.004 Sometimes Making the Decision is the Hardest Part

I'm standing on the edge of a new threshold right now; the kind of place that knits fear and possibility together and smudges expectations. My future direction, the one I had so clearly laid out in my mind, has warped once again. I'm in a messy place full of decisions and I spend so much time wondering if I will do the right thing.

My sense of adventure and my sense of fear is split right down the middle right now. I'm taking a crazy step forward. I'm taking a calculated risk that could return great reward, but the road to that place looks tangled and ambiguous from this point of view.

I'm reminded again that I fear what I don't know, or what I think I can't do, and I wonder how often I've allowed this fear to govern me and cinch me into a place that was comfortable, but not necessarily right, or vice versa. There are many places that might not necessarily be noticeably damaging for us to live in, but it may not be the best place: the one we thrive in, the one where we are challenged and stretched and embraced and alive in.

In this place, I'm realizing that deviation and sketching out a new, and perhaps unconventional, path for myself is daunting.

Am I making the right choice?

Will I regret this?

Regret. The more I think about it, the more I realize that I don't often deviate from the norm because I'm ducking away from potential regret. I cringe away from mistakes. They are uncomfortable. They uncover weakness and often force me to admit I was wrong. Past mistakes have a way of sneaking into everyday thoughts like a constant hum in the background, and sometimes they rise up and pinch.

What I'm learning here in the process of making decisions is this: everything leading up to the decision is often the most exhausting part. Flopping between "should I?" and "shouldn't I?" is mentally exhausting. I catch myself in the tension of whether to listen to my head or my heart. I run in circles with my thoughts, trying to uncover the "magic" solution.

Sometimes all of that back and forth confusion is a sign that you just need to make a decision. You might need to go to a quiet place and and get really honest, or sleep on it overnight, and then ask yourself "what do I really want on a deep, real level, even if I know it is hard or crazy or unpopular?" or "is all of this back and forth just fear?" You might actually know what the "right" decision is, but you may not be admitting it to yourself because finality is weighty and commitment is just scary sometimes.

What if you regret it?

Sometimes it seems easier to stay in that place of back and forth because you're afraid of making the decision. You're afraid that going ahead and taking the step might be the wrong thing to do when, really, the restlessness you are choosing to live in is the very signal you've been praying for. It is the sign that is telling you that this is the wrong spot. You've grown out of it. You're restless because you aren't content here.

Maybe it is a sign that you need to make the very decision you thought you would never seriously consider.

Maybe it is a sign that you just need to make a decision and stick with it.

I often find that when I brush up against uncomfortable situations or issues or choices in my life (especially if they come up repeatedly) it is almost as if God points and says "ok- we're going there. I didn't make you to shrink away in fear."

That could mean staying where you are or diving into a completely new space. That could mean taking responsibility or handing responsibility over to someone else. That could mean dusting off an old dream or saying no to a new one. That could mean sticking it out or it could mean letting it rest. That could mean saying yes or it could mean saying no.

Sometimes the road to the decision is the most difficult part but the actual decision, even if it seems like the hardest way, might surprise you with freedom and beauty and possibility. It might offer blessing in the last place you expect to find it. Yes, it might be hard. You might wake up with huge questions and a wave of fear might roll over you from time to time. It might even seem like the "wrong" decision sometimes. However, there is a long, scenic road ahead and someday the knots will be kneaded out. Someday you'll look over your shoulder and notice the difference between here and there and, perhaps, you may even feel grateful for the journey.

.003 Work:Rest

This week has been pent up with stress and work and somehow we're still smiling over here.

It might have been the extra course (or two) that I took on this semester, but I'm suddenly finding that my workload has exploded and I'm applying to jobs for co-op like nobody's business and I'm attempting to have some kind of social life beyond my isolated desk chair at the risk of losing touch with the substance and beauty of the outside world.

