27 life lessons, final installment

With the fifth and final installment of my “life lessons” entries, I feel it important to reiterate that each of these lessons has been and continues to be in process.  I wish that I were able to write to you sharing that I am a better person than I was two and a half years ago.  I wish I could tell you that every one of these lessons has been a joy to learn and that I’ve seen fruit of deep, lasting, and complete change already in my life.  But there wouldn’t be a scrap of truth in that. 

Instead, I want to come to you humbly, using my own awareness of my failings and flaws and constant need to call upon the Lord, to do my best to encourage you.  You, dear friends, have been such an encouragement to me in this learning process, and I appreciate your prayers and words of affirmation and wisdom along the way.  You’ve played a bigger part than you know.

My final lessons aren’t necessarily indicative of every struggle and joy I’ve encountered in my time here in Nairobi.  But they’re the lessons I’m learning right now – and I think that counts for something.  These lessons seem to be centered upon a shared foundation – one that remains a great mystery to me.  God’s Will and Sovereignty.  I’m afraid that I’m not a very trusting person by nature, and so it seems fitting that the Lord would be working to build up that trust in my life by revealing more Truth about his Will, piece by piece.

Lesson 2.  Make His Desires Yours: I have no idea what I want.  I honestly don’t.  I’m completely fickle – one day I’ll make up my mind that I want to do something or be someone or go somewhere and the next, I’m considering something entirely different.  I really kind of wish that I had been one of those kids who decides when they’re six that they’re going to become a pharmacist or something and then, twenty years later, there they are – behind a counter in a white coat doing exactly what they always dreamed of doing and loving it. 

Alas, I’ve never had such concrete desires.  I want to do everything.  I really do think that I could sit down and work through a list of every possible career and think of some great reason why that would be a neat thing to do with my life.  I love education, literature, and the Arts.  I find psychology, anthropology, and philosophy fascinating.  Heck, I'd even sit through a biochem class as long as I wouldn't have to sit for an exam and it was free.  I could randomly open up our family Lonely Planet illustrated coffee table book and select any country and get excited about picking up and moving there. In thinking of things I sincerely don’t want for my life, the list is rather small.  I really don’t want … [Nope.  Can’t do it.  I literally sat here for a good few minutes trying to finish that sentence, and nothing happened.  I’d think of something and then rule it out, thinking, “Well, what about…?”  See?]

I’ve found that I loathe making decisions because it limits possibilities.  I knew that Miami University would be a great choice for my undergraduate studies, but I still created an Excel file filled with a highly complex matrix of possibilities my senior year of high school, unwilling to completely commit to just one idea of where I’d spend four years of my life.  The same thing happened in my job search senior year of college.  I applied to thirty different districts.  Thirty. 

It hasn’t become clear to me yet whether this quality is a virtue or a curse.  On the one hand, my willingness to try things, my very broad sense of a “comfort zone,” and my ability to build enthusiasm for virtually any possible scenario could be a great blessing.  I can be content in many different places, doing many different things.  On the other hand, I enter into this tragic little cycle far too often:  I’ll dream up an idea about what the future might look like, then something gets in the way, I grieve a little, consider staying put, then I move on to some other completely different idea, and so on and so forth.  And perhaps, instead of being wonderfully content no matter my circumstances, my excitement in planning and change is actually indicative of a discontented heart.

Another perfect example of this has come with the last six months or so of my life.  I’m in my third year in Nairobi, and it came time to reassess whether this is where God wants me to be for a fourth.  I didn’t feel an overwhelming sense of peace in renewing my contract for another year like I had the year before, so I decided to “crack open some doors” for the Lord to either close or widen.  My wildest (and favorite) idea had been to pursue the option of a transfer within our international network of schools.  NICS has a special set of schools under the name of “OASIS” schools that serve student populations in restricted nations.  In other words, they can’t fall under the “Network of International Christian Schools” umbrella because these nations are closed to the Christian Gospel.  I fell in love with the idea of making a transition to a school where, despite my inability to directly state the name of Christ, that I would be surrounded by a Christian faculty, focused on a character-based mission, all happening right under the nose of some of the most hostile governments out there. 

But in communicating with the NICS home office reps and directly with the administrators at schools in Ankara, Turkey, and Kabul, Afghanistan, it turned out that there were no openings for a teacher like me in either of those schools.  I can’t pretend that I wasn’t sincerely disappointed.  I’d been so willing to dive in to one of these schools head first, excited about the opportunity to be used by the Lord in a powerful place.  My sweet family was even supportive of the idea, which I realized is incredibly rare. 

