well, goodbye senior year

I couldn't see him very well from where I sat in the audience, but I could make out that he was somewhat of a sculpted, built guy judging by the animated blur on the screen. He wore these clear round-framed glasses with a tight black t-shirt and skinny jeans. His arms were tatted up with indistinguishable markings. My heart was skeptical about the message he was about to deliver.

Then he spoke. And spoke some more. And the lump in my throat began to grow.

This past year has been one of the most beautiful times of my life. Senior year flew by exactly as predicted. There was no ounce of pretense to it. Everything I thought would happen happened. There were many beautiful memories made with old and new faces alike. New experiences that left me wanting more. Senior year was in many ways what I had expected and wanted.

And yet, there was something I couldn't place about senior year because in the middle of what seemed perfect, I was so empty. The hard truth I had been avoiding was that I wasn't growing in my walk with Jesus and I knew it.

This little fact ate at me consistently throughout the year. I was so stagnant in my faith, because my life was too good. I didn't have any problems that needed to be handled by the big boss upstairs (or so I thought). I found solace in a good group of friends, I could practice my skill and passions in graphic design and I started dating this handsome Jesus-loving man. School work (aside from my terrible thesis which still triggers me to this day) was a joke.

While my life was "too good", everything on the inside began peeling off little by little. It all felt like a facade and that I was a shell parading myself around to conceal my heart condition. My appetite for anything spiritual had become so dulled. Listening to messages never left me feeling challenged or convicted. Worship was dry and forced. My temper and love ran so short. I couldn't be bothered to love on people who weren't convenient and whenever I tried, it felt so heavy and out of obligation. It grew to a point where I began avoiding people. Hypocrisy accused me as I attempted to serve in my community and fellowship. Pride ruined so much of my interactions and yet, ironically, I could barely shoulder and face my shortcomings and failures as a leader and it hindered my ability to give myself freely. My prayers were often scripted at the wall. My need for Jesus was practically nonexistent and whatever was there was constantly being stomped out by my own desires and ability to "get on by" without intervention. My relationships with people became strained and suffered because I didn't understand how to love and yet I just so desperately wanted to be loved. I had more emotional breakdowns from petty reasons than I could count. By the end of it, I started to hate this version of self.

I began to make up excuses of my lack of growth. If maybe my community would care more, than I could just grow. If maybe this specific group of people would notice and seek me out, then I could just grow. If maybe people took time to ask me how I was really doing, then I could just grow. If maybe I didn't have so many burdens, then I could just grow. If maybe so-and-so would just take me under their wing and guidance, then I could just grow. If maybe my family wouldn't be so financially strapped or burdened, then I could just grow. If maybe I wasn't serving in so many areas, I could just grow.

Finally, I pinned the blame on Abba. Nothing is happening in my life, God. That's why I'm not growing. YOU make something happen.

Junior year was the year EVERYTHING had happened. I just wanted radical growth. Anything. I wanted something crazy to happen so that I would run and cling to God. But nothing happened. And so I just sat there and twiddled my thumbs.

Then that night. I'm sitting in the crowd of three hundred something people and that pastor's message cut straight to my heart.

TURN. THE. PAGE. He says, the sweat beading on his brow. No matter where you are and where you find yourself, you need to keep turning the page. You need to keep growing. See Christians love to just tell God that if maybe they could just be in this certain situation, have a certain job, be in a certain relationship, then they would grow. But sometimes, we don't get what we want but we need to grow anyway. We need to ask God to help us to grow despite whatever situation we found ourselves in. We need to stop lingering on the same old page because there's still more to come.

All throughout this message, this pastor with the round-framed glasses is throwing his arms in a wide arc above his head to turn the page of some imaginary book. His motions become bigger and bigger. At one point, I start to think he's going to pull some ligament in his arm, but it starts to make more sense in my head, this whole turn the page thing.

Afterwards, I stumble out of that service and it all clicks for me and I tell Abba, "Help me grow. Forget the excuses. Forget what I have and what I don't. I want to grow. I am so tired of staring at the same page. I want to see what's next in my story."

In the blink of an eye, college suddenly became a closed chapter. My fingers hover between the pages of something familiar and something new. Lately, I've found myself crying for no reason at all. Some kind of sadness and longing sits between my shoulders and it aches. I've found, with time, that when something as extraordinary and life-changing as such a season in your life is over, there's nothing on earth that can bring justice to the closure you seek. But strangely enough, I'm okay with this, because the Author that is still at work spells out the best is yet to come.

So, I turn the page.

h i s

Write this down quick, lest you forget.

Child, your past does not define you.

Do you understand? It does not define you. 

Jesus Christ bled and paid for your sins. He has already set you free. 

Your past does not define you and the accuser cannot tell you so.

In your battle against flesh, He has won the battle for you. 

You are victorious because He is victorious. 

What happened in the past is not who you are meant to be.

You were meant for so much more.

You were meant for holiness.

You were meant for purity.

You were meant to love and be loved.

You were meant to be satisfied but that can only come from the Father.