Yesterday I took a walk in the sun, absorbing as much natural vitamin D as possible before winter closes in and really locks us indoors, and it felt indulgent and freeing and human in a centring kind of way.

I think that is what I'm re-learning this week. There is a balance of work and rest in life and we're called to both. Investing in work and detail is essential to finding purpose and meaning in life, but when that work:rest ratio becomes distorted, so do you. So does perspective. You will feel it when something inside feels a little bit shaky and restless and your thoughts start to circle and tighten up like they are being squeezed into a space that is a size too small. You'll feel it when the knots in your neck remind you that you've been staring at your computer screen for too many hours in succession without a break. You'll feel it when something about the day starts feeling stale or blunted, as if you've overstayed your welcome.

We know this, but we all need a reminder, too, now and then. We can't continue to produce high-quality output without investing in rich and fulfilling input. This is a lesson I've had to re-learn multiple times over. Somehow, I always forget.

A friend called me yesterday: a friend I haven't seen or spoken to in far too long. I had been working all day, sunk in details and resume building and thinking too much about myself, when my phone rang unexpectedly. I was pleasantly surprised and I picked it up and we had a simple, honest conversation. We were filling moments rather than letting them slip past, unnoticed. Redeeming time. It was like a breath of fresh air. When the conversation ended and I turned back to my work, I had a fresh vision and a little more energy to run on.

So, when you get to that stuck, stale place, go take the occasional walk in the sun or talk to a person or water a plant. Read something that isn't required or play a musical instrument and don't forget to laugh about nothing sometimes.

Remember that mindlessly looking at your phone or scrolling through Facebook or whatever probably isn't the best way to re-charge. Yes, it isn't work, but it isn't actual life, either. We reclaim and refill through experience and brushing up against what is real and true and substantial, not by tapping glass or gazing at a screen. What will probably fill you more is engaging with life, somehow. Aim for active, not passive. Tap into an emotion other than stress or seriousness. Massage some of those knots out of your neck.

I was talking to another friend today about how physical space and mental space are so easily intertwined. In school, it is easy to get stuck in my room all day long: studying all day, and then sleeping. We were talking about how we want our rooms to be places to go back to, places that indicate rest rather than all the work we've done that day. To separate work and rest in our minds, we need to separate work and rest in our physical spaces. For me, this means finding other places to work during the day, to avoid holing up in my room for hours on end, and let it be a place to unwind and shift away from assignments and rubrics and required reading.

I'm still learning how to keep my work:rest ratio in check. I'm still a little more stressed than I'd like to be and sometimes I forget to stop being so serious, so concerned, so self-focused, and to look outward more often. It is coming, though. The more I remind myself, the more I remember, and, slowly, I steal back my time.

.002 Creating Space

It has become a routine, now, that a friend and I meet in the chapel three mornings a week to pray.

Eight-thirty. The sun rests at the optimal height to stream through the stained glass windows, throwing colour all over the carpet where we sit.

We sit down, maybe read some scripture, share some joys or worries we're experiencing, and then we end off with prayer. This whole process takes all of twenty minutes, but it shifts the entire tone of the day.

The reason we began doing this stemmed from a conversation about carrying our faith over into university and how to live it out practically. There are choices, time constraints, assignments, voices telling us who we should be and how we should conduct ourselves, and other noise to wade through daily, constantly, and in the juggle and balance of it all it is easy to let faith blend into the din. It is easy to become distracted by all these other things to the point where priorities and perspective warp and prayer becomes an afterthought.

I've made a conscious effort this semester to be responsible with my time. First year I went to bed late and slept in late. I procrastinated too much and chose social activities over work priorities more often than I should have. This year, I wanted something different. I wanted to use my time and resources well. Part of this decision included intentionally and consistently getting up earlier, and this morning chapel prayer offered a meaningful reason to do that.

