It’s so easy to look at our lives and think that we’re missing something.  The fact is: we’ve been missing something since the garden of Eden.  Most of us are still waiting, hoping, wishing, dreaming, and praying, expecting that one of these days it will all get better.  If you think about it, though, this is what Christmas is all about.  Expecation.  The hope of deliverance.  A wish for something better.  We hear it in wistful Christmas songs and hymns and advent prayers.

O come, O come, Emmanuel,
And ransom captive Israel,
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear.

O come, Thou Wisdom from on high,
Who orderest all things mightily;
To us the path of knowledge show,
And teach us in her ways to go.

O come, Thou Day-spring, come and cheer
Our spirits by Thine advent here;
Disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
And death’s dark shadows put to flight.

Rejoice! Rejoice!

Emmanuel shall come to thee O Israel.

However, something else has.  I’ve realized that “having faith” and “being a Christian” are two different things.  Christianity comes with so much baggage.  It comes with politics and arguments and mandates and culture wars.  And it’s not just one sect either – whether you think it’s wrong to dress a certain way or vote for a democrat or buy clothes at the mall or eat non-organic food, everyone is guilty.  So I suppose at the end of the day, I’m not tired of believing in God, but I’m tired of “being a Christian”.  I guess for once in my life I would love to walk around and be a normal person without a label on my forehead.

Being the day before Thanksgiving, I’m not teaching today.  However, I woke up at 5:00 and couldn’t go back to sleep.  The minute I woke up I started stressing out about and money and jobs and relationships (or one in particular) and all of the decisions I have made lately.  I’m not sure why it is that sometimes I’m so at peace with myself, but then suddenly stress and worry go off like a ticking time bomb when I don’t always expect it.  This past week has been one of those weeks where I’ve finally felt like I can stop trying so hard.  I’ve done the best I can, I’ve made the best decisions that I could at the time, and I shouldn’t beat up on myself so much for not trying harder and doing more to change my circumstances.

This morning, though, these words came to my head.

The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it,
the world, and all who live in it;
for he founded it upon the seas and established it upon the waters.

Who may ascend the hill of the Lord?
Who may stand in his holy place?
He who has clean hands and a pure heart
who does not lift up his soul to an idol or swear by what is false
He will receive blessing from the Lord
and indication from God his Savior.
Such is the generation of those who seek him,
who seek your face, O God of Jacob.

Psalm 24:1-6

Why is it that certain words stick out to us at certain times in our lives?   For whatever reason, I can’t get them out of my head.  Maybe it has something to do with the first line: “The earth is the Lord’s and everything in it.”  Even when I’m skeptical, it doesn’t change the basic facts.

Every person was created by God whether they admit it or not.  I’ve spent a lot of time around people lately – at school, in activities I’m involved in, etc. – and it’s been so inspiring to me that I can see glimpses of God in all of them, “Christian” or not.

One of the basic tenets of Christianity as I once knew it was sharing your faith with everyone.  Typically, this results in an extremely one-sided conversation assuming that “I am right, and you are wrong” which in the long run, doesn’t win you many friends unless they believe the exact same things you do.  When talking about matters of faith, I’ve discovered that 9 times out of 10, I have more to learn than to teach.  It’s amazing what listening can do.

In other words, I think it’s time for me to stop focusing so much on looking like a Christian.  It’s time for me to start being a better friend, a better teacher, a better follower of God, and not worry so much about everything else.

Something strange happened today.  I got a teaching job.  After two years of looking for a steady job, I expected to be jumping up and down and playing the hallelujah chorus on repeat when I found one.  But I’m not.  Instead, I’m…. angry.  I’m a terrible person.  I should be speaking in fluent Christianese about the provision of God and his everlasting kindness, but instead I’m going to rant about the educational system.  So, I apologize to my mother and all of the other optimists of the world who are disappointed in me.

I will be teaching for a maternity leave from the last week of October until (almost) the end of the school year.  When I first interviewed for the job, I was told that they can’t legally hire a sub for that full amount of time, and they would need to hire me as a full-time teacher.  A month and a half went by and I heard nothing about the job, though I figured that since I have nothing better to do with my life right now I might as well wait.  Today, I had a meeting at the district office and was offered the job.

