It's been
approximately forever since I've blogged about anything. Nine months is totally
forever, according to people I know who have had babies. Truth is, this school
year was hard. I was stretched in directions I didn't know existed.
Relationships endured trials which would culminate in their refinement or
severance, though neither party knew which one at the outset. The struggle
against the thorn-in-the-flesh of panic attacks continued. Questions about the
future persisted--Why am I getting this degree? What do I plan to do
vocationally? How am I ever going to pay down all this student debt? Am I ever
going to be able to afford to live anywhere? Can I even get into a sufficiently
lucrative career to support myself? Where are my physical, mental, emotional,
and spiritual supports going to come from in the future?
Blah blah
blah. Noise noise noise.
Beneath
all of these questions and self-doubts was this undercurrent of something like,
"God has a plan. Trust him. This is all going to work out better than you
could have imagined." Truthfully, I'm not sure how I would have made it
through this year without that mantra persisting like a bagpipe drone against
the tumultuous, dissonant recesses of my anxiety-stricken mind which
immediately jump to the worst case scenario as the only possible outcome, and
also the one that I somehow deserve.
But I've
noticed my mind changing over the past year. It's quicker and more natural than
it once was to grab onto the promises of God as truth, and to peacefully and
patiently wait on the outcome which he has foreknown from the very foundations
of the world, expecting to be surprised by joy.
I just
came back from this Celtic Christianity tour to Ireland and the UK (talk about
being financially responsible). This was another situation where I wasn't sure
how the logistics were going to work out, but felt like God was saying,
"Go. Trust me." Basically every logistical hiccup that could have
occurred along the journey, did--and, would you believe it, they all worked out. The Lord has
taught me little object lessons about his providence like this before, and how
his will always prevails… Like that time I actually finished my undergraduate degree while battling a mental illness that wouldn't let me sit still for more
than 20 minutes in a lecture hall without having a panic attack, if I even made
it to the campus at all (or maybe that speaks more to my tenacity, or just
plain craziness…)
With that
in mind, I arrived in Ireland, eagerly anticipating the discovery of what God
was going to show me. I'd read about the Celts' emphasis on the care of
creation, which had found a special place in my heart as a kind of closet
Bohemian-hippie-flower-child-wannabe. Over the first couple of days, I read
about the Celtic love of nature and wholeness, juxtaposed to the greed,
insecurity, and short-sightedness of their Western European contemporaries, who
were chopping down forests to build massive cathedrals as an act of worship to
the God whose creation they were destroying. Of course, the Celts also built
monasteries and cathedrals, and probably decimated a few forests and fields in
the process, which was an interesting thing to think about.
 |
| Ferns! Inside! |
Shortly
after arriving on the island of Iona, after a long day of plane, bus, and ferry
trips, and a couple of violent panic attacks, I went to walk off the adrenaline
hangover, and ended up in the abbey. What struck me immediately were the ferns
and flowers growing through random locations on the interior stone walls of the
chapel. After snapping a couple of photos, because tourism, I stopped to
contemplate this occurrence. One of my lesser-known hobbies is looking at
pictures of abandoned buildings. The thought came to my mind that if this type
of picture were to show up on one of the urban explorer pages that I follow on
social media, then the top comment might be something like "I love it when
the earth reclaims what is rightfully hers". People like me are kind of
obsessed with trying to find order amid chaos. Greenery overtaking a manmade
structure, abandoned or not, is seen as the natural order of things being
restored. There's something fulfilling and enigmatic and wonderful about it.
 |
| Different island, different structure, same story. |
Yet, the
situation becomes all the more complex and holistic and appreciable when I can
consider, as a Christian, who the creator and ruler of nature is. The irony of
a structure which was built as a house of worship to the Creator God being
overrun, and eventually physically destroyed, by that which the Creator God has
made is absolutely delicious! As we continued to travel around the island, and
other locations, I noticed this more and more--in old monastic ruins, and
crumbling stone walls, life was bursting forth. The symbolism is incredibly
rich. God will break through any structure or circumstance which we place
between ourselves and him, even if it is constructed with the purest of
intentions. There is nothing we can do to stop it. His will will be
accomplished.
On one
hand, thank God that there is nothing on earth or in heaven that can separate
us from his love. Praise the One who cares more deeply for each of us than
anyone on earth, and whose purpose for our lives will always prevail. On
another hand, that level of vulnerability and surrender of control is
absolutely frightening. I can either prune away the weeds which disturb my
stone-faced appearance of put-togetherness, or I can acknowledge them as
God-given gifts which remind me of both who I am, and whose I am, and which reassure me that my God, my Father in heaven who is perpetually with me, who
neither slumbers nor sleeps, who created the universe and is restoring all
things, is doing a new thing in me which he will see through to completion.
So, while
the panic over the uncertainties within the peripheral details of my earthly
life continues to rear its ugly head at unexpected moments, I remember He in
whom I abide, He in whom my hope and security rests, and He whose purposes
cannot be thwarted by anything. His light overcomes all darkness.
Thanks be
to God. Amen.