It is one thing to pray on your own, but praying together is enriching in an entirely different way. Faith is a journey, and not one to stumble through alone. These morning prayer sessions are a connection point, a crossover of two journeys and a way to acknowledge that we're walking together; we're not in this alone. We pray for each other and people we know and we wrestle with the question of how to live with purpose and mission where we are here as students.

This "lesson" really is a journey of creating space. Carving out time to be still and connect in a meaningful way, even if it is for only twenty minutes, or ten, changes me in subtle, small ways that stack up into bigger change. I find myself a little more focused, a little more hopeful, a little more peaceful, a little more content, and slowly my perspective shifts.

There is really no planned structure to this morning prayer and the time length varies, but it allows for a kind of inner breathing room and an openness with another person. We share hopes and worries and truth and we learn through this process. We've learned that sometimes God says "no" to things we think are good for us and opens other, different doors for us to explore. We've learned that sometimes finding God's will looks a lot more like taking a step in faith than searching for banners in the sky.

So in answering this question of how to live with purpose as a student, I'm learning that one of the starting points is how I view and capture my time. I have influence over how I fill it, whether that be the specific task or activity I engage in, or simply the attitude I walk in with. Time is my canvas and this purpose is found in how I choose to colour it in.

The World Isn't as Bad as You Think .001

School has started and I'm venturing into another four month stretch of study. Normally I'm all wrapped up in the newness, squinting at the blank slate with so many plans of how to fill it.

This year, though, I'm strangely indifferent. I'm in a bit of a "been here, done that" mental state and excelling academically isn't my driving goal. Another term, another essay, another assignment: they blur together into numbers and lately I've been thinking of new questions. I'm scratching out some of my lists and reorganizing some of my priorities.

How do I live with purpose as a student?

I know that I live as my best self when I'm serving or caring for other people. In that place, my motivation is sharpened and I live with more meaning and intention. As a student, though, it is easy to slip into the rut of routine and due dates and hashing through abstract questions in stuffy classrooms.

I know I'm investing in my future and I enjoy what I study, but I need more than that to fill my days. I need something to spark my imagination and challenge me to grow and offer meaning in a place beyond myself.

How do I get there?

My challenge to myself this semester is to live with intention and awareness. There are so many creative ways to extract meaning from the day. I want to use this space more often in that process of untangling.

One of my broad goals this semester is to legitimately learn something new, if not every day, then at least every week. This could be classroom learning or life learning, but I want to open my definition of education and glean as much out of this university experience as I can.

Maybe I'm making assumptions, but this exercise shouldn't be difficult. Often it is just the practice of noticing and naming something that pulls it up from slipping between the cracks and often that is enough to tilt perspective or refresh vision or offer purpose to an otherwise empty or flat day.

Lesson .001

Last week I was running to class and uncharacteristically stopped at a bulletin board to skim over the explosion of papers stapled haphazardly all over the wall. I moved one piece of paper and found this note hiding underneath.

It caught my attention and I smiled. Sometimes the very truth we need to hear is stapled to a bulletin board and we rush past it because we're locked in on time and responsibility, or we're too focused on the crazy mass of advertisements and other notices vying for our attention to see the honest humanity of a scribbled note.

The world isn't as bad as you think. Collect those bright spots in your days, in your weeks, and cling to them like treasure. Yes, the world can be a dark and scary place. Yes, the world can wring your heart and leave you with wounds and questions, but there is beauty and good as well. There is meaning to be found. The more I learn, the more I find that this is a truth. The more I learn, the more I understand that this truth is often difficult to find.

However, sometimes all I need to do is stop for a minute and look at a bulletin board.

The Pinch Space

After an extended writing hiatus, I've finally returned to this space a few months older and maybe (debatably) a little wiser. Summer had its own lessons to teach me, and they may slide their way into this place when I've had the time and distance to untangle it all.

