Next week I will, God-willing, turn 26. While birthdays have never been an overly big deal for me, this one is a welcome change. If I'm really honest, I have to admit that 25 hasn't been my favorite year of life and I'm ready to move on. Being 25 for me meant moving all my stuff seven times in twelve months-- SEVEN! It meant one of those seven moves was moving back to MN and leaving Manila indefinitely after just beginning to really feel settled. It meant new jobs, a lost job, a bad job, and now two busy jobs that weren't even on my radar until October. It meant new friendships, old friends, and new sides to old problems i thought were a thing of the past. For someone who likes to have big plans and all the details figured out, being 25 has been exhausting. Sometimes it feels like I'm playing a never-ending game of pick up sticks. Just when it seems I've got everything finally in my hand, a few sticks drop and a few more reveal themselves.
This morning I was reading in my devotional Streams in the Desert about spiritual depth. Here is the opening paragraph:
Luke 5:4--The Lord did not say how deep. The depth of the water into which we sail depends upon how completely we have cut our ties to the shore, the greatness of our need, and our anxieties about the future. Yet the fish were to be found in the deep, not the shallow, water.
This explains so much. When I moved to Manila, I expected life to be rough seas-- and it was! I expected to be stretched and challenged and to grow in my faith because I had to -- and I did. But somewhere along the way, I also picked up the belief that coming "home" in two years would be easy because I already know how America works (and I would have a car and a smartphone, haha). This could not have been more wrong.
Coming home and re-establishing myself as a normal American has proved to be one of my biggest hurdles to jump in young adulthood. It has caused me to continue to row my boat out into deeper waters of faith, trust, and hope in what God has for me. And it seems with every paddle out-to-sea, there's been another tie to shore cut.
You see, all this time, I viewed my time abroad as a sort of very long test God had for me. He showed me the boat, the sea, and a rope of supporters that sustained me from shore and sent me on my way. But even the longest tests have an end. I thought that at the end of two years, God would just allow me to pull on the rope, be reeled back in, and just walk onto the shores of American soil and continue on my way: test passed. Wrong. God didn't want me to come back to shore -- He wanted me to keep rowing into the depths of His plans I couldn't see even from the middle of the sea, muchless from shore. So the only logical thing to do was to cut the ties, metaphorically speaking, and keep paddling.
Being from a small town will always yield a type of rope for one to pull on. But those from home who sent me out are used to letting the line go slack as the kids grow up and move away. I however, am not used to having slack lines or no lines. Perhaps this is why 25 felt so fluid: I'm used to having the rope tightly tied to the boat. For a few months, it seemed like I was abandoned at sea. Where was I headed? Who's driving the boat? Where's my next meal coming from? (I don't like fish, so...)
The waves got high, and I got soaked a few times and I'm pretty sure I've been chronically sea-sick for like, six months. Have I mentioned my fear of storms and general dislike for turbulent weather? Yeah, there's been some of that in my time at sea. I kept asking God "why?" Was this really necessary? Coming home from an amazing job was hard enough. Re-starting here was hard enough. Why do the waves just keep coming? All this time I've been looking up and out, asking God, asking other people, looking for answers.
But the answer has been below my feet the whole time. He is my ANCHOR. He sent me out in a boat of my own faith, not two years ago, but twelve years ago when I first met Him. The shores God has allowed me to explore have all been different depths, but each of them have been places that my anchor in Christ can reach. I've never been abandoned, I've just felt the surface waves of life in the world, which is filled with sin and sorrow. But when I remember Who my anchor is, suddenly there is peace. My anchor holds, even when my boat seems about to drown. If I focus on the waves coming at me, I'll soon forget about the Rock below me. If I focus on the rock, I'm never far from stillness.
I'm thankful for the depth at which God has me right now, even if it's strangely lonely in places that are so familiar. He is teaching me stasis and peace amidst any kind of storm. He IS my peace. And, He is the one who calms the seas with mere words.
Bring it on, 26. Show me the big fish that only the deep end can contain.
This morning I was reading in my devotional Streams in the Desert about spiritual depth. Here is the opening paragraph:
Luke 5:4--The Lord did not say how deep. The depth of the water into which we sail depends upon how completely we have cut our ties to the shore, the greatness of our need, and our anxieties about the future. Yet the fish were to be found in the deep, not the shallow, water.
This explains so much. When I moved to Manila, I expected life to be rough seas-- and it was! I expected to be stretched and challenged and to grow in my faith because I had to -- and I did. But somewhere along the way, I also picked up the belief that coming "home" in two years would be easy because I already know how America works (and I would have a car and a smartphone, haha). This could not have been more wrong.
Coming home and re-establishing myself as a normal American has proved to be one of my biggest hurdles to jump in young adulthood. It has caused me to continue to row my boat out into deeper waters of faith, trust, and hope in what God has for me. And it seems with every paddle out-to-sea, there's been another tie to shore cut.
You see, all this time, I viewed my time abroad as a sort of very long test God had for me. He showed me the boat, the sea, and a rope of supporters that sustained me from shore and sent me on my way. But even the longest tests have an end. I thought that at the end of two years, God would just allow me to pull on the rope, be reeled back in, and just walk onto the shores of American soil and continue on my way: test passed. Wrong. God didn't want me to come back to shore -- He wanted me to keep rowing into the depths of His plans I couldn't see even from the middle of the sea, muchless from shore. So the only logical thing to do was to cut the ties, metaphorically speaking, and keep paddling.
Being from a small town will always yield a type of rope for one to pull on. But those from home who sent me out are used to letting the line go slack as the kids grow up and move away. I however, am not used to having slack lines or no lines. Perhaps this is why 25 felt so fluid: I'm used to having the rope tightly tied to the boat. For a few months, it seemed like I was abandoned at sea. Where was I headed? Who's driving the boat? Where's my next meal coming from? (I don't like fish, so...)
The waves got high, and I got soaked a few times and I'm pretty sure I've been chronically sea-sick for like, six months. Have I mentioned my fear of storms and general dislike for turbulent weather? Yeah, there's been some of that in my time at sea. I kept asking God "why?" Was this really necessary? Coming home from an amazing job was hard enough. Re-starting here was hard enough. Why do the waves just keep coming? All this time I've been looking up and out, asking God, asking other people, looking for answers.
But the answer has been below my feet the whole time. He is my ANCHOR. He sent me out in a boat of my own faith, not two years ago, but twelve years ago when I first met Him. The shores God has allowed me to explore have all been different depths, but each of them have been places that my anchor in Christ can reach. I've never been abandoned, I've just felt the surface waves of life in the world, which is filled with sin and sorrow. But when I remember Who my anchor is, suddenly there is peace. My anchor holds, even when my boat seems about to drown. If I focus on the waves coming at me, I'll soon forget about the Rock below me. If I focus on the rock, I'm never far from stillness.
I'm thankful for the depth at which God has me right now, even if it's strangely lonely in places that are so familiar. He is teaching me stasis and peace amidst any kind of storm. He IS my peace. And, He is the one who calms the seas with mere words.
Bring it on, 26. Show me the big fish that only the deep end can contain.
Beautiful! Thanks for sharing. I recognize that season in life. It's an interesting journey, LIFE, and I'm glad we have the Rock to cling to!
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