Three nights before graduation, my heart burst open. The tears took me straight to my knees as five years worth of emotions caught up with me in one rush. I cupped my face in my hands, I rocked back and forth, and I felt each moment wash over me. Solely because I had asked a few friends to pray for me, I fell asleep, only to wake up, brew some Frosty’s Favorite coffee, sit down with my full, favorite mug in my usual spot…and breakdown again, thinking, “this routine. it’s about to be over.”
This is how I debriefed it in my prayer journal:
“I began not just to know, not just to feel, but to see the image that You [God] gave me several weeks ago/maybe even a few months ago: the image of my roots being uprooted. of the fruit and good branches being skimmed over as at harvest.
And it is harvest. for others. for those you’ve used me among here over the past five years. But for me, it is pruning. it is pain. For me, it is loss and heartache and doubt and fear.
Your hand is on the vine, tearing it free from the ground it has so loved and longed for and lingered in, is a noose today. Your hands don’t feel gentle, the whispered words of truth are being twisted into lies by unseen enemies, and I’m believing them like a naive child who has never known otherwise.
But, Jesus, I know otherwise. Your love is gentle and sweet and has greater plans than I could ever know. I’ve retreated into my roots, burrowing, avoiding the light. Avoiding the shift. But you are calling me. “New stages, new steps, new calling,” Izzy reminded me this morning. And so I will follow.
Tearfully. Tentatively. Eyes clamped shut in fear–not wanting to look back on what feels lost (it is not lost to you), nor to look ahead to the amazing things you have for me to find…
Help me to believe these truths, Father. To trust that you have good plans even when they don’t feel good. Jesus, I love you. And I need you. So incredibly much. So, today, I will pull your presence near, as I lift You–my anchor–from the depths of the sea around me. It will set me drifting, carried by the waves of your sovereignty. But I can trust their tossings and direction. I open wide my heart to catch your wind, to set the sail.”
Now, three days after graduation, my heart remains open. Laid bare. Grieving. Spent as I try to hold this sail to catch His sovereign wind. Sick to my stomach (literally) as I feel tossed by these circumstances. But also hopeful. Very, very hopeful, as I catch murmurs of His voice upon the wind: “Do not fear. It is I. Be not afraid.”
The love of God slays us. It opens us to His better path for us. It opens us to a deeper intimacy with Him. And it opens us to deeper community with one another.
That is where I land tonight: with you. With those who are walking with me in this. Know that your texts/calls/letters/etc are priceless to me as I transition into this new season. I echo Paul’s words (2 Cor. 6.11-13):
“We have spoken freely to you, Corinthians; our heart is wide open. You are not restricted by us, but you are restricted by your own affections. In return (I speak as to children) widen your hearts also.”
Join me here, friends. Write/call/text/etc. Let me know how I can pray for you. Let me know how the Lord is leading you to pray for me. Widen your hearts also.
This is how I debriefed it in my prayer journal:
“I began not just to know, not just to feel, but to see the image that You [God] gave me several weeks ago/maybe even a few months ago: the image of my roots being uprooted. of the fruit and good branches being skimmed over as at harvest.
And it is harvest. for others. for those you’ve used me among here over the past five years. But for me, it is pruning. it is pain. For me, it is loss and heartache and doubt and fear.
Your hand is on the vine, tearing it free from the ground it has so loved and longed for and lingered in, is a noose today. Your hands don’t feel gentle, the whispered words of truth are being twisted into lies by unseen enemies, and I’m believing them like a naive child who has never known otherwise.
But, Jesus, I know otherwise. Your love is gentle and sweet and has greater plans than I could ever know. I’ve retreated into my roots, burrowing, avoiding the light. Avoiding the shift. But you are calling me. “New stages, new steps, new calling,” Izzy reminded me this morning. And so I will follow.
Tearfully. Tentatively. Eyes clamped shut in fear–not wanting to look back on what feels lost (it is not lost to you), nor to look ahead to the amazing things you have for me to find…
Help me to believe these truths, Father. To trust that you have good plans even when they don’t feel good. Jesus, I love you. And I need you. So incredibly much. So, today, I will pull your presence near, as I lift You–my anchor–from the depths of the sea around me. It will set me drifting, carried by the waves of your sovereignty. But I can trust their tossings and direction. I open wide my heart to catch your wind, to set the sail.”
Now, three days after graduation, my heart remains open. Laid bare. Grieving. Spent as I try to hold this sail to catch His sovereign wind. Sick to my stomach (literally) as I feel tossed by these circumstances. But also hopeful. Very, very hopeful, as I catch murmurs of His voice upon the wind: “Do not fear. It is I. Be not afraid.”
The love of God slays us. It opens us to His better path for us. It opens us to a deeper intimacy with Him. And it opens us to deeper community with one another.
That is where I land tonight: with you. With those who are walking with me in this. Know that your texts/calls/letters/etc are priceless to me as I transition into this new season. I echo Paul’s words (2 Cor. 6.11-13):
“We have spoken freely to you, Corinthians; our heart is wide open. You are not restricted by us, but you are restricted by your own affections. In return (I speak as to children) widen your hearts also.”
Join me here, friends. Write/call/text/etc. Let me know how I can pray for you. Let me know how the Lord is leading you to pray for me. Widen your hearts also.