Right now I'm standing on the threshold of a new season: that vaguely foggy, uncomfortable middle gap that collects time and I always get a little restless in this place. I'd rather not let go of the old seasons I walk though. I'm the one who, once that ship has sailed, stands on the dock and watches until it disappears beyond the horizon and then I wait a little longer still, just in case a wave might raise it up for one last glimpse. In this case, I'm shifting from summer and work back into university for my second year.

It might be the period of life I'm in, but I'm a bit of a nomad. I feel as though I'm always living out of a suitcase, flipping between homes and cultures and communities and as much as I love it, the uprooting never fails to pinch, somehow. That pinch, though, is becoming more familiar and less scary as our paths cross more frequently. It is almost an acquaintance to me at this point. We meet again.

I guess I appreciate that pinch, in a way. It reminds me to be thankful for what I've been blessed with in the seasons passed, and it forces me to look ahead with a sense of adventure and a perspective of possibility.

I've also found a bit of a rhythm, or a strategy, if you will, for surviving the transitional period:

• In my world, there is nothing that spinach can't fix: Or kale. Or pears. Or peppers. Essentially: eat as healthy as possible. I want to eat all the ice cream in the world when I feel a bit adrift, and sometimes I do, but I know that I feel infinitely better when I eat healthy and take care of myself. That is just motherly advice from me to you.

• Resting space: I'm beginning to see this middle space as more of a gift and an opportunity to reflect and gather myself before diving into my next season. As chaotic as it may be, I take it as a chance to fill myself in small ways. I listen to really good music, pray, read my favourite books, write, bake, etc.

• Look foreword: Personally, I always need a goal or a challenge in life to work toward, or my motivation and demeanour will flatline. The pinch space is always a place where I set some new goals, pick out some new things to get excited about, dream a little. I always pray about these things, but part of the process usually involves lists and Pinterest, on occasion.

• Talk: Sometimes an honest conversation or two with a wise person can be the most healing medicine. Conversation has a way of kneading out little fears or insecurities I didn't even know I carried, and speaking those into open air, to another person with doubts and worries just as human as my own, has a habit of dissolving their weightiness. Tea also helps this process.

• Debrief: I try to extract as much meaning out of life as I can. When a season ends, I usually look back on it and try to nail down what I learned, how I grew, or mistakes I made. I also try to carry that gained experience into my next phase of life in order to apply it in a new context. The pinch space is where I sort out some of those lessons and ask questions about myself, life, God, relationships. Some questions have answers and some remain open ended. Those open ended kind are the ones I carry with me into the next season to view in a different light, and they are often the questions that shape me the most.

Rather than idle time, I'm learning to view the pinch space as a bridge or a connection. It is a gift I can use to collect myself, to transition into a new season with a clearer vision of where I came from and where I am going. It is a season in itself, and it can teach me and shape me and possibly heal me as well, if I allow it to. I'm learning to use it, to say thank-you for it, and to appreciate the unlikely gifts it can give me.

Thank goodness for the pinch space.

Steps

Seven years ago, a very normal incident sparked a series of events that threw me into one of the craziest, richest journeys I've ever walked and blew the dust off of a faith that was beginning to grow stale.

I met one of my best friends while walking home from school one day. I didn't know her very well yet, but we struck up a conversation, which led to the topic of God, and I found myself inviting her to church the following Sunday. I wasn't aware of it then, but that moment was a catalyst launching me into an adventure of faith. She came to church with me that Sunday, and a hundred Sundays after. She just didn't stop coming and I had the privilege of being with her when she accepted Jesus about a year later. This past weekend (six years later) we went to a Christian youth conference for our fifth time, except we went as leaders rather than youth. The transformation is stunning: now my friend is pouring into the lives of youth, telling them about living for Jesus and ministering and serving and worshiping; not because she now has a perfect life, but because she has hope and a healing heart.

