Freezing Rain and Contact Catastrophes

This morning I was pretty sure a hex was put on me.

My two alarms failed in waking me up from a deep sleep, and I woke up in a panic to my mom's frantic voice, alarmed I was still in a deep sleep and still completely oblivious to the music and buzzing resounding from my IPod dock and phone.

In the bathroom, trying to comprehend the words my mom was speaking to me at this early hour and fumbling with my right-eye contact, I poured my un-neutralized Clear Care solution on my contact and inserted it into my eye. It's an unbearable feeling, what I might imagine flames shooting into your eyes to feel like, and I bent over in pain, trying to get the contact out of my eye, flushing out my eye with water, searching for the contact on the floor, and finally realizing it was hanging out in my hair. I cursed this entire string of events as I heard the door slam shut, my parents leaving me in disarray as they shouted there was freezing rain outside.

Cringing at the thought of wearing contacts and mascara after this fiasco, I searched for my glasses and stared at a red, droopy eyed mess looking back at me in the mirror, dressed in a sweatshirt and pajama pants for pajama day at school.

Grabbing a bowl of cereal to eat in the car, and a yogurt, fruit, and hard-boiled egg for lunch, I left, cursing and on the verge of tears, overwhelmed in this despicably long season of monotony and cold, desperate for sleep and sunshine.

My brain must have started to turn on when I was almost to school, and I realized I was in my car—except I shouldn't have been. I knew since yesterday I was supposed to take my mom's car to work and my dad was kindly going to take my car for a necessary emissions test. That is what my mom was talking about during the contact catastrophe.

I got to school, explained my situation, and turned around to go back home to switch cars. Walking up my driveway toward the garage in my red TOMS, my feet flew out from under me, my thermos of coffee clinked on the pavement, and I landed on a patch of freshly frozen ice, transparent and evil and inappropriate for the end of March. My butt was wet and the skin of my thumb scraped the rough cement of the driveway, and I said to no one, "What ELSE could go wrong today?"

Inside, my dad was sitting at the dining room table with a laptop and papers and books. He had driven my mom to work and was back, working from home. I expected him to be upset, or state the obvious—that I was supposed to take mom's car today. But he knew I knew that. I'm not sure what he said to me, but I remember he poured the last couple ounces of coffee in my thermos, wrapped a band-aid around my thumb, and handed me eye drops to take with me, to soothe my still red and watery eye.

And as I drove back to school, a song about grace and peace came on the radio in my mom's Outback, and I started crying, thinking about the grace just shown by my dad, and then realizing all the other moments of grace there were even within this horrible morning:

My mom woke me up when my alarm wouldn't; pajama day allowed me to be comfy and dress quickly on this rushed morning; after my fall on the driveway I was able to change into a different pair of pajama pants because I was home; my co-worker, full of compassion, told me to go back and switch the cars; today there was testing and I wasn't needed first period; fifty minutes of driving in the rain and no problems; and--great news--my coffee didn't spill as I fell.

I'm persevering. I'm choosing to see the light and the good and the grace and the hope and the love in this dreary day and in this dreary world. Because it's there. And why not trust the Giver of it? Why not hope in Him? What else is there to hope in? Who else is there to trust? What have I got to lose?

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"Therefore, since we have been made right in God’s sight by faith, we have peace with God because of what Jesus Christ our Lord has done for us. Because of our faith, Christ has brought us into this place of undeserved privilege where we now stand, and we confidently and joyfully look forward to sharing God’s glory.

We can rejoice, too, when we run into problems and trials, for we know that they help us develop endurance. And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation. And this hope will not lead to disappointment. For we know how dearly God loves us, because he has given us the Holy Spirit to fill our hearts with his love."

 Romans 5:1-5

Dear friends, let's rest.

I checked out a book of readings for Lent and Easter at my library, and this passage struck me:

"Do what you will with this insignificant creature. Whether it be that I should work, or become inspired, or be the recipient of your impressions, it is all the same. Everything is yours, everything is from you and for you. I no longer have anything to be concerned about, anything to do. I have no hand in the arrangement of one single moment of my life; everything belongs to you. I do not need to add or subtract anything, nor to seek after or mull over anything. It is for you, Lord, to regulate everything: direction, humiliations, sanctification, perfection and salvation—all are your business, Lord. Mine is to be satisfied with your work and not to demand the choice of action or condition, but to leave everything to your good pleasure." –Jean Pierre de Caussade

Read that again. Let it sink in.