However, in the month and a half since we last talked, the district found a loophole – a way to get around hiring a full-time teacher.  The way this was explained to me was that the district was forced to choose between what was best for the students and what was best for the budget.  Imagine which one they chose.

Legally, I can sub in one position for 120 days as a certified teacher.  So, I’ve been hired to teach for 120 days, and then they’re hiring yet another sub for however many days are left in the school year.  So, basically, having three different people in one position in one year saves the school district about $15,000.  I mean, I guess if I try really hard I can see it from the administrator’s perspective.  Property value is going down, the community is changing, and they’re not getting enough tax money to be self sufficient.  The state owes them money and the government keeps infringing new standards without giving them extra money to meet them.

However, does that excuse loopholes and shady hiring practices?  I accepted this job because I genuinely want to teach.  I want to have a job, and go to work every day, and feel like I’m accomplishing something.  I want to gain experience and learn from other people and get better at my job.  I’m paying off a student loan every month for the bachelor’s degree that I worked unbelievably hard to get, and I would like to actually use it.  Nonetheless, I still feel sort of…used.  I know I shouldn’t feel this way, because I’m getting paid something, right?  Maybe it’s because I’m a music teacher, maybe it’s because I’m inexperienced, or maybe it’s just the economy, but  I’m a little irate that I’m not enough of a professional to justify treating me like one.  I feel like I deserve more, but then I just feel guilty for feeling that I deserve anything at all.

I really wish I didn’t care about the money.  I really wish that I haven’t been spending the past few hours trying to not be angry about the prospect of performing all the duties of a full-time teacher for something resembling minimum wage.  Since when have I felt so entitled?  Maybe I should write a song and go sing about it on Wall Street.

In fact, I don’t think I’ve ever really cared about money before now.  I never balance my checkbook.  I buy organic milk.  I think I download iTunes albums in my sleep.  Plus, I was a music education major.  Not exactly a career chosen for its financial benefits.

So, why do I care so much about how much money I’m making?  Honestly, I feel like some selfish tax accountant has taken over. Why do I want stuff?  And I’m not talking about a vague inclination; I’m talking about hours spent internet shopping for Hondas and MacBooks.    And now, none of those things are as realistic as I had hoped. To console myself, at least I have the immense privilege of living with my parents and driving their semi-functional 90’s model mini-van until I’m 24.  It really takes the burden off financially, but I think I’m developing a complex.  Is it wrong for me to want an income above the poverty level?

Don’t get me wrong – I hate consumerism.  I’ve spent hours of my life railing against people who trample over each other on Black Friday to buy plasma TV’s and Guitar Hero and plastic mass-produced crap that will be opened on Christmas by spoiled kids and broken before New Year’s Day.  I knit and I crochet and I sew. I’ve read numerous books about the evils of consumerism and have genuinely tried to live a simpler lifestyle.  Maybe it’s just human nature, but I can’t seem to stop coveting stuff.

I feel like I’m supposed to be humble and forgiving and not so concerned with stuff and money and respect.  Eventually, I probably will be, but right now I’m happy and angry and entitled and confused, and disappointed and prideful and indignant and guilty.  Pass the Midol, please.

Oh well, it’s only money.

Unlike speaking, writing allows you to go back and edit, which in my case is EXTREMELY beneficial.

Here’s another thing I love – living in fantasy land.  I am the world’s leading expert at daydreaming.  I have this uncanny ability to completely drift out of consciousness without actually falling asleep.  It was really annoying in elementary school, and I swear my teachers thought I was completely mental.  The best thing about daydreaming is that you can have these wonderful, awe-inspiring experiences without the trouble of actually having them.

With an imagination as vivid as mine, I’ve traveled all over the world without getting on an airplane that makes my ears hurt and forces me to share small spaces with strangers.  I experienced all of the bliss of going to prom with the guy of my dreams without the hassle of getting my hair done and the pain of walking in heels.  I’ve accepted dozens of “perfect jobs” without the exhaustion of going to work every day.  I’ve been married ten times over without the annoying better or worse, richer or poorer part of the deal.  I’ve bought fabulous clothes that I can’t afford, named my children, recorded hit songs, started successful businesses, and remodeled a magnificent old Victorian house from the convenience of wherever I happened to be at the time.  Living in fantasy land is great because you can enjoy all of the benefits of life without the inconvenience of actually making them happen.