As we led together, I was struck by the richness of this friendship and all the intense pain and crazy laughter we've experienced together as we've both learned how to follow Jesus: she, as a brand new Christian, and I, as a pastor's kid redefining how and why I believed and carried out my faith. We have so many strange and beautiful and God-filled stories, and what we've experienced could probably fill a book but what strikes me, what humbles me, is that I could have missed it all.

I could have ignored the prompting to invite her to church. I could have swept the invitation under the rug of my fear or hesitation but by God's grace I didn't. That one small risk led to a dozen more and it built a relationship, which grew two faiths in completely different ways. The effects have reverberated across the miles that separate us and through the years till now. So much fruit and blessing has come from one blip of a moment. One tiny act of obedience altered everything.

Sometimes a small step is all that is needed to drastically shake up our lives and push us into a better version of ourselves. Sometimes the best way to see Jesus is to take a risk and lean in and trust hard. It probably won't be smooth or easy. My friend didn't become a Christian the next day; it was a year before she accepted Christ. In fact, much of our relationship has consisted of wrestling with hard questions, and walking through many experiences of heart-wrenching pain, but I think, through it all, we taught each other how to press into God, how to let Him be sovereign, and how to experience a mysterious joy in difficult circumstances.

Take a small step in faith, and it might bring clarity to some of the foggy edges in our lives. It might involve sacrifice, but it might also produce rich blessing. It might answer some of our most difficult questions and leave us with harder ones. It might stretch us, but it might also propel us to continue on. We might be glossing over our fullest life because we're being tugged back into fear or tunnel vision or a list of rules. Dare to take a step and follow a prompting and watch what tumbles out of that. It could be that behind the risk, tucked under the unknown, a shower of blessing is waiting to be unleashed.

Autonomy

I'm trying to think of what has been on my mind in all the leftover space. To be honest, I haven't been hashing through any grand or lofty issues. Sometimes I just get very quiet and contemplative and content with the present moment. That has been happening a lot lately. I've just been appreciating life and where I am right now, soaking in time, praying quiet prayers, and generally flying under the radar. I really love flying under the radar: not in the sense that I am underestimating myself, but in the sense that I know myself, I'm secure in where I am and where I'm going, and I like having ambiguous areas in my life that only I know about. 

A steady theme in my life this year has been the idea of becoming autonomous- not relying on anyone else or anything else for my identity, yet being part of a community and loving it well. I'm so prone to dive in and latch on to places, ideas, people, and when the time comes to move on, the rip is anything but clean. I leave kicking and screaming and finding hollow places in myself that I try to cover will all these external things. Not anymore. I've brushed up against that elusive balance between independence and interdependence. We all need people and places and seasons, but not as saviours. 

I wrote the above over a month ago. As the end of first year approached, I began reflecting on the past eight months more often, in quieter moments. It's funny how little memories remain impressed in my mind. They seemed so insignificant at the time, but really those little moments were mini turning points, pulling and twisting me into change and a new perspective. Looking back, I was so right. I'm done school now. I've said good bye and, somehow, I'm not very sad. Of course, I know I'll be going back next year but the old me would have tried to hold on to little pieces of this past year, attempting to preserve them. Now I've come to realize that good friends, good places, good experiences are a gift to be enjoyed and thankful for. There are always endings, but there are always beginnings, too. Life ahead is full and promising.

I remember one night, in the middle of winter, I was in my room, wrapped in a blanket, and suddenly I had this clear thought: "Christy, what do you actually want?" It wasn't a selfish question. I had been frustrated with myself and cloudy areas in my life that didn't seem to be working out in a very clean or ideal way. When that question dropped in my mind, I was reminded that I was drifting toward a very problematic path of living in a way that seemed "right" because it was the direction that I perceived most other people to be walking. However, when I thought about it truthfully, I realized that it didn't fit with who I was at the time. I was trying to shuffle myself into a "norm" rather than being honest and making decisions for myself.

