Synopsis of Time Wasted

Here we are.

 

 I’m sitting in my dorm room alone, and even though it’s home, glancing around I find myself somewhere unexpected.  Despite my arrival at the brink of departure, I can’t shake the feeling (among other unnerving feelings) that I never truly arrived.  A transition in the definition of “home” lends itself to some degree of disconnect, but that’s an old battle, and an antiquated struggle.  What happened this year?  Where was the good?  And where was I in it all?  Truthfully, I was probably in the PAT lab at the time.

 

First semester was so hard.  I worked ambitiously and constantly.  I took Spanish 232, PAT 201, Physics 288, Theory 137, and Arts Chorale, and learned to sleep in the Beanster’s chair in the League.  I faced the opening weeks of the year in much of the same way that I face revolving doors at malls and hotels.   I stood there, with head tilted quizzically to the side, watching opening after opening come and go, and wondering if any of what was inside was worth sticking my neck out.  For lack of initiative, I found myself temporarily (and amicably) excommunicated from the church I loved, and standing in front of new “friends’” closed doors, too afraid to knock.  My social base has been zilch; I’ve let a lot of good relationships suffer.  I’ve fed some unhealthy relationships too.  Yeah – that was a high point.

 

In terms of personal lessons learned, the first semester taught me (check that—the Holy Spirit taught me) to look for my personal worth outside of academia, my ability to perform in classes, or whether or not I secure a top internship, or any kind of occupation at all.  Nevertheless, this year, I’ve treated my life like it’s a starring role in a major musical production, and I’m just the girl with the glasses who gets double-tall-skinny-soy-lattes-no-room-hold-the-whip for the understudy’s understudy.  I’ve told myself that my life, and this part, are so amazing and destined to be something greater, but that my performance will never set me apart from the thousands of others vying for the job.  It’s only in these last weeks (though I had inklings throughout) that I’ve even begun to see that God’s future for me is something for which I ALONE am perfectly, and completely equipped.

 

Second semester found me back at Huron Hills (finally.), and this time with David, looking to grow spiritually as a couple rather than alone.  We set out to become involved with ministry, and prayed and prayed and prayed about it, and no inclinations presented themselves.  January marked a huge change in our relationship, and one of the biggest personal breakthroughs I’ve ever had in my life.  How I wish I could explain it!  It’s like that old RSJ song from the nineties: It’s God.  Truly God.  I can’t explain any other way.  It’s a good song; look it up.  Anyway, God just opened up my eyes to the true nature of my relationship with Dave, which made all the difference in the world.  We’d been together for over a year, but it was January that I truly fell in love with him and became fully and completely committed to marrying him.  It was a good time, obviously.  That was the beginning of a really serious bout of spiritual wrestling (much of which is represented in older posts) that may or may not be fully resolved.  I still don’t love or trust God the way I should.  But there’s been growth there, and I’ve spent as long as I ever want to shouting at God and telling Him I don’t want Him in my life.

 

Then there are the last few weeks.  Classes were winding down and everyone’s guard was going down, and then Dave got sick.  We thought it was just bad food, but after he was bedridden for a few days, we began to think otherwise.  Turns out it was appendicitis, and it required emergency surgery.  We’re talking 2 days of being bedridden, more than 24 hours in the hospital (almost all of which I was awake)….very little sleep, very little food.  I was sleep deprived and fasting and so tired and emotionally toasted that sitting down for more than 30 seconds meant bursting into tears.  It was during the walk back to the hospital after a 15 minute pit stop at home to put on PJs and pick up a pillow to sleep in the hospital chair that I had such clarity of the soul.  Just like the prophets of old who fasted and prayed and found revelation from God, my desires in that moment clarified in an instant.  I hadn’t slept in 24 hours.  I’d hardly eaten.  I had enough tears stored up behind my eyes that I thought my head might explode, but I didn’t want to eat.  I didn’t want to sleep.  I didn’t want to cry.  I wanted to SING.  I wanted to be wrapped up in music and darkness and colored lights and fog machines and screaming crowds and WORSHIP.  When I had no energy, no distractions, no plans other than just BEING in the hospital chair for the next many hours, all my soul wanted was to weary itself with singing.  So that’s what I’m going to do.  I don’t know what it’s going to take or how to get there, but I’m going to sing.  It’s one of the deepest desires I’ve ever felt.  This Sunday at church, I sat in the pew and cried my way through the pain of waiting my turn.  This is just something I NEED to do, and I’m frustrated and perplexed that these desires are coming NOW, literally days before I skip town for 4 months. 

 

This ENTIRE year, I did NO ministry.  I barely engaged in any worship.  I read my Bible and prayed sparingly, at best.  I withdrew from social life.  I beat my head against the wall, burrowed myself into holes, and encountered little-to-no satisfaction.  I wasted every minute.

 

So here we are.

I’m sitting in my dorm room alone, and even though it’s home, glancing around I find myself somewhere unexpected.  Despite my arrival at the brink of departure, I can’t shake the feeling (among other unnerving feelings) that I never truly arrived.