However, not all of my life can be lived from my recliner chair.  Sometimes – unintentionally of course – real life gets in the way.  And I don’t always like real life, because it never seems to pan out the way I’ve imagined it.  It’s like being Dorothy and leaving the Technicolor wonders of Oz to go back to black-and-white Kansas.  If I were her I would have been praying for another tornado.

Waking up from a well-constructed fantasy is just disappointing.  Maybe even more disappointing than it would be if I had never imagined it any differently.  Like, if I hadn’t imagined myself being offered the perfect job which allows me to buy a Mini Cooper and sign a lease on a great apartment in the idyllic city where I’ll meet the man with “God’s Plan for Becca’s Life” plastered on his forehead, etcetera, etcetera, I wouldn’t be so devastated by the inevitable “you’re great, but someone else is better” phone call.  Because by that time, I’m not just missing out on another job – I’m missing out on a car and an apartment and a man and four children and wonderful matrimonial and domestic bliss for the rest of my life.

My fear is that sometimes these two things that I love so much go together perfectly, like peanut butter and jelly.  Because through writing, I can take those mundane life experiences that I don’t like so much and edit them.  Not necessarily by completely changing them, but by dressing them up to sound like these beautiful life changing narratives.

Getting dumped becomes a chapter in my struggle to embrace solitude and overcome painful rejection.  Saying unkind words to a friend becomes an epic battle between the good and evil within myself.  Alas!  Evil has triumphed, but will be overthrown in a forthcoming day when I learn humility and seek reconciliation.  Even brushing my teeth can be an exercise in metaphorically purging the corruption in my soul before it overtakes me in the form of bad breath.

Like a true INFP, I often try to take every minute detail of my life and try to make it fit into the overarching storyline that will one day be my life story.  Every plot twist, good or bad, has to one day make sense because it represents something.

The lesson I have to learn is that sometimes, things don’t make sense.  Sometimes the people that you think are destined to be main characters in your life story turn down the role.  Sometimes eating Ben and Jerry’s won’t help you look great in a swimsuit. Sometimes life just sucks, and no amount of flowery words will change that.  Sometimes I make bad decisions.  Turning a bad decision into a fairy tale doesn’t change the outcome – it just makes me look like an ass.

So, the moral of the story is this:  I love writing.  I love fantasy-land.  However, we don’t get the privilege of writing our own life story. I am challenging myself to start living a life that I don’t have to re-write in my head.  I am challenging myself to lower my expectations for my life.  How about you?

In my neighborhood while I was growing up, there was a 100 year-old school building that was damaged by a fire and left abandoned for many years.  I loved that building – I loved the stone work and the arched doorways and the big windows and all of the memories that it contained.  When I was ten years old, I would sit outside sketching it while entertaining dreams of being an architect and designing buildings as beautiful as this one.

A few years ago, the city made the decision to knock down the old school and build high-rise condos there instead.  At first, it was difficult coming back to the place that was special to me and seeing nothing but wreckage.  I suppose that’s what happens when you fall in love with something that’s not structurally sound.

It was in high school when I decided I wanted to be a teacher.  A music teacher, in fact.  I wanted to sing and share my love of music and inspire students to be creative.  In college, I discovered the importance of community and decided that teaching was a great way to be a part of one.  I took on multiple internships and volunteer jobs, got involved in a great church, and nearly killed myself to graduate on time.  After all, I had a plan for my life.

Unfortunately, just telling God about your plans and expecting him to make them happen doesn’t work out so well, because I’ve spent the past two years watching as they are dismantled one by one.  Every job rejection, every missed opportunity, every major disappointment has made me feel more and more invalid and idealistic, like I was the spiritual equivalent of a six-year-old begging for a pony.  Who was I to have such high expectations for my life?

When plans come crashing down (as they inevitably will for all of us at some point) how do we find contentment again knowing that our lives are not what they could have been?

Any sort of loss – the loss of a job, a friendship, or a dream leaves a void.  A void can be a dead end – an excuse to be devastated and unchanging like Miss Havisham in Great Expectations, or it can be an opportunity to re-build and start again.