That moment released a dozen others just like it over the next few months. Surprisingly, staying true to myself and the direction I knew that God was guiding me in allowed me to love others in a more free and accepting way. I think it made me more secure in myself. It's a strange paradox: focus on yourself, and you will be freed to live for others. I've been trying to unravel it for a while because it can be so easily misinterpreted or misunderstood, but it is something essential that I had been missing for so long.

It might be the difference between people pleasing and loving people. I think before I would have said that I was "living for others," but really I was trying to bend into the person I thought they wanted me to be. That isn't helpful for anyone. Rather, maybe this paradox should look more like: know yourself, and you will be freed to love others. If I were to nail down one part of me that changed the most this year, that would be it. Know yourself, love others.

For me, this "knowing myself" part meant allowing myself to own opinions and speak them. It meant exploring who I am as an artist and understanding who I am not. It meant balancing time spent with people and time alone. It meant figuring out a new rhythm of prayer and listening to God. It meant staying healthy mentally, physically, and emotionally. This is only the beginning of my personal list. There are so many things that tangle and cross to converge within us as humans, and it is the untangling and massaging out the knots that teaches us who we are, one lesson at a time.

Autonomy. It's something I didn't know I needed to grow in until it happened. I'm seeing now how being a Christian is a lifelong journey. I am constantly being taught and changed by God and it is always intriguing to me how God is going to grow me next. It is such an adventure, and it never fails to challenge me, perplex me, and bless me in hundreds of different ways. Like I said, endings always trail into beginnings. Life ahead is full and promising.

The One I Didn't Want to Post

I didn't want to post this. There is nothing scandalous here, no deep, dark secrets, but being vulnerable in a public space is just rough, sometimes. Often I'll learn things about myself and it turns into a post and I just kind of pray, "God? Couldn't you teach me about some kind of world issue or.... I don't know, something else that isn't so personal!? Couldn't this be a bit less like a journal?" But no, this is what it is.

As a little update, I've been keeping up my weekly pilgrimages to the mall to pray. I keep the fact that I do this pretty quiet in "real life," because I love having this space in my week totally carved out and secret. I've had so many interesting encounters and experiences on these outings, and it is a rhythm that has enhanced my life, and my relationship with God, so much since first semester. it is amazing how simply taking the time to show up and pray expectantly, or just sitting in silence, has opened my eyes and my heart. It has been a way to intentionally refocus, and it has been so, so worth it.

I've changed so much over these past two semesters of school. One of the prayers I pray most often is: "God, what needs to change in me now?" I find that those prayers are always answered in the most interesting and startling ways.

That essay I wrote about? The issue was less about the content and topic of the essay, and more about what it sparked in me. I'm finished it now, but I've been thinking hard about all of this, grappling with this passion I have for writing and where I want to take it from here. I say I'm grappling with it because, really, it has been a point of contention with myself for as long as I can remember.

Writing is what makes me fundamentally myself. Words on the page expose my most truthful self, something that can't be expressed in any other way. On the other hand, I've always wished that I had a different gift. I've tried to store this one away, hide it, downplay it, pretend that it isn't mine. I've been frustrated that writing isn't a necessarily "performable" talent (like dancing or singing), I've kicked back against the honesty that writing forces me up against every time.

When I think of who I am, the first two words I would use to describe myself would be "writer" and "introvert," both parts of myself that I've wanted to change countless times as I've grown up. I've always had this strange wish to be a logical, extraverted person and not this quiet, creative personality that I've been given. I remember, as a very young girl, retreating to my closet to write among stacks and stacks of papers; half finished ideas, stories, letters. I hid it all. Even now, I equate writing with hiding to some extent.

Hiding. Flying under the radar. I've been a bit of a wallflower all my life because it is the most comfortable place for me to be. I prefer to stand away from the spotlight. My idea of a good time mostly consists of activities that can be done alone. That is my niche. However, as a Christian, being alone all the time isn't what I've been called to do. I've also been given this intense love for people, and I've been learning to balance my natural tendency to retreat and this calling to love people.