You were meant to love another, but not with your own love and not with your own way.

You were meant to wait.

You were meant to pursue all things pure. 

So,

Listen here, child of the King.

Lift your chin up high. 

Because He loves you and has forgiven you.

Not once. Not twice.

But more than you can count in your finite lifetime and comprehension.

Lift your chin up high,

Because He is the One who repairs, builds and holds together

The house your feeble hands shake to keep from collapsing. 

Lift your chin up high, 

Because where you gaze is where you wander

So keep your eyes fixed on Him. 

Lift your chin up high,

Because the failures of your flesh are labels that no longer adhere to your soul

Not the names from the accuser or even the ones you put on yourself

Let them fall because you have a new name.

Write this down quick, lest you forget.

The next time the accuser comes by and calls you by your Past,  lift your chin up a little higher, and tell him you have a different name:

Because you are

HIS. 

of new dreams and fuller faith

One year ago, I began chasing a new dream.

It's hard to explain because it sounds almost unreal when I look back on it.

It's not that my life is particularly more extraordinary than the next person's. It certainly wouldn't be on any bestseller list if I were to put it all down. And yet, nothing in it can be explained without pointing to something, someone greater who dictates my every step, my every breath. There's been so many moments lately where I found myself staring at the sky and asking, "Lord, are you trolling me right now or ...?"

I don't mean this in a bad way, but it often comes in the form of me making plans that I think are the best and Him coming around and presenting me with something far beyond what I could have ever dreamed of. And this very fact has changed my outlook on life and shed light into my response in the face of uncertainty.

I've been thinking (a dangerous thing to do) whether or not I ought to share what I'm planning to do after graduation. But there is something to be said about documenting in good faith despite not knowing the outcome. As always, if you are somebody who is currently teetering on a path of uncertainty and trying to find your life calling, then read closely, because this one is for you.

So then, here we go. Some real talk.

It was my junior year, late November. A dear friend, J, and I had just grabbed dinner and were catching up with each other in the student center.

As we talked, a good friend of ours happened to walk by. He squeezed into the booth beside me and we asked him how he had been doing. He smiled tiredly and responded that things had been rough. A week ago he had broke to his parents, after much prayer and seeking after God's heart, that he was no longer pursuing his major. Conflict had ensued but in the end, things slowly began to be smoothed over as God restored their relationships with a deeper love and understanding for one another.

I remember sitting in the booth, trembling. Deep admiration intermingled with envy.

I had had my sights on medical school for nearly the first three years of school. It was what I wanted to do despite the challenges and hardship, but somewhere along the road, I began to realize the passion wasn't there anymore. Unfortunately, pride remained even when passion did not. I was terrified. I didn't want to admit to my parents, my peers, or even myself that I didn't want to go to med school anymore. My junior year dragged on as I endured courses that I dreaded going to, all the while wondering if perhaps I was doomed to this path I had chosen. Worst of all, there was fear that if I did not have a definite plan of what I wanted to do post-undergrad, I would be forever stuck in limbo and floating around without a job.

At that time, I had just joined a media team at school and headed up a small photography project meant to highlight and capture the story of Christians from various fellowships on our campus. One night, as the clock eased past the wee hours of morning, I finally put my organic chem textbook aside and threw something together as a design for the project as a teaser. I sent it to the media ministry president for review and he replied back about putting promotional material together for one of the annual Christian events at our school.

As I sat in the booth, listening to my friend tell his story and the crazy courage that came with pursuing what he loved and his conviction to tune into God's calling in his own life, I began to sense God had something big in store for me, like far beyond what I could dream of and that whatever it was, He was starting to give me just a tiny glimpse of it. In retrospect, I honestly believe that sitting in that booth and hearing my friend's story changed my life in every way. (If you'd like to read about his experience, please check it out HERE. He was gracious enough to let me link it!)

For the next five months after, every prayer was grounded in the acknowledgement that I did not run my own life anymore. There was a desperate desire to chase this new dream of designing, because even though it felt foreign and unfamiliar, it felt right. Throughout the rest of my junior year, from November to May, the Father began to affirm this calling loud and clear by opening up doors to numerous opportunities. It amazes me because none of these opportunities were actively sought out by me; God just kept providing.

It was a hard learning process because I was starting from essentially no experience and knowledge whatsoever. I wondered at times if I was perhaps all making this up in my mind, but throughout the time, He provided people who were so gracious and supportive in seeing me thrive and pursue this passion. These individuals saw whatever potential and took chances on me, not just once but multiple times. Up until that point in life, I hadn't realized that people like this really, really existed in my life. There would be so many time in those months that consisted of them looking me in the eye and saying, "Hey, listen, I stand by you and I support your decision to do what you love and I will do everything I have to get you where you want to be." If it meant late night talks in the diner to convince me that this was what I was meant for, then that's exactly what they did. If it meant dropping whatever they were doing at a moment's notice to come to me and talk me through the projects I'd been given to do, then that's exactly what they did. If it meant a panicked call from yours truly at some random hour in the day to convince me God was in control, then that what's they did. You all know who you are. There's no telling how much you impacted my life, and I can only spend the rest of mine in return to stand by you.