First of all, I think that contentment and optimism as we typically perceive them are overrated.  G.K. Chesterton makes an important distinction between what he calls rational optimism and irrational optimism.  Rational optimism is settling for something the way that it is; saying that it’s good even when it’s not.  Irrational optimism is taking an honest look at your circumstances and admitting that something went wrong, even if you had no control over what happened.  Irrational optimism is looking at something that is a complete disaster and loving it anyway, even when that complete disaster is yourself.

I know it sounds strange to love yourself without being prideful, but sometimes in these moments we need to admit that we are still worthy of love.  We are still creative, we are still valid.  Chesterton goes on to say that “Rational optimism leads to stagnation: it is irrational optimism that leads to reform.”[1]  Change comes when you can love something that is broken and make it beautiful again.

Like a building that gets demolished, sometimes beautiful things just fall apart.

Sometimes dreams are a little idealistic, but that doesn’t mean that we didn’t have the right to create them.  That doesn’t mean we didn’t have the right to plan, to pray, to stay awake at night anticipating the exciting things that could happen someday.  Even knowing that my generation will probably face more unemployment and uncertainty than our parents, we are not less acceptable because of our circumstances.

Since I’ve already admitted that I’m a music teacher, I’ll also admit that one of my favorite pieces of music “Jupiter” from “The Planets Suite” by Holst. For the first three minutes, nothing makes much sense.  Chaotic melody fragments clutter each section of the orchestra, but then there’s an abrupt change – suddenly this melody emerges that has been called one of the most beautiful melodies of all time. It’s not until you hear that melody that everything before it makes sense.  You begin to understand that the broken pieces were a part of something bigger.  Our lives are like this sometimes – it may only be looking back that we understand why some parts of our lives were deconstructed and chaotic and fragmented.

If you are in the same place that I am, remember that it’s okay to be less than perfect right now.   Someday the dust will clear, making way for a new life, a new place, a new opportunity, or even just a new way of appreciating the ones you’ve already been given.

In English, I have a hard time explaining a need for change without using words like restless, discontent, or stir-crazy. Although they all may be true at times, they seem to put a rather negative spin on the matter. I think that sometimes discontentment, or the need for change can be a virtue. After all, if we were merely content and optimistic about everything, we would have no need to travel or to grow or to move forward in any direction.

I feel like I’ve used quotes from this book a lot lately, but here I go again. What can I say, I’m completely spellbound by these words. (Pimlico was a slum outside of London when this book was written).

Let us suppose we are confronted by a desperate thing–say Pimlico…It is not enough for a man to disapprove of Pimlico: in that case he will merely cut his throat or move to Chelsea. Nor, certainly, is it enough for a man to approve of Pimlico: for then it will remain Pimlico, which would be awful. The only way out of it seems to be for somebody to love Pimlico: to love it with a transcendental tie and without any earthly reason. If there arose a man who loved Pimlico, then Pimlico would rise into ivory towers and golden pinnacles; Pimlico would attire herself as a woman does when she is loved. For decoration is not given to hide horrible thing: but to decorate things already adorable…Rational optimism leads to stagnation: it is irrational optimism that leads to reform. – G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy chapter 5

Read that again, and substitute Pimlico for whatever city you happen to be living in. It’s amazing, isn’t it?

My point is that restlessness and discontentment can lead to change. They can inspire someone to wander, to travel, to go someplace else and find their Pimlico, or to plant themselves and work to change the place where they are already.

What I want to feel is Wanderlust, or a love for wandering. A love for change. The need to travel, and to find wonder in everyday life. “Wanderlust” sounds so much more romantic than “discontentment”, doesn’t it? Since moving back home (again) this strange thing has happened to me. After trying so hard to get somewhere, failing miserably, and feeling all of the resulting disappointment for weeks, my impulse is to retreat.

For the first time in my life, I don’t have an inherent need to go anywhere or do anything. While waiting to find out whether I’ll be employed for the rest of the school year, I’ve become pretty comfortable just existing – working on crochet projects, watching TV shows on netflix, and occasionally typing some combination of words including “music” or “teaching” into a google search box, mostly out of habit after two years of futile job searching. I haven’t bought gas in a month.  At least sitting around is earth-friendly.

