I was packing for college tonight (I leave tomorrow morning, and no, I didn't start until tonight) and I was thinking that by the time I've done this at least six or seven times, when you count summers and breaks, that it has to start getting easier. I should have figured out by now which hats I wear the most, which pictures go and which ones stay, and all of the other hodge podge things in my room that need a home..but it hasn't gotten any easier. Usually I just sit in the middle of my room with unorganized piles of 'stuff' and hope that all of the necessary items make it to the right city.
My last post on a blog was the original intention I created one - to reflect on time spent in Hong Kong for myself and also for the friends and family that had been asking about my trip. I knew that words on a computer screen could do it no justice, but it was my best shot. I've always loved to write, and people have been telling me I should write for a long time .. especially when my life took a crazy turn a little over two years ago.
My senior year of high school, my faith was in a state of complacency - I knew it was important, but I couldn't really figure out why, so I didn't do much about it. My life had run on a smooth course for 17 years and there was no need for me to be 'clinging' to anything - I had two parents who always knew the answers to my questions, a little sister who doubled as a best friend, and a fantastic group of friends at school. I had a college and intended major nailed down. What else?
Five days after I graduated from high school, one of my friends lost her life to murder. There are absolutely no words to describe the feeling of trying to stand back up on your own to feet after that - especially when I came home for the funeral of a close family friend only five months later - and he had only just turned six.
The journey of healing over the last two years, two months, and twenty days has been filled with everything from pain to anxiety to hope to joy to outright fear. As much as I love to write, God just hasn't given me the words to describe the journey as a whole yet, and I'm not yet ready to try.
Now, bringing myself back to my messy room with organized piles that don't actually mean anything, it isn't the clothes and the shoes that are hard - it's the meaning that my things bring with them.
I picked up the whiffle ball that I got at Brenna's funeral tonight and I was overcome with emotion and doubt. I've never taken it at school. This is my third year and I'm supposed to have college down.. right? I only had to take my stuffed animal my first year because it was okay since Brenna had just died.. right? But I'm past that... right? I'm supposed to be an adult and not need these things.. right? But something inside me wanted to take that whiffle ball and just keep it on my shelf where I could see the words 'Well done, good and faithful servant', and remember Pastor Cogswell's message - maybe until Labor Day, and maybe until May. But after some words with someone who means a lot to me and is older and wiser than I am.. I realized that it's not all about being 'right.' In fact, in the real world, sometimes 'right' doesn't even exist.
I ended up tossing the whiffle ball in the bucket of 'Manhattan' stuff tonight - the combination of the college transition and the grief process (what a combo) has taught me that 'right' and 'healthy' are sometimes very different. It is okay to have that there when I need it. - and I just didn't need it until now. I often need reminded of my value in the eyes of Christ, and that is okay, because - He wants me to know that. So I will keep the ball, and it will remind me not of the death of my friend, but instead, of my eternal purpose, my goal to love others, and God's incredible grace - without a shadow of doubt.
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