Granted, I will say not everybody was thrilled about my decision. Certain friends were very concerned I was throwing my future away. They asked me to reconsider, to pray more. I felt very uncomfortable telling people about my plans, but none of that compared to the moment I had to explain to my mother I was no longer med school bound. I had decided not to tell her until March because I figured it would give me time to pray and make sure God was speaking to me clearly before I dropped the bomb.

I shook so much during the conversation I had with her that I could barely get my words together on the phone. I didn't know how to put into words my passion for graphic design, the way God had been opening doors and most of all, the fact that I had been spending their hard-earned savings on a science degree I possibly would never end up using when money was already so tight in the house.

It was not a good conversation. Tension ran high.

"You don't even care about what's happening at home. Everything is just about your life. You only care about yourself" she said.

I bit my tongue so hard it almost bled and my mind screamed to defend myself. But I couldn't. I fought back the urge to argue for fear of escalating the matter. I said nothing for the next half hour as she accused me for never praying for her and my father, for being selfish, for being wishy washy about my career goals, for being stagnant in my faith.

My mother is not a rash person. She is, in fact, quite the opposite. Ever since I could remember, she would spend hours in her prayer closet each day praying for every individual in her life. Every single encounter or trial, big or small, that she's gone through in her life, she's always brought before the Father. Because she is my mother, I've listened and taken her advice on almost all things in my life. And almost every time, she has been right.

But this time, she could not have been more wrong. Despite the (very) rough patches of learning, junior year had been such a game changer and life changing experience in terms of my walk with Jesus that if I had to pinpoint a time in my life where I first encountered Jesus, it was junior year. I was still a diamond in the rough, however, and pride often rained on my character. Needless to say, my mother could also not see most of these changes as I was no longer living at home and the accusations of my old self ran deep.

Tears ran down my face and I had to cup my mouth so she wouldn't hear anything. After a long silence, she stopped and asked why I wasn't responding to her, "Are you crying? You really shouldn't be."

I lied to her and told her I had to go. I hung up and cried for an hour. The entire time, I wondered if I had perceived the Father's signs all wrong for the past half year. Perhaps He hadn't called me to pursue graphic design. Perhaps, I had misread everything. If I didn't have my mother's blessing, could this have been the right move? How could God leave me out to dry like that?

For the next few months, as I finished up my junior year, I pored over Scripture and sought advice from the few close friends who knew what I was going through. Did I need my parents' approval to seek after a career that I felt so strongly God had called me to? I didn't know.

But as the theme of my year last semester was wait, I waited. I waited for something to happen, anything to happen. In the meantime, I barely told anyone I was no longer pursuing medical school. Without my mother's blessing or affirmation, I didn't feel at ease. Friends prayed with me as I trudged through the semester. They had to watch me cry some real ugly tears, ha.

One random week in April, my mother spontaneously asked to come see me. I hesitated. Since that last phone call, I sensed that our conversations had been tainted with tension and always ended up with one of us getting upset and me falling on my knees again.

I reluctantly agreed.

She came in with arms full of groceries and a hot rotisserie chicken from Costco. We sat down and talked for an hour about everything except for the fact that I just desperately wanted her blessing.

As she was walking out the door, she suddenly stopped in her tracks, turned around and said, "Ariel, 妈妈支持你. 你做什么, 我都会支持你, okay? (Ariel, I support you. I will always support you in what you do, okay?)"

Relief and tears flooded my senses.

I write this blog post to let you know that if you are somehow in this period of life where you are unsure of your calling in life and/or find yourself waiting for answers, don't lose hope. I want to close this terribly long post with a little story.

Sometime in November, when the idea of pursuing graphic design was still a new idea, I sent a lengthy email to an artist whose music has deeply impacted my life. This artist had spent his undergrad majoring in something completely unrelated to music before he felt God calling him to pursue his passion in music. My email described my situation and asked if perhaps he had ever regretted his own decision to pursue his passion despite the struggles he's encountered along the way.

It was completely out of character for me, sending that email. But I was so desperate and in a context where most of my peers were already pursuing their lucrative careers in pharmacy, medical school, whatever school with no doubt, I was drowning and struggling to find answers.

I sent the email, expecting no response.

That very night, he replied with a lengthy response that matched my own. He encouraged me to not put so much pressure on myself, despite not knowing what I wanted to do in life. Then at the very end, he wrote this:

There's enough grace in life for us to try and fail. 

I'll tell you the same thing. In your waiting season or period of uncertainty, have hope and be brave. There's enough grace in life for us to try and fail. Recognize, dear friend, that God still sits on His throne, He is in control of EVERYTHING and He desires the best for you. You could not even begin to imagine the journey He is taking you on; so don't worry. You may say, but Ariel, you have no idea what I'm going through! And I would say you are absolutely correct, but let me ask you: Can any of you add a single hour to your life by worrying? (Matt. 6:27) And if God has led you so far, would He abandon you now? I may not be able to clearly see every step in my own future but I know in my heart that if my God has taken me this far (in just one year nonetheless) then He will most certainly not abandon and so I look forward in great anticipation to all things He will do. As some might say, it is a exciting time to be alive.