While my parents may applaud my new-found contentment after all the time I’ve spent hating my life at home, I don’t think it’s necessarily an improvement. Just a resignation resulting from the years I’ve spent trying to place myself in a world that seems too small. Though I am in denial that I am at any sort of spiritual impasse, my conversations with God sound sort of like this:

You know, God, I’ve been told over and over that you have this great plan for my life and that you will lead me in the right direction. I haven’t exactly spent the past two years just sitting on my couch waiting for a scroll to drop from the sky, either. I’ve worked so hard to get somewhere, but I feel like I’ve been blocked at every turn. If your great will for my life is to sit here and do nothing, then fine. I will.

Relating back to Mr. Chesterton, I don’t want to just be okay. I don’t want to look at my life and say, “Whatever, if this is what I’ve been given, I suppose it’s fine the way it is.” I want to love my life the way you love a city that’s in ruins. I want to change, I want to grow, I want to travel, I want to find a place to love, even if it’s the home I can’t seem to get away from. I want to rediscover a sense of wonder at the world around me. Even if circumstances don’t change right away, perhaps contentment doesn’t lie in mere acceptance. Maybe contentment lies in looking at things that are bad (like the smoldering heap that is my life after it has been demolished), loving them extraordinarily, and making them beautiful.

Yesterday, I had a conversation about my trip to Kenya earlier this summer, and it got me started thinking about it all over again.  I’ve been thinking about the things I learned, and all the people I got the chance to meet.  Strangely enough, I woke up this morning to an email in my inbox from Mercy, a friend that I made in Kenya.  Going to a completely strange and new place on the other side of the world, I wasn’t prepared to find so many kindred spirits.

Mercy and I

What I remember most is singing.  The very first night I arrived, I was overwhelmed meeting so many new faces, but there are two that I specifically remember – partly because I wrote their names down so I wouldn’t forget, and partly because they came into our room while I was unpacking, and we started talking about music.  I asked about some of the music they sing in church, and right then and there, they started singing.  Suddenly, I fit right in.  At that point I hadn’t slept in over 24 hours, so I was too tired for lengthy descriptions, but I wrote in my journal that night in huge, bold letters “God put me here for a reason!!!!!”

Singing is so much a part of the culture that there’s not nearly as much judgement and insecurity as we have in Western culture.  Even in church, there were more singers on stage than there were microphones, and it didn’t really matter whether you could sing well or not.  Singing was worship, not performance.  I felt so blessed to have so many people to sing with – we all learned from each other throughout the week.

A very wise person told me once that “Every person on the face of this earth has something to teach me.”

This is absolutely true.  Just by talking to people, I heard so many stories of God’s provision, and healing, and redemption, probably more than I had ever heard anywhere else.  I also learned that people are the same everywhere – we all have things that we’re passionate about, and things that we’re afraid of, areas where we excel, and areas where we fall short.  Getting to know people as friends and not projects or converts opened up a whole world to me where I had more to learn than to teach.  If I could change one thing about the trip, I wish I could have had more time to get to know more people one-on-one and learn from them.

“If you ask God for a tree, he will give you a seed.”

This is probably one of the best things I got out of this trip. (though, I’m still trying to grasp the concept!)  Very seldom does living out God’s plan come without an immense amount of patience and dedication.  Just because things don’t appear to be working out in our timing (like my life right at this moment), that doesn’t mean that nothing is happening.  Something is growing and changing, even if I can’t see it yet!

The next thing that I’m thinking about in relation to this trip comes from another quote from the very wise person mentioned before: “We were not created to fight the darkness, but to spread the light.”

This is a tricky one, because I think that so often we get it wrong.  We should be examples of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, gentleness, and self control. (I was totally singing the “fruit of the spirit” song I learned as a kid while I was typing that, haha)  Talking about what not to do without first being examples of what we should do would be fruitless (no pun intended).  Sometimes in our vigilant battle against sin, temptation, and all forms of evil, we leave out the rest of the story.  Living in Christ isn’t just about ridding our lives of sin, but it’s about making them more complete them with something even more fulfilling.  Jesus lived a life completely free of sin (and he still brought wine to the party!  gasp!), but it would have been completely pointless if he hadn’t healed people, and loved over-abundantly, and helped those who were lost and hurting.

