The Mercy in Excitement

 

It is August and another school semester is about to begin. I find myself just as giddy as I was as a thirteen year old in my mom's children's clothing store unwrapping ABeka books for our homeschool curriculum. I love school. I love the promises of fresh books to be delved into, notes to be taken, and papers to be written. Part of me is surprised that as a 23 year old I still get to be in school. I still get to feel the excitement of ordering books and unboxing them as I get ready for the first day of class. 

But this excitement is both nostalgic and also incredibly gracious of the Lord to provide right now. The fact that there is even room for excitement is a great mercy after the first year I have experienced at seminary. 

I find myself excited about many things lately– the start of new courses, time spent with beloved friends, the chance to serve precious professors and church family. 

And it is a gift. A mercy. 

Because a year ago, I was simply surviving. I was simply stepping one foot in front of the other, weary before I even began here on Southern's campus. 

I remember moving into my sweet, little apartment around this time last year. I was terrified. And that feeling surprised me. I hadn't quite felt it in the way I was experiencing it at the time. I remember sitting across from the girl who I met down the hall from me, who quickly became a trusted sister, sharing through tears as I watched everyone else filled with such expectation and excitement that I was scared– I was weak– I was coming into this already weary after the summer the Lord had led me through. You see, the Lord began to show me before I even arrived in Louisville that this season would be hard. Like really hard. It would be humbling. And not the sort of academic hard or just away from home hard, but the type of hard where the Lord of the universe is exposing and sifting your heart of idols and things you had unknowingly clung to for security and identity... and doing so in the midst of the unknown and new school work and away from everyone who is familiar. 

I cannot tell you the tears, the lament, the looking up at my roommate or church members with a face of "Am I going to make it?" 

I felt utterly bruised at moments. 

But oh to be on this side. 

The joy that comes in the morning. 

He has bruised me. He has humbled me. He has scourged me. And I know it will continue, but there are glimpses of sweet trust and excitement left in the places of those bruises as they heal– as I am slowly learning more and more to trust the Father's molding hand, to not tense up as a hardened lump of clay, but to remain soft and moldable as I cry out, "Whatever it takes, Lord. Keep changing and molding me however You wish...in whatever way it takes." 

As you learn to lean into instead of fight the waves the Lord is sending, you begin to dance and sing in the midst of those tossing waves. You begin to splash around as there is water all around and you still don't know what all of this is leading to as you say, "Keep going, Abba, keep going! I'll wait and sing right here in the midst of it." 

"I trust You." 

And one of the small fruits of all of this is the room to actually be joyful, excited, and expectant about my fall classes, to be excited and grateful for the afternoon that I grab the spike ball net and enjoy some exercise with friends in the quad. 

Oh, all discipline for the moment does not seem to be joyful, but sorrowful. Yet for those who are trained by it, it will lead the peaceful fruit of righteousness (Hebrews 12:11). 

Abba, thank You so much for Your fruit. Even just glimpses of it. 

I ask for the grace to be able to keep bearing it– now matter how slow. No matter how painful. 

Because I see just a little bit more that Your hand truly is always working for my good. 

Truly and always. 

May you see the same in your life, brother or sister. And if not yet, trust the process. Trust the One who promises to never let you go (John 11:28-29; Deuteronomy 31:6). The season of harvest will come. It always does as you keep walking with Him. He is too sovereign to let you go or finish the work He has begun in you (Philippians 1:6). 

And here is a picture from a video of friends surprising me with birthday cake earlier this summer. Sheer joy and thankfulness. Yet the picture seems fitting now as I am learning to smile and grin even with my eyes closed so to speak, with hands open to receive any and all that the Lord is doing in and around me.