Been awhile since I blogged.
I’m leaving for my gigantic two-week road trip to Princeton in six days. I am moving out of my apartment in three days. So far, I have only managed to pack up four boxes of books and put my ridiculously huge amount of tv-on-dvd and regular dvds into two different also gigantic cd cases.
Like someone (Mary) recently mentioned, in order to pack up a place, you sort of have to clean it first. I am not good at the former which makes me automatically no good at the latter. There is so much to do that my eyes keep going crossed. So I decided to take a break from staring at the giant mess and empty boxes to write something.
I am excited about this move. Really, I am. No, honest. I’ve wanted to be at Princeton since my first year of college and I’m fulfilling the dream I’ve had of seminary since junior year of high school.
But the timing? It is less than perfect.
I’m starting this journey without someone I always assumed would be there. Jack was the man who got me pointed in this direction, who taught me theology and introduced me to my first love (church history). Over the years he became another father to me, called me his surrogate daughter, loved me and yelled at me when I was being stupid and insecure and pushed me forward when I was scared.
He pushed me and I went forward. I graduated with honors from a university with an extraordinary theological program, having studied under the biggest brain in Christian Apologetics. I found my voice, I found my steadiness. And then, two weeks before I graduated, he died, suddenly though his cancer had us all expecting it – we just didn’t expect it the way it happened.
It took me a year to find my ground again, to figure out where my feet went. And now my feet are headed off to Princeton with nothing but his memory beside me.
I’ve been dreaming of him more often, these days.
There are other things, of course, that are keeping my heart firmly facing the West right now. A very dear friend is very sick and I want to stay and fight beside him with the rest of our friends. There are friends here that I could never imagine leaving, still can’t imagine leaving. And in the middle of all the memories of this place that I’ve been trying to escape for a decade are all the good ones I can’t pull myself away from.
I’m staring at this speeding bullet and have to force myself to stay inside its path. It will not hit me, it will not destroy me, but it will take me with it to the other side of the country, to a new state with new people and new things to learn, away from friends and family and people that I love desperately.
And there’s still so much shit to pack.
This?
This is my panic face.
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I found these scribbled in the back of my writing notebook earlier today, written down some time after having a long conversation with my former youth pastor about my reluctance about seminary and ministry in general.
Putting these down here mostly because I’ll lose them if they aren’t in digital format.
In no particular order.
“You look at yourself and you only see the bad parts. You disqualify yourself from ministry before you ever get there.”
“Have your heroes, but don’t try to be them. Don’t try to be Jack. That’s not who you are called to be.”
“Be you in your ministry. Be you always. YOU are who God called, not you trying to be someone or something else.”
“All these things you’re bringing here, to this table, this is who you are. Don’t try to change who you are to fit someone else’s idea of ministry.”
“You use your emotions to hold people at arm’s length. If you could figure out how to use them to bring people in, you could have a powerful ministry.”
“You have great passion and great intelligence, and the two are constantly battling it out inside you. Let your head inform your heart.”
“You are living your life like most people never do.”
“Let the inquirer’s process be about real inquiry. Test it out, figure it out, listen. Make it about real inquiry, not just formality.”
“I think it takes you a long time to trust people. Years, even. And that’s not wrong – for you, that makes sense.”
“Was there ever a time when you felt with God that you weren’t on the outside with your nose pressed up against the glass?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Huh.”
“I think God is pleased with you. I really do.”
Just for safe keeping.
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