opening remarks

dear A,

One week into the new semester and already there's been unforeseen circumstances threatening to dampen your goals, visions, your snug bubble you've come to call home. Old you would have run for the hills. Old you would have thrown the covers of your head and asked to be woken up after the storm had passed.

The future is uncertain. Yes, you didn't ask for things to happen the way they did. Yes, you didn't imagine in a hundred million years that you would have to be put in the position you are now. Yes, you asked the Father to be made more like Him, but surely, not in this way?

And so the story goes that He called you out upon the waters and off you went--blindly, arms outstretched--unsure of everything but so sure of Him.

Lord, my feet can't touch the ground anymore. The water's getting muddied, Lord. This storm is getting out of hand, Lord. When are you going to come out and save me, Lord? Lord, wake up. Wake up, don't you care about me?

Don't fret, don't drown, you say to yourself.

Silhouettes of the ominous clouds up ahead began to take shape in an angry heap--a forewarning for the fear that billows across the waves in a gust. Anxiety creeps in and wraps his cold icy fingers around your heart.

You fret, you drown. Don't fret, don't drown. 

The future is uncertain. And all these things would've been a perfectly fine reaction for any human being. It would've fit old you perfectly, A. That was you last semester.

But for the first time in a long time, you aren't afraid anymore. The Spirit will not allow you to utter words of fear. You have resurrection power inside of you. What do you have to be afraid for? For the first time, you're finally okay with being uncertain about, well, everything. Wait, no, not just okay with it, but at peace with it. It's that peace that passes all understanding, the one that Scripture talks about constantly, the one you've circled with dark ink on your Bible, the one you've heard people toss around in church services. It's the peace you don't grasp until you've tasted it and once you do, it cradles every fiber of your being, embraces you and wraps you up in such sweet mercy, it makes you want to weep tears of joy.

Peace. Mm, yes.

From this peace, you gain an insight. You've never been so uncertain about what's up ahead but you are certain of one thing--you have Jesus and He is in control. He is Lord of all in your life. He is Lord of all the storms in your life. Isn't that all we can ask for? Isn't that all we need?

Wake up Lord, I'm drowning. Don't you see? Don't you care?

He looks straight at the fearful and said, "Ye of little faith, why are you so afraid?" then he rebukes the storms. The voices cease, the wind dies down, the waters are calm again, smooth, glassy. Do you notice the order in which he addresses the two things at hand?

Heart first. Circumstances second.

Last semester, I waited on Him. It was so trying, but ultimately, it was worth it. Already I sense the theme and season of my life largely shifting again. It is a moving on from waiting to trusting and resting in His will for me.

When we say Jesus is our everything, isn't that what we mean? That He is all we need--day in, day out. Everything else in this world just loses its flavor in the light of His brilliance. I just want Him.

You can have all this world. Just give me Jesus.