So here goes. I initially set up this blog to do some spiritual wandering as some girlfriends and I prepare for a pilgrimage sometime next year. That pilgrimage and subsequent spiritual wanderings will still happen, no doubt, but I'm finding now that this blog may be here to serve for wanderings as a prepare for a life drastically different than I'd ever imagined.
The life plan two months ago: head home for a year or two (probably two). Save some money. Pay off debt. Apply to graduate schools. Get in. Get offered amazing assistanceship packages. Go across the country to get a Ph.D. Become a psychologist and research. Change lives. Change the world.
The life plan NOW: head home for a year or two (probably on the shorter end of that). Save some money. Pay off debt. Apply to missions schools and programs. Go into missions. Travel. Immerse myself in the culture of the people I am living with. Spend every day telling them of the love and redemption of Jesus Christ. Change lives. Change the world.
This change in the life plan is not as drastic as it seems. When I was in second grade (I think), we had to write poems about what we wanted to be when we grew up. I was surrounded by future doctors, lawyers, authors, mothers. And then there was me. The last line of my poem stated "I long to be a missionary." I was, at the time, rather impressed with my use of the word "long" as a verb, and honestly, didn't think of what I had just put to words. I hardly thought of it in the years to come, when I decided that I loved medicine and the human body. I would be a medical missionary. I hopped at any chance to go on a missions trip with church. I was heavily involved in my youth group and was well on my way to being a good, Christian teen with a mind on missions.
Something happened, of course - it always does. I hadn't really planned on sharing this part of my story, but a friend of mine was so bold as to confess something along a similar vein, and to be honest, it is part of who I am. And I love who I am. So here it is.
I got depressed - severely so. I tried to kill myself and bear the physical and emotional scars that will be there forever as a result of those attempts. I starved myself for months on end, abused my body in countless and unspeakable ways, and allowed myself to be broken by the words and thoughts of myself and others.
I tried to stick it out and stay with God. I really did. There are many, many journal entries made while I was on church retreats or at church on Sunday nights screaming and yelling and fighting with God - why he was putting me through this - why couldn't he just heal me or let me die? Preferably, the latter.
Finally, I walked away. Or, to put it more aptly, I felt like God had walked away. I wrote a poem on that feeling of abandonment, which I won't share tonight, because let's be honest - this is already a little long. But I couldn't do it any more. I stopped praying, stopped reading my Bible, stopped regarding myself as a follower of Christ.
I see now that God let me walk away - He had to. I am so stubborn and bull-headed that I would not come back to Him until I saw that I absolutely could not do it on my own. I had to be so broken that I had nowhere else to turn. He allowed me to continue down a dangerous and painful path, allowed me to put myself in situations where I was abused and degraded, until I realized that without Him, it wasn't worth putting up a fight.
I should state that I am not proud of this recent conversion. To be honest, even typing that sentence - I had to be so broken that I had nowhere else to turn - made my stomach turn. I am, at times, still disgusted with myself - that I should be so prideful, so arrogant as to believe that I had it all worked out. That God was my last resort.
But how gracious and merciful He is - accepting and welcoming me with open arms. And how good it is to be back.
*I realize that missions may not be a "holy order" as falls under the list of sacraments of the Catholic church. If I recall correctly, that's nun or priest. Your other option is to get married. (Not that I'm Catholic, but I do have friends who are who would likely point out my gross misuse of the term.) But my intention in using it here is note that when I accepted my call to missions (after a few days of chatting it over with God, because I really thought he might be a little crazy...), I had the overwhelming feeling/knowledge/acceptance that I would not be getting married. This was further confirmed to me a week or two later during a phone call with a life-long missionary, which will no doubt be fodder for another blog entry.
Good night, all.
Love.