Then I got used to the idea of staying here in Nairobi another year.

Then my parents threw out the idea of some options back in the States, including the possibility of a job offer back in my hometown.  Or subbing and beginning a Masters. 

Then I realized that I believe I’ve had arguably the most schizophrenic few months of my life.  One minute, I’m considering moving to a literal war zone, then next I’m thinking of moving back to Hilliard, Ohio – something I really never thought would interest me.  But in knowing that God could choose to act in my life and through my life in any of those places, I was comforted.  And now, I have settled upon a course of action for next year, although it still involves some waiting on the Lord. I have applied for a fellowship with the Trinity Forum Academy, a nine-month program for emerging Christian leaders to spend in study, open dialogue, and research to determine how God might use their gifts and skills to change culture.  They only accept twelve fellows each year (six women), and so in praying over the option, I’ve decided that if I’m selected for this program, it will have to be God opening that door.  If He keeps it closed, I’m committed to finishing well here in Nairobi for one more year.  Please pray for me as I wait on this answer from the Lord.

I have decided that my desires will never amount to anything if they’re not firmly rooted in His.  He wants to (and will) be glorified in everything.  I must desire that, too.  He desires my whole heart (including my plans), so that must also be my desire.  He desires my patience, trust, and my will.  I must give these to Him.  Only when I am satisfied in Him will I be fully satisfied.

Lesson 1.  Trust: Mine is an anxious soul.  As long as I can remember, my strongest and most vivid memories involve worry and fear.  I remember shrieking and wailing from the downstairs window of our split-level house on Skipstone Ct. as I watched my dad mow the lawn.  I remember him passing from the right to the left, left to the right, in and out of my sight as he passed that window.  I knew it was an irrational fear.  He was right there.  But something struck fear in me that something would happen to him – that somehow he wouldn’t come back inside. 

It is probably because of this natural unease in my heart that it would be a lesson in trust and obedience that would be my life-long lesson from the God who loves me.  I am convinced that this must be one of the deepest wounds I give my Savior each day: that I profess to know Him, know of His sovereignty, know of His perfect love for me, and yet I still have fear that He won’t provide for me, or that He’ll abandon me in my time of need.  I imagine this must grieve Him deeply.  That His precious daughter, Kate, lives in anxiety and unrest when He chases after Her with open arms.  I picture a little girl, lost in some big crowd, running around in panic, searching for her daddy.  All the while, He stands in plain sight, crouched down to embrace her.  He’s calling, but even though the little girl hears Him, she doesn’t know where to go. 

One of my disciples, Katie, pulled me aside this past Tuesday as I was walking to the office to make copies during my prep hour and asked if we could talk.  Over the next half hour, I watched Katie battle with herself over the fear of the news her family would receive on Thursday.  Her mother was waiting to hear if she has cancer.  And Katie was devastated.  I listened, all the while fighting back my own tears, in watching this bright young woman fall apart.  Katie is our student body president, a straight-A student, a student athlete, one of the brightest young performers in my class, leads worship during chapel, and is a leader in FCA.  She told me that she felt she simply couldn’t survive without her mom.  She felt that “Super Katie” was falling apart.  To her surprise, I agreed with her.  “Yes, Katie,” I squeezed her hand, “You’re right – she is.”

Meeting with Katie reminded me of my own fears and my own “Super Kate” complex.  I live in constant fear of failure and disappointing others.  There is rarely a moment when I feel I can be at peace.  After all, there is always something more I can do.  Something I should have done.  Something I don’t even know I ought to do, but I fail to do it all the same.  I run around, trying to do everything on my own strength.  And it is the most painful thing when God throws something in my direction that I cannot handle on my own, because it is in those moments that I realize how I’ve neglected to give Him room to work in my life up to that breaking point. 

This is what I need to wrap my mind around and then superglue in place, so I never go through those periods in the pit, a modern-day David, crying out to a Lord I only can hope is still there.  He IS and WAS and ALWAYS will be.  There’s no uncertainty.  He’s seen the beginning and He’s seen the end.  He holds time in His hands.  Nothing happens without his approval.  He has a great and marvelous plan.  He will overcome all evil.  He will always be true to His nature, as perfectly Just, Wise, Loving, Gracious, and Good.  Nothing can corrupt Him.  Nothing can remove me from His love.  Nothing. 

This world holds nothing for me, and I have hope of a glorious future of eternity with my Lord. So why worry?