This prayer seems foreign in this world I live in, this world I've conceptualized. "I no longer have anything to be concerned about, anything to do. I have no hand in the arrangement of one single moment of my life; everything belongs to you."  Really? What about job searching? What about figuring out where to live? What about finding my future husband? I can't just sit and wait and have all of these things come to me.

Yet, as nonsensical as this prayer seemed to me in my current state of mind and in my natural being, this prayer resonated with my heart. I wanted those words to be true. And what if it is true? What if these words and the words within the gospel that say stop worrying, stop striving are true?

What would that mean for me? What would that mean for us as self-obsessed, driven, stressed-out workaholics who compare and compete with one another constantly? What would that mean for us as a nation? For the world?

How do we stop trying to control everything? How do we stop worrying? How do we rest when our bodies and my minds have developed a distinct pattern of constant movement, nearly constant unrest? What does it mean for our only business to be satisfaction in the work of Christ and to leave everything to His good pleasure? What does that look like?

I don't have the answers to all these questions, but this is what I think it could look like, practically speaking:

I think it would mean taking a Sabbath weekly—putting aside all work and allowing ourselves to lie in bed all day. I think it would mean praying before and during the activities of our lives. I think it would mean finding peace in our meditation of Truth—that we are loved unconditionally by the God of the universe and we can trust Him with our lives because He's been faithful and will be faithful to provide exactly what we need.

Most of all, I think it would mean having peace with where we are at, exactly where we are at. Peace that as we move and go and speak and eat and everything we do as humans, we are a part of something much larger than us that is out of our control, so there is no reason to keep trying to take control and putting ourselves through hell trying to figure out our next steps.

"It is for you, Lord, to regulate everything."

My heart longs to pray this prayer, but it may take the rest of my life for my mind and heart to follow the words my mouth may say.

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I'm still unsure what role I'm supposed to play as I take part in life decisions and in my future plans. I know I obviously need to fill out applications if I'm going to find a teaching job next school year; I know I can't be Sleeping Beauty and just wait for a handsome prince kiss me awake (though that would be kind of amazing); and I know I have to faithfully do the work for my job and my classes that I'm devoted to right now. I can't do whatever I want and just wait for things to fall into my lap, and the more I read this prayer, the more I see that's not what it's implying.

What I do believe this prayer is implying is simply acceptance. Accepting my life, and recognizing all the blessings I have right here, right now. There's a reason I'm here—not just "here on this Earth," but here, in Downers Grove, living with my parents, working at Eisenhower, taking classes at National Louis, co-leading a group of high school girls, singing in the worship band and being a part of Kairos, and investing in the great people around me. And there's a reason you're exactly where you are right now.

I came back from Bolivia in July thinking this year living with my parents would be a "transition year" and it would allow me to recuperate and prepare for another move, my next steps.

Yet, I'm finding, I've made a life here and am still making a life here, right where I'm at. Life is never a "transition period," it's life! It moves and we move with it. And I'm finding that I've been stressing about "next steps" for so long, rebelling against this idea of staying planted here for awhile, thinking that was never even an option, thinking that moving back in with my parents was a step backwards in life.

And now I'm realizing how wrong I was, about all of it.

The more I live here and find myself growing deeper into this place I'm at (physically, mentally, emotionally, and spiritually), the more I realize this is what I need right now. As much as you may have heard me complain about the weather, ISBE, my online dating experiences, and much more, there are too many good things, too many blessings in my life to leave Chicagoland right now. God's using me here and He's blessing me here, and as much as I sometimes daydream about going back to Bolivia or hopping a few hours southeast to Indy, I know that's not for me at this time.

So unless God has something crazy up his sleeve for my future that hasn't been revealed to me yet, I think I'm sticking around here for a little while longer. No, it's not for financial reasons, it's not because I'm too comfortable to move, and it's not because I don't desire to live with roommates in a big city or go to a warmer place. It's because I recognize God's working on me right here and now and reconstructing my views of "success" and "independence" and all that our society deems important. Maybe I need my parents right now, and maybe they need me. Maybe I need my church right now, and maybe they need me. Maybe I need the middle school and high school students I'm working with, and maybe they need me. Maybe I need to plant myself in Chicagoland for a time, despite my strong will to leave it. Maybe movement is not a cure. Maybe I need to just start resting and trusting.

This verse is my living water right now:

“Are you tired? Worn out? Burned out on religion? Come to me. Get away with me and you’ll recover your life. I’ll show you how to take a real rest. Walk with me and work with me—watch how I do it. Learn the unforced rhythms of grace. I won’t lay anything heavy or ill-fitting on you. Keep company with me and you’ll learn to live freely and lightly.” –Matthew 11:28-30

Con amor,

Jules