Those of you who know me know how much I struggle with winter. Every year, too, it seems like we get a tease in January - several days that almost hit 70 degrees, and every year, I get my hopes up. It usually doesn't even start snowing until after Christmas, and it is around this time every year that I have to say "God, you are testing my patience. I cannot handle one more snowflake, one more patch of ice, one more day of carrying kleenexes to class because this weather makes my nose run. I. Am. Sick. Of. Waiting."
This winter, or at least the first few months of 2015, have been a rather difficult one for my family. We lost my uncle just a few days into January and took an unplanned trip halfway across the country to see our family. It seemed like we had only just gotten home and semi-adjusted to the real world again when we lost our treasured family pet of 16 years, meaning there was no more warm laps in the evening, hearing the subtle sharpening of claws at 5 a.m. when he was ready to go outside in the morning, or him following my sister and I aimlessly around the house begging for our attention. Finally, last week, a dear friend of my mom's went home after battling cancer for over a decade. I came home on Thursday night for the funeral on Friday, trying to squeeze in homework when I could, but also wanting nothing more than to just be with my own family.
Friday morning we sat down in the church, the only noises to be heard were the shuffling of coats and scarves being removed and the occasional, louder, blowing of a nose. Although I know there's not much you can do about it, I've always hated that part about funerals. A few minutes after we got there, a man walked up to the people sitting in front of us. He got a big smile on his face as he said "Hey! Mind if I join you here?" The man and his wife willingly scooted their coats and belongings over to make room - and I thought 'this guy has it right - shouldn't we all have such a joyful attitude for our sister in Christ?'
My friend Natalie said it the best when she described how difficult it is to be in your twenties. I really only just got here, but for the first time, my decisions and responsibilities hold actual weight. I enroll for my senior year of college this week, and as post-graduation plans creep up on me, I can't help but think about how for the first time in my life, my those ideas, goals, and dreams and are truly on ME to be carried out. If I don't get into graduate school, it is on me to find a plan B and no one else. But so much of my life right now also feels like it's out of my control. After this winter, I often wonder, do I have control over anything?
Our message at church over the last three weeks has been about service - what we are called to do, do often and do well. I often find myself slipping into the mindset of "once I graduate from K-State..." or "Once I have a job..." but I know that's exactly the opposite of what God wants - He wants me serving in my waiting - whether I feel 'in control' or not. He wants me to be like the man I heard at the funeral - alongside my brothers and sisters in Christ in the good, the bad, and the waiting. Although I often think of it as waiting for that 'next thing', He wants me serving while I wait for that eternal "something better."
One piece from our message in church this morning that stuck with me was that "we are called to serve competently" - the idea that yes, we are called to serve, but we are called to do it well using the gifts we already have. That can both be scary and comforting - scary because I know that God knows what I do well, and there's no hiding from Him - but comforting knowing that things I'm good at are usually things I enjoy, and, quite frankly, I would rather serve doing something I'm good at than doing something in an area in which I have no skillset whatsoever.
On Friday when I made my visit to my daycare kids and I heard the voice from the bathroom "Emmy, will you please come wipe me?" followed by the requests for help because she couldn't reach the soap, or the faucet, and we were out of paper towels. I hadn't felt that competent in months. Although recently I have doubted (more than once) my abilities to comfort those around me who grieve, and my post-graduation plans are sneaking up on me with an entirely new set of fears, I am content with knowing that for the time being, if God wants me to do nothing more than help my three year olds reach the sink, I would be more than happy to do so.
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