So- writing. It is uncomfortable. It is gritty. It is also one of the most fulfilling parts of my life. Just as I haven't been called to hide away, I have also not been called to stifle my gifts or hoard them selfishly. That is why I share my writing. It is not something that I want to do, exactly. I'm not here to impress anyone or imply that I have all the answers. This is what I have been given, though, and every time I have used this gift, I've been blessed in countless ways. I'm reminded of the parable of the talents in the Bible, the one where the servant buries the treasure his master gives him rather than putting it to use. That is not who I want to be.

This year, praying about what needs to change, I've grown into myself more than ever. I've begun to embrace this creativity, my writing, my opinions. I'm trying to hide less and settle more into what I've been given.

This is where I stand now, at the edge, batting questions back and forth and peering through keyholes in search of answers. I'm constantly being pushed into uncomfortable corners of honesty and truthfulness, and I'm learning to be okay with that. I'm learning balance and autonomy and wisdom. I'm learning to accept the gifts I've been given and use them well. I'm learning that change is an ongoing process and that when I ask, I will receive. When I press in and really seek, I will find. I might not find what I thought I wanted, but that is the beauty of it all. There are so many unexpected gifts in so many unexpected places.

Navigating the Sacred and the Secular as a Student

I'm writing an essay at the moment for an English class at school and the main themes of the essay, the main ideas that I've been kneading out lately, are the intricacies of the body, the spirit, and the mind. I've been thinking over basic questions like "what does it mean to be human?" and "what is this empty space in our spirit that propels us to search for meaning and fulfillment?"

Of course, as a Christian, I have the easy, Sunday school answer to these questions: Jesus.

And yet, I'm still wrestling with the themes in these texts I'm analyzing. There is a fundamental lack of hope and a cry of desperation ringing in them. They are wrung through with rebellion. The main characters are lost souls searching for love and fulfillment and meaning in all of the wrong places. The texts deal with a burning anger toward Capitalism, absent fathers, injustice, and an overall sense of numbness and despair.

I can't gloss over these themes and write an upbeat, optimistic essay that preaches "These people just need to become Christians and all of their problems will be solved." Of course I believe that Christianity and belief in Christ is what offers us hope and joy and life and everlasting peace. Of course I believe at the very core of myself that all these gaps are the absence of God, that these people are lost and searching and I know what they are searching for. I know what could redeem these stories, these poems, these films.

The problem with being a Christian at a secular University, studying secular literature with rough edges and gaping questions, is that not all the edges are pinned down so neatly. (Frankly, I don't want to pin them down so neatly, either). There is no opportunity for me to bend these texts in a way that points to Christianity and Jesus without sounding superficial or judgmental. It wouldn't be appropriate to slide in a "Christian perspective" paragraph at the end that neatly boxes the whole package into a compartment of hope and cozy theology.

This is an essay of analysis, not opinion. I don't write everything for school with a Christian slant by any means, but lately I've decided to critically look at how I can have a strong voice in the world of secular academics and literature without slipping into a safe category of "inspirational," or kicking every topic toward the same theme.

I believe that Christian literature and writing has its place (hence this whole blog and the foundation of most of my own personal writing), but I've also been thinking about how to expand my reach, my arena, my worldview. I don't think that every Christian has to get a Christian job or go to a Christian school. These are options that must be critically assessed. For some, these areas will be the perfect fit. That will be the place where they thrive and grow and bless and minister in the best way. For others, though, being strapped to the Christian bubble beyond their church community will be restrictive, unrealistic, or suffocating to them. Some people will weave in and out of both circles.

What am I trying to say?

As Christians, there is a delicate balance between becoming immersed and connected within a solid community of believers, and engaging beyond ourselves. Both are extremely important to pursue. However, there are sometimes grey areas between allowing our faith to propel our love, our values, and our opinions, and brushing up against, or creating the perception of, manipulation, judgement, or exclusion through our actions, our art, and our words, both written and spoken (even if it is unintentional). Is it fear or comfort that is binding us to our Christian circles, or is it the foundation of community, a passion that thrives best there, or a genuine calling?

