I celebrate (yes, I’m going to continue calling these sub-adventures “my adventures,” despite the whole “everything is an adventure” thing—so don’t get too picky on me, now). So here, at 29,970 feet, over whatever state this is (I wish I learned my geography better when I was little, then I could tell you), I finish this post and enjoy this adventure I’m on.

The next day, on another adventure:
riding the bus with my sister!

After I finally arrived--waiting
AND WAITING
for my luggage