Here's to chasing new dreams and trusting with fuller faith.

EDIT: The same day I published this post, I came home with my roomie that night, walked right into the living room and suddenly saw a body curled up on our couch in the dark. 

I turned to my roomie, thinking it was our apartment's friend staying over, "Oh my goodness! There's some guy sleeping here!"

She didn't react, turned on the light and suddenly the faces of loved ones rushed out the kitchen, birthday cake and phone cameras in hand shouting "SURPRISE!!"

Seeing as my birthday was nearly a month ago and my roomie's was coming up, I turned to her expecting it was for her. 

"IT'S FOR YOU!" she said and everybody erupted into the birthday song.

Turns out it was not a dream. The most unreal part came when they handed me the gift they had all chipped in on. Even as I tore off the first corner and glimpsed the box, I felt the tears springing into my eyes.

I peeled off the rest of the wrapping paper and looked at the beautiful Wacom tablet in my lap.

"We love you and support you!" someone shouted.

This post immediately sprang to mind. "Lord are you trolling me right now?" I whispered. Then I cried because what did I ever do to deserve to have this much love in my life?

Needless to say, I went to bed with a very, very full heart. 

how fickle my heart, how woozy my eyes

Sometimes I read through my old blog posts and have one of those half-chortle, half-giggle moments because although the situation is different, the truth remains the same. The beauty of the Gospel is that just when you think you began to think you understand it, you see it once more through a different lens. 

& I love that. 

I absolutely love how this simple truth can change your outlook on any situation in life, flip your world upside down then right side up with one breath, and remains relevant even after so much time has passed. & in my rediscovering of the Gospel again this season, I feel so alive and I felt that it was worth sharing, so here goes. 

Also as an aside, I started this post a few weeks back when I was actually still sick. Just wanted to say not to fret for all the dearly concerned. Always feeling your love. x, a.

The current predicament: nursing an achey body and a fickle heart.

I am not particularly fond of this combination.

A few weeks ago, I woke up to my screaming alarm and my throat on fire. Dressed quietly and quickly in the dark and stumbled into lab where I spent the next three hours in seemingly subzero temperatures. The sore throat escalated into some ridiculous sinus infection. What was a poor college kid to do with a silly little cold? She picked up a box of decongestant medication in the hopes to put it all behind her.

That was two, almost three weeks ago. Instead of being on the road to recovery, this lingering infection has rendered me useless and I am now six dollars and forty-eight cents less from obtaining a box of Sudafed and currently depleting my cough drop supply. The sinus infection has now turned into a lingering dry cough.

But a cold is easy enough to remedy. Water and meds. A visit to the doctor. It's not unfixable.

Let's talk about the fickle heart.

I'll tell you what a poor college kid can't do with six dollars and forty-eight cents. A poor college kid can't fix a fickle heart with six dollars and forty-eight cents. Not even a visit to a very good doctor could.

My fickle heart has convinced me that Jesus only loves me when I do things right. Somehow I started living my life operating on the lie He only loves me when I do what I’m supposed to be doing. And that whenever I sit down to spend time with Him, He will point an accusatory finger at me and ask why I haven’t been doing said things, why I’m such a terrible steward of the time He’s given me, and how, after all this time, I’m still chasing wind when I should be chasing Him.

Friday evening, I sat down to a long-awaited dinner with my mentor and spilled out the conditions of my unstable and temperamental heart to her. Between bites of Pad Thai and green curry, we went back and forth on how to address said fickleness and approaching the Father boldly despite my feelings of inadequacy. There was still this deep-rooted mentality of having to earn His love, despite having known better.

Afterwards, she paid for the bill and as we got into the car, I was rather adamant and told her I couldn't let anymore people pay for me as had been the case that past week.

"Look", she said, with utmost patience (because we all know I am a diamond in the rough. And by rough, I mean like real rough). "This is grace. It's getting what you don't deserve."

"But I've already had so many individuals show me grace this week!" I exclaimed.

"Well then, look at the signs!" she gushed, "Maybe they're just all pointing to His grace!"

Look at the signs. All pointing to His grace.

I mulled over her words on the car ride back.

Grace. The Father doesn't love me more when I spend time with Him. He doesn't love me less when I don't either. The truth that has been in every church service, every worship song and prayer repeated in the last two decades of my life suddenly comes to life: His love is unchanging. He loves me without conditions. It is a no strings attached kind of love. It is a love that allows grace to step in and within that grace, gives rise to hope in my soul.

Hope? What hope, you ask. Hope that despite the fact, there are still days I'd rather open a textbook than spend time with my Lover or I lash out at loved ones, or cave into temptation, or allow unchecked pride and selfishness to reign, He still loves me. Even though I scarcely can lift my eyes to look into His, or crawl to the throne, He does not turn me away.