As I said before, I don't write all of my essays through a Christian funnel, but I've been realizing that I am standing in a unique position right now as a student and a young adult. I should think about how my beliefs colour my studies, my relationships, and my work, especially my creative work. I've become aware that I have a voice and that is both a privilege and a humbling responsibility. I'm beginning to see this seam between the sacred and the secular more clearly than ever now. In some ways, I've witnessed a skillful and loving bridging of the two, in other ways, I still see a clear divide, and, in a few contexts, I've found a dilution of one into the other that mixes contradictions to produce a confusion of loyalties.

So this is the wild mess that I am picking through right now. I have a fairly clear vision of the road that I am personally walking, but I don't want to overlook new lessons I can learn here and now. I have no easy answers, except to navigate these issues through prayer and to continually align my focus through reading the Bible, becoming familiar with Jesus' character, and following in his footsteps. I want to remain discerning, malleable, open-minded, yet anchored, as I ask questions, press deeper, and wander through this journey we call the Christian life. It's a tangle of brokenness and hope.

Slow Release

Last week was a hazy sweep of work, laughter, emotion and action. The days smudged together and time warped and Friday night was so welcome. The week exhaled to a close.

I've been thinking about Lent in between all of the chaos. I have a few blog posts written and saved in a document on my laptop that wander through my thoughts about Lent, but none of them seemed authentic enough to share.

Last year, I engaged in Lent for one of the first times and it altered something in me on a very deep level. It taught me about looking outward rather than inward. It taught me about trust and prayer and walking on the edge of wonder and anticipation.

I prayed for five different people over the forty days of Lent. I didn't decide to do this because of Lent, but it happened to come up around the same time, so I ran parallel to it, grafting myself into the practice. The five people didn't know that I was praying for them, but I saw very direct and clear answers to my prayers manifested in their lives. Something fresh and rich grew up in me during that time and I point to that season as one of the most healthy and vibrant periods in my life.

I wanted to recreate that experience again this year. I wanted to have a focus and a direction and, to be honest, a cool story to tell about it. I've been trying to bend myself into Lent by attempting to find something meaningful to give up. Lent has already started and I still haven't pinpointed what to go without.

What is really resonating in my spirit right now is a quiet "wait for me." I think that I might simply need to use this Lenten season to sit and wait in expectation for God. Something in me pushes back against this. I don't want to wait. I want to see. I want to experience. I want the miracle and the transformation right now.

On the weekend, I engaged in a worship session that brushed up against a callous place in me. I realized that, somehow, I've been gripping burdens like a lifeline and their weight is pulling me down, suffocating my spirit, squelching my joy at times. I don't know what exactly I'm holding onto, but it is allowing fear and insecurity to seep in around the edges.

I thought I was done with this. I thought that I had found freedom from all of my fears already. I can't believe I've come full circle. I didn't properly guard myself against relapse. All of these thoughts caved in on me as I realized how heavy and ingrained these burdens are. They have begun to grow and intertwine like vines to build up a protective layer, a shield, a wall of distance.

A constant unclenching of the fist. Really, isn't that the essence of Lent? Isn't it about giving up, about going without, about regaining focus and grasping meaning in the hollow space that has been channeled into your life? What will fill that gap? Will it be new truth, or a conviction, or simply some air for breathing room?

Maybe, instead of giving up coffee or committing to a different way of prayer for Lent, I need to wait and reflect and begin to loosen the knots that have blunted my spirit and my trust. This whole season must be a slow release, an uncurling of the fingers. It takes time to pull away the layers. The deepest lies are not easily redirected. The heart of a burden is buried deep.

Rather than letting go at the beginning, this Lent will be a journey of release.