Break Through.

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.