"Harshness says, "What is wrong with you?" Grace says, "You are living, and it's going to look different all the time, but you are still no less alive."

So this is where I find myself again. A daily slow dance with the Lover of my soul and learning that He is crazy about me. It is a relearning to fall in love with my Jesus. Again and again. And knowing that whatever mishaps I've committed or will commit, His love for me simply never changes.

He's just too good to me.

hi senior year, it's me.

Hi.

I'm home. It's been forever. Maybe like a summer too long forever. There have been many things floating around my small not-so compact noggin' but for whatever reason, I've not been able to write. Perhaps it was the busyness. Or the fact that I spent 2/3 of my summer prepping and then spending three weeks breathing, laughing, living life, and falling deeply in love with a beautiful culture and beautiful people. Or perhaps it was just me trying to soak in the tiny moments that make up our already hectic lives and stop the documenting and just live for once. Who knows.

I have so much I want to say. And this will mostly be for myself. The truth is, I've been thinking it might be time to shelve this space for good. Things are changing. Doesn't mean I'll stop writing, but it might be time to make the move soon. 

We'll see I suppose, but for now, this'll do. Cheers to those starting school again. 

Much love,

A

"She has depression", my aunt said and then stopped when she saw the look on my face and realized I hadn't known.

The weeks after, I lay in my bed at night and wondered where exactly my life was headed as I traced its trajectory in my mind. I thought back to my own life and its strange oddities, how I never understood depression and scoffed at people who had been diagnosed. How I had always believed people who suffered from this illness were simply ungrateful and could not count their blessings. How hearing the words "I have depression" didn't faze me.

But everything changed when I walked through depression my junior year of high school and then once more again last year. I never did do a junior year recap. You may or may not have noticed there was no "well goodbye, junior year" even though I've done a recap for all the school years so far. The reason being I was walking through a low point in my life and could not find the right words to say.  I thought about the kind of strength it took for me to drag myself out of bed to see faces and to learn how to smile convincingly and say I was doing great when people asked. I thought about how much I had desperately tried to claw out of my own skin, wishing to be somebody I wasn't just so I didn't have to go through another wretched day.

Let's rewind a little.

A week before my junior year started, a few of my closest friends piled into a car at four o'clock in the morning to catch the sunrise over the Atlantic. The sky was tinted in a soft array of pastels when we arrived and over the next half hour, we watched with bated breath as the sun rose steadily and cast its beams across the shore.

As beautiful as that morning was, I don't recall that day as a particularly fond memory. The thought of stepping back into the academic year was daunting. Not to mention, at the beginning of the summer, I had asked the Father to do whatever it would take for Him to make Himself so undeniably real to me and He had happily delivered. (Word to the weary: If you ask God for something then expect Him to do it, just not in the way you expect.) Needless to say, I was sore from all the stretching and molding.

"Yo, chill. I think I'm good now." I said to Him.

He laughed and said, "If you think you've seen it all, you haven't seen nothing yet. Just wait and see."

Mentally gearing myself up for what was supposed to be my most challenging academic year was draining alone. Then I had to take into account balancing two part-times and finding a new church and fellowship to attend. On one hand there was immense excitement because everything felt so new. On the other hand, there was immense fear of inadequacy and failure.

It's a little silly looking back at it now because I honestly hadn't seen anything yet.

Never in a million years would I have imagined my junior year to be the way it had been. I don't know how to even begin. Let's just say, I don't believe in seeing the world through rose-colored lenses. Life isn't always pretty. Life gets gnarly and yucky and ugly. Sometimes, life really sucks.

Like, believe me, I think I told God that repeatedly throughout the year. To borrow a phrase from a friend, I spent many nights figuratively "punching" God and asking why's. I told Him emotions and feelings really sucked. I told Him school really sucked. I told Him friends who were supposed to friends but were not being friends really sucked. I told Him loving on family really sucked. I told Him reconciliation really sucked. I told Him I really sucked.

In those nine months, I fought, wrestled, debated, and negotiated with Him. I shouted, screamed, "punched", and lamented to Him. Sometimes, I ran and hid from Him. In those nine months, I often allowed the accuser to tell me of things I wasn't and ate the lies he fed me. In those nine months, I wondered how I would ever walk out of the season of life I found myself in because I didn't feel like it anymore. The prayer that I had said, asking God to make Himself real to me was becoming too much for me too handle.

As I painstakingly crawled through that season of life, I noticed another change. Suddenly hearing the words, "I have depression" come out of multiple loved ones began to break and crush me in a way I had never felt before. Sympathy became empathy. To understand the difference between the two, you have to picture sympathy as looking into the deep, dark hole that your friend is trapped in and saying, "Wow, it looks terrible down there, I'm sorry." But empathy takes the ladder and climbs down to be the shoulder they lean on and an extra hand to hold. Finally, I understood that when someone says they are depressed, it isn't just something that can be fixed with a bout of therapy, medication or a few soothing words. Most people spend their life fighting it day after day. My heart hurt because I realized and understood what it was like to be in those shoes. I could finally look these loved ones in the eye and say, "I know. I understand." even if it was only to a certain extent.