What do you think?

O God, by whom the meek are guided in judgement, and light riseth up in darkness for the godly; Grant us, in all our doubts and uncertainties the grace to ask what thou wouldest have us to do, that the Spirit of wisdom may save us from all false choices, and that in thy light we may see light, and in thy straight path we may not stumble; through Jesus Christ our Lord – Amen.  The Common Book of Prayer

The earth is the Lord’s, and everything in it,
the world, and all who live in it;
for he founded it upon the seas
and established it upon the waters.

Who may ascend to the hill of the Lord?
Who may stand in his holy place?
He who has clean hands and a pure heart,
who does not lift up his soul to an idol
or swear by what is false.
He will receive blessing from the Lord
and vindication from God his Savior .
Such is the generation of those who seek him,
who seek your face, O God of Jacob.

Lift up your heads, O you gates;
be lifted up, you ancient doors,
that the King of glory may come in.
Who is this king of glory?
The Lord strong and mighty,
the Lord mighty in battle.
Lift up your heads, O you gates;
lift them up, you ancient doors,
that the King of glory may come in.
Who is he, this King of glory?
The Lord Almighty–
he is the King of glory.  

Psalm 24

“The nuns taught us there were two ways through life – the way of nature and the way of grace. You have to choose which one you’ll follow. Grace doesn’t try to please itself. Accepts being slighted, forgotten, disliked. Accepts insults and injuries. Nature only wants to please itself. Get others to please it too. Likes to lord it over them. To have its own way.  It finds reasons to be unhappy when all the world is shining around it. And love is smiling through all things. ” – The Tree of Life

Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand.  And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.  Not only so, but we also rejoice in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.  And hope does not disappoint us, because God has poured out his love into our hearts by the Holy Spirit, whom he has given us. – Romans 5:1-5

This time I will praise the Lord.
Where was I when the earth’s foundation was laid?
Who am I to understand
why life is divinely-orchestrated destruction?

Least loved, least beautiful, least seen
I will praise you anyway because I am your creation
Dwell in me wherever I go
The earth is yours and I am only a traveler in it.

Even when I walk in darkness
I will sing anyway and know that you are good.

I don’t know.

I feel like those three words define my life at this very moment.  I find myself saying them over and over – to others and to myself.  I don’t know what I’m going to do next.  I don’t know where I’m going to live.  I don’t know how I’ll be able to provide for myself.   Small talk is exhausting.

I’m just so overwhelmed.  I thought that after everything else, something would work out.  I filled in the blanks myself as to what that something was and tried as best as I could to make a life for myself.  I felt blessed by God and certain that I was on the right path.  When everything felt apart, it just left me stunned and helpless, like I’d been punched in the stomach and it took my breath away.

I have a million different options – a million different places I could go, a million jobs I could apply for, a million new careers to look into, but none of them are what I wanted.  I’m trying to choose between a million options that all seem equally mediocre while I’m still stunned and helpless, paralyzed by the fear of making the wrong choice and ending up here all over again.

Is there a right choice?  I came here for a community but ended up feeling so alone.  I chose my major so that I would have a job, and yet I’m still unemployed after two years of looking.  At least God has a sense of humor.

I wish I had something to latch on to – a job, a home, a relationship.  A reason to stay in one place.  That’s how most people make decisions, but I have nothing to go on except my own feelings that I don’t trust.  And while I know that God has a plan somewhere, it seems so far off and mysterious.

I’m disappointed.   The pages of the book of Psalms are about to fall out of my Bible due to overuse in the past two weeks.  I’ve prayed,  I’ve cried,  I’ve written, I’ve waited.  Now I have to make decisions, but I still have no peace about anything.

I wish I knew what to do, but… I don’t know.

All this is to say that when I look back at my life five, ten, or fifty years from now – what am I going to care about?

