we turn our eyes

Ugh, I can't even feel my toes right now. The apartment is frigid because our heater gave out last night + I'm watching the snow come down pretty hard outside the window. Yesterday morning, the elder at our church shared how his AC broke down during a hot summer day one time and I thought, "Man, that sucks. What if our heater broke?" Then, as luck would have it, I came home in the afternoon and was informed by my rather sad apartment mate that our heater was out. All I can say is thank the Lord for friends who let you crash at their humble abodes (muchos love to my Newell 55 girls + dear S for her bed. Get well soon, love.)

Ever since last semester, the Lord has been giving me a very clear picture of me moving towards the light. In this picture, I stood at the far end of a tunnel and there were a million distractions that chained me to where I was. The light was there and His voice was calling but I couldn't move. Lined along the walls of the tunnel were thorny branches and gnarly briars. They reached out and coiled tightly around my wrists and ankles.

As I tried to step forward, I felt their strength; they cut into my skin. I was disturbed at how comfortable I was if I just stood still, if I didn't struggle, if I didn't strive for that light. As long as I didn't move, there was no pain. But somehow, it didn't sit well with me--this idea of standing still--because I was still surrounded by darkness. The light was far away. I wasn't sure if I wanted it.

I mentioned ever so briefly in my last post that the previous semester was a season of waiting on the Lord.

"Ughhhh, [insert name of unfortunate friend here], what does that even mean? What am I even waiting for?" I complained to those who were in the unfortunate position to listen to me gripe.

They didn't have the answers. I didn't either. God seemed to be closing doors left and right and I had many "why's" that I desperately wanted answers to, but He kept reminding me to wait. So for the past few months, I waited--sometimes in anger and great impatience, sometimes with anticipation and joy, and sometimes in sadness.

During this "waiting" period, I began to want the light more than anything else. Comfort was and is no use to me if I can't have Him. Wanting the light more than anything else meant giving up dreams and desires of mine that weren't necessarily bad, but weren't His. Those thorny branches and briars began to cut deep. I realized then that the "refiner's fire" that we often sing about in church is painstakingly beautiful. Old out and new in is not the pretty picture that we think it is. Be forewarned. If you're asking to be made more like your Jesus, you're going to have to expect that He is going to get into the nitty gritty aspects of your heart and truly clean everything out.

In the end, my identity was restored and reaffirmed in Him as I moved into this new semester. I laughed writing that sentence just now because coming to that predicament took months and months. There's a lot of detail I can't go into but suffice to say, the thorny branches and briars began to lose their grip. The shaky baby steps turned into lengthening strides and from lengthening strides, my legs broke into a run until I was standing before the Son in all His radiance. He is the source of light that beckons me nearer still nearer and in His presence, I can finally rest.

Onwards and upwards, my dear family, for as we gaze, we advance.

Off to study now.