But even more importantly, I began to understand the Father's heart. Suffering allows us to understand the bigness of God. In full disclosure, I don't write "Suffering allows us to understand God's heart" because in some way, I think we can only fathom a fraction of His heart through the hardships we go through. Much of our suffering comes from the result of simply living in a broken world and interacting with broken people. Seeing the effects of such leaves me desperate for the complete healing that only He can and will bring.

Suffering allows us to understand the bigness of God in more ways than one. It's knowing, even if it's deep (deep) down inside, that He is bigger than what you're going through at the moment. He is bigger than your illness. He is bigger than the trials you face. He is bigger than the clouds that loom over your head, the face you have to put on, the struggle of being brutally honest at where you stand. And in my complete brokenness and suffering, I take great comfort in resting in His Sovereignty and the promise that He doesn't leave or abandon His own.

As I went through that particular season of my life, God was still not done with me. True to His loving character, He took the reins of my heart and begin unearthing all the ugly and brokenness that still resided in me. He swept clean every corner, convicting me of undetected pride and my conditional love. He opened my eyes to see the ongoing spiritual warfare at school and the kind of darkness that still gripped the campus. He challenged me to love deeper by placing individuals in my life that I thought were difficult. He allowed me to crumble to a breaking point so I would run back to Him. He taught me how to pray and ask Him for things in full faith. He brought people of all kinds into my life to love on me and encourage me. In those nine months, He brought me to my lowest lows but stayed nigh. In those nine months, He did not allow the accuser to touch me. In those nine months, even when I wanted to let go of Him, He wouldn't let go of me.

Fast forward nine months later, we blinked and just like that, my junior year was all over.

On May 11, after the very last day of school, a group of us kids piled into the cars while it was still dark out and headed off to the beach to catch the sun rise once more. So there I was at the end of another school year, standing on the very same beach I had started the year with watching the same old sun rise over the same old ocean. New faces. New me.

Nothing had changed and everything had changed. I recalled the girl who stood on the shore in August and wondered where she had gone. Whoever that girl was, so unsure of herself and where she was nine months ago seemed so far away.

I traced the three words into the sand because I felt that it encapsulated everything I had gone through:

A new season is here.

Goodbye, junior year. Thanks for the ride and the many lessons.

Hi senior year, it's me. Let's go.

rest for the weary

Exactly one year ago to the day, I started working in a lab at my school. One day, during my quiet time, I had written a verse on a scrap paper and taped it to my desk as a reminder to get myself through some tough situations in life at the time. Refiner's fire was the heart cry and every time I looked up or sat down, I would see the note and be reminded by the Father that it would all be worth it. 

When I came back that following school semester, however, my space had been cleared and the notes I had stuck to my walls and desk (including this one) had been removed. I didn’t think much of it and assumed they had been scrapped, as desks were constantly arranged in my lab and people were often coming in and out.

Fast forward months and months later. School was out. Junior year was over. I hadn’t planned on coming back to work in this lab, but sometime around the last few days of the semester, my professor had asked me to come in during the summer. I had agreed begrudgingly. He gave me three weeks after school before having to come in.

In those three weeks, I found myself everywhere with places to be and faces to see. A few of us trekked back down to Maryland for our annual camping trip as one last hurrah before we all disbanded to our respective places for the summer (new school, out-of-state internships, and different countries for missions and studying abroad). Those familiar faces that I miss so much were gone even before I felt I could adequately say my goodbyes. The crew disbanded--one currently in another state pursuing an internship, another studying abroad in France, another closing the undergraduate chapter of his life and leaving for graduate school and still another and myself leaving the country in just a few weeks time. My heart still has trouble wrapping around it all. 

The week following the camping trip, I found myself on the train between home and school nearly every day, coming down almost every other day for church-related things or just crashing on a friend's bed. I wanted to be home to rest and process but things kept on moving. There was no time. On the last week I was home, I spent most of it going to doctor appointments and prepping for a weekend retreat that I came back from last week, exhausted and drained.

No rest for the weary, they say.

While it was fun catching up with friends outside of the responsibilities of school, I was tired. There was seldom time for me to collect my thoughts and mull over situations that kept passing by. Everything felt so... fast. Too fast. 

Yesterday morning, I managed to squeeze all my life's belongings into a suitcase and duffel and lug it all into my new apartment where I would be calling home for the next month or two. After all the hustle and bustle of settling in and after my mother had triple checked and was seemingly satisfied that I had everything I needed to survive a zombie apocalypse, I sat down on my bed in the middle of my empty room and realized it was the first time I was alone in a long time. 

An hour or so later, I spontaneously caught the next train into the city and spent the rest of the day meandering up and down lower east side and midtown. Disappearing in a sea of faces was somewhat comforting. It was nice to escape my thoughts even for a few hours before having to come home to a silent apartment and drown in whatever circumstances awaited me. 

