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.
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
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