Five years ago, I had a plan. I had mapped my life out entirely so that by now, I would be happy and financially secure with a full-time teaching job, a great apartment, some Apple products, and a car that is not the embarrassing sometimes working hand-me-down minivan I currently drive.  I think we all figure out eventually, though, that having a list of expectations like this is basically a wide open invitation for God to come in and dismantle them all one by one. At first, it just feels like humbling, overwhelming, crushing, wrecking-ball style destruction.  Like Job in his self-titled story, all I had left were questions.  What did I do wrong?  Did I choose the wrong career?  Why did I have to graduate during the worst economic recession since 1929? Did I mess up all my job interviews?  Were the margins on my resume supposed to be one inch instead of one-half inch?

Something was wrong with me.  All around me I saw people living much fuller lives, and here I was still waiting for mine to start.  I had this pre-conceived notion that a job was going to define my post-college life, because that’s how it happens for “everybody else”.  However, when I was really and truly honest with myself, I didn’t wake up in the middle of the night longing for a full-time job with benefits and a 401K plan.  What I really wanted were late night conversations with close friends.  What I really wanted was to stay up all night and then watch the sun rise.  What I really wanted was to pick a road, and drive until I get somewhere that I’ve never been before.  I wanted to take long walks and go on adventures give to others and live for something bigger than myself.

But instead, I waited.  And waited, and waited.  I had three jobs that left me little freedom for much else.  I was alone, yet I didn’t want to make friends to leave behind when my “real life” starts.  I was in a spiritual and relational famine, yet I didn’t want to find community.  Not yet, at least.

As I’m writing this, it’s starting to rain.  I’ve been in Indianapolis for almost a month, and this is the first time it’s rained since I’ve been here.  The grass is brown and dry, and the herbs on our balcony look sad and malnourished despite my attempts to water them.  Soon, I hope the ground will be alive again and 100+ degree heat index will relent long enough to spend time outside without the threat of physical ailment.

Like rain after a long drought, all famines come to an eventual end.  Though I’m still living out this story that is my life, I have hope.  I can see tiny seeds of change that are sprouting from the dry ground.

As time has passed, I have realized that it’s time to stop waiting.  It’s time to go and live a fuller life, which in my case involved leaving and starting over somewhere else. Jobs will come and go, but I can choose to live the way that God created me to live right now, regardless of my circumstances.  God created me to love other people.  He created me to be independent, and sometimes stubbornly so.  He created me with a desire to give to and support and uplift those around me.

Meandering back to my original point, None of us are going to look back on our life in five, ten, or fifty years and say “I’m so glad I had that great job” or “I’m so glad I had a great car that’s now a rusting heap in a junkyard somewhere” or “I’m so glad I was a trendy yuppie who lived in an expensive loft apartment and shopped at Whole Foods and took yoga classes”.  What we’re going to remember are our relationships, our community, our relationship with God and the ways we lived that out.

[1] Therefore, I urge you, brothers, in view of God’s mercy, to offer your bodies as living sacrifices, holy and pleasing to God–this is your spiritual act of worship. [2] Do not conform any longer to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is–his good, pleasing and perfect will. … [9] Love must be sincere. Hate what is evil; cling to what is good. [10] Be devoted to one another in brotherly love. Honor one another above yourselves. [11] Never be lacking in zeal, but keep your spiritual fervor, serving the Lord. [12] Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. [13] Share with God’s people who are in need. Practice hospitality. [14] Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse. [15] Rejoice with those who rejoice; mourn with those who mourn. [16] Live in harmony with one another.  – Excerpts from Romans, Chapter 12

Love must be sincere.

Growing up, I memorized Romans 12:2 and learned again and again to “not conform to the pattern of this world”, but instead to put a Jesus fish on your car, wear a WWJD bracelet, and listen to Christian radio.  Now, however, I’m beginning to see this verse in a different light.  The world tells us to take care of ourselves first.  To spend our lives working towards that elusive six-figure salary that will validate us.  To use people the same way that we use products – throwing them out and trading them in when we don’t feel fulfilled anymore.

Paul goes on to say that we shouldn’t live that way.  The most important part of life is not our standard of living, but the way we love each other.

Whether you are employed or not, our full-time job is to love others, invest in community, and let God take care of everything else. Even if you’re a corporate CEO, a teacher, or a part-time Starbucks barista (which may very well be my next career), self worth doesn’t come from a paycheck or a lifestyle.  Let’s have long conversations with friends, walk outside in the rain, count the stars, watch the sun rise, and allow God to show us our worth as we make the most of the time we are given.