The truth was, I didn’t want to be back here. Too many memories associated with being on campus and working in the laboratory from last summer had left somewhat of a mark and it all scared me. Being alone with my own thoughts scared me. I felt unprepared going into the summer. So much had happened junior year and I didn't even know how to start sorting through it all. One year ago, I had asked the Father to grow me and mold me into more of His image. And...He had. But just not in the way I had expected. 

There had been a lot of painful growing this year. There had been the forming of beautiful new friendships, the strengthening of old ones and the closing of others. Deep joy and pain intermingled—sometimes one more than the other. Being in the same environment didn’t help much either. The fact was that everything was the same and nothing was the same. 

This morning, I asked Him to accompany me as I walked into lab bright and early ready for my first day. I asked Him to be near. As I arranged my things on my new desk, my eyes suddenly fell onto a small piece of scrap paper taped to the table. I immediately recognized the chicken scratch handwriting. It was my note—the very same note I had written to myself nearly one year ago with the verse that still speaks so loudly to my heart even now. I felt a stab reading it again. It was the fact that everything about it was the same and yet nothing was the same. The girl who had written that note a year ago was a different girl reading it now. And somehow my note and His words were still relevant today.

"6 In all this you greatly rejoice, though now for a little while you may have had to suffer grief in all kinds of trials. 7 These have come so that the proven genuineness of your faith—of greater worth than gold, which perishes even though refined by fire—may result in praise, glory and honor when Jesus Christ is revealed. 8 Though you have not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, 9 for you are receiving the end result of your faith, the salvation of your souls.” 1 Peter 1:6-9

How true this verse rings to me! Though I do not see Him, I love Him. And though I do not see Him now, I believe in Him and am filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy. To God be the glory for everything He has done and will do. 

my daddy's got me

When I was maybe five or six years old, I had a very vivid dream that I still remember to this day. In my dream, I was tucked in a baby carriage/pram. From beneath the hood of the carriage, I could see the sky was grey and ominous. The atmosphere was eerily calm as one would expect when it's just about to downpour.

I remember it was my father who was pushing me and I recall feeling safe, tucked away in my carriage. The funniest thing about this dream was that behind my father was a witch, who looked an awful lot like the witch from Snow White (probably because my five year old self didn't have anything scarier to project from my subconscious mind). She was always a few steps behind my father, peering over his shoulder and cackling at me, but she could never get pass him.

I don't remember crying when I woke up, as I often did when I had nightmares as a child. The images from that dream are deeply engrained in my mind. But even more than that, there was a particular feeling so engrained on my heart. If you had asked little five-year old Ariel why she felt safe, she would've said (given that she could articulate it) this:

My daddy's got me.

Looking at my life now and suddenly remembering this dream the other day brought to life a million little things about where God has me. Recent life circumstances have been pointing me towards Him more and more--unexpected disappointments, failures, and even a drastic shift in passions and possibly career. During these times, I often allowed the accuser to tell me I wasn't good enough, that I was the problem, that I was a failure, that my Father only loved me when I did things right. As I battled with the voices, I wondered if I would ever walk out of it. But thinking on it now, making the small connection between this dream I had as a child and my life now made me laugh because there was a truth that my little five year-old self knew even before she really understood what was going on. 

I don't have to be afraid for whatever comes my way. I promise you that there is no better comfort than this. My Father has me and there is nothing in this world that can pluck me from His hands. I can't ever wander too far, fall so far to be out of His grasp or His love. There are no life circumstances that can break me without Him allowing it. The accuser can't touch me; he can't even get past Him. I am safe because if there's one truth that I can articulate now, it's this:

My Daddy's got me.

smalltalks

It’s been a long time since she’s been here.

As the revolving door ushers her out, she braces herself for the gust of wind. She is pleasantly surprised that the night air is perfect. Lately, the atmosphere and weather have been promising of a new season. Spring is almost here.

She quickens her pace and then catches herself. These days, it’s been a lot about rushing from one place to the next. There are people to meet, places to be, deadlines and schedules that have to be followed. But tonight, for the first time in a long time, she doesn’t feel the need to hurry. There is nowhere she needs to be. She drinks it in, every little bit.

The jacket she is wearing fits snug around her--a little bit too snug. It’s a size too small, but in her haste out the door, she had found the coat thrust into her arms. Strangely enough, it is a small symbolic gesture of a mother's love--sometimes a little suffocating, but always providing just enough warmth. 

A jogger runs briskly past her and she watches him huff and puff away. On another day, she'd run the same route, but tonight she'd rather meander. The smell of cigarettes linger in the air and she holds her breath as she walks by the smoker under the awning. The dull glow of his cigarette butt flickers in the night air. She joins the small gathering of people hurrying off to their own destinations. Some are still dressed in suits. Others walk slowly in the form of lovers or mothers pushing their babies in their strollers. 

Presently, she slips into the coffee shop. There are more people there than expected. Never mind that, she steps in line, order in mind.

Chai tea latte. Medium.

She pays with the card she had found on her desk earlier that day. She had checked online prior to leaving the apartment and there were still twenty dollars left. She can't recall who had given the gift card to her, but she’ll take it. Money is tight these days in the house. She grimaces at the thought of deadlines and responsibilities looming over her head. There’s tuition to pay for, internships to consider, and future worries that weigh her down. School starts again tomorrow and soon she'll find herself slipping back into the shoes she doesn't feel like addressing at the moment. She just wants the night to herself for once. But even alone, the thoughts still hover over her like a rain cloud. She has questions she's been asking. Mostly addressed to Him, but lately it seemed as if she were speaking to a wall. 

No one has the answers anymore. Well-intentioned voices suggest hesitantly what she ought to do but from the One she so desperately wants to hear from, there is nothing. Not a sign nor a word. It's been months now. 

Someone’s calling her name. She looks up in a daze. The barista hands her the steaming cup of foam.

Hot drink in hand, she tucks the troublesome thoughts into the back of her mind, and hurries out the door. There is some party going on at the little restaurant situated by the riverfront. Somewhere across the water, Taylor Swift croons about exes and lovers from a muffled speaker. 

The music fades into the distance as she rounds the bend. She plops down on the nearest bench in silence and stares at the dark formless waves lapping at the rocks below. The city glows in the distance with its twinkling lights. The taste of chai is on her lips—it burns, reminding her to take it slow.

 It’s been a long time since she’s been here.

Most people spend their lives looking backwards. Not necessarily in a bad way, but just in a reflective sort of way. They tend to look back and say, “Wow, those were good times” without realizing at the time, that they were, indeed, good times. 

Tonight, she realized as she sat surrounded by the soft waves and the brisk night, that the chapter of life she found herself in was coming to a close and suddenly, she couldn’t bear the thought of it. Even with all the tears shed, she felt a little ache knowing it was coming to a close soon. Each little dip and bump in the road had made its mark on the page, but it was time to keep going. 

She furrowed her brow as an energetic couple wearing matching sweats ran by. While it was exciting, it also terrified her. This was the part when the engaged reader immersed deep into some novel started getting anxious because how could the chapter be ending already when so many things still lay unresolved? There was an itch to flip ahead and see how each knot would untangle itself, how things would work out, and how questions would be answered. No doubt, the Author was still at work. But how would He finish?

She blinked and remembered the last time she had sat in the exact same spot staring at the same waves and cityscape. Everything had been so different then. And she wondered why now, why her and why him, but it was no longer her place to ask anymore. 

Even now, she is reminded of a million little things that her heart screams unfairness for. All the words exchanged and the rollercoaster of emotions playback in her mind. The desire to be heard has only beckoned her to wait in silence and be still. It still stings, but the blow is ever softening. A new season approaches. 

The verse she had read in Psalm 27 that morning jumps to mind. For the longest time, she had always read it as "wait on the Lord" but no, there it was in black ink: Wait for the Lord.

Waiting for Him... to do something. But what? She has wondered the same question over and over again. But for the first time, she begins to understand it. He has been doing something. The trek across the dry desert wasteland seems to be coming to a close. All this chiseling away was ushering and pointing to something new and in the waiting, in the stillness of it all, it suddenly dawned on her that the new...was her.

A season of joy is coming soon. Her heart beats a little faster, grasping at this new knowledge. She casts one final look at the tall silhouettes of the skyscrapers across the Hudson, takes the last sip of her now-cold latte, then heads homeward. 

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. 

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.

as we gaze, we advance

decide.

My goodness, God is funny. When you ask Him to change every little bit of your life, you must expect that His glory will permeate every nook and cranny and it's not always smooth sailing once you've said that prayer. Despite realizing how difficult it is to follow because I'd much rather act than wait, fear than follow, question than obey, I have tasted and seen His abundant goodness and there is no return now.

They were living to themselves; self with its hopes, and promises and dreams, still had hold of them; but the Lord began to fulfill their prayers. They had asked for contrition, and had surrendered for it to be given them at any cost, and He sent them sorrow; they had asked for purity, and He sent them thrilling anguish; they had asked to be meek, and He had broken their hearts; they had asked to be dead to the world, and He slew all their living hopes; they had asked to be made like unto Him, and He placed them in the furnace, sitting by "as a refiner and purifier of silver," until they should reflect His image; they asked to lay hold of his cross, and when He had reached it to them it lacerated their hands.**

commit.

As God's consistently been bringing new and fresh faces into my life as well as prompting me to strengthen and deepen relationships with old ones, He's been also been reminding me that the heart and love I have for the people in my life at the present doesn't come from me and never will. I love, because He loved me first (1 John 4:19 ). The identity I have is not based on my own accomplishments or knowledge. While I will always be picked last for the team, I am chosen first in His eyes. The ability to look at this broken world around me and to be filled with compassion instead of despair + dread exists only because I know there is a hope that overshadows whatever darkness is in the past and present and it lives inside of me. Yes, resurrection power lives inside of me. While it is dark, there is also light and light pierces the darkness (Psalm 139:12). I am constantly reminded that were it not for redemption, my heart is every bit as capable of committing the greatest evil there is as the next person. Redemption provides a stark contrast to the person I would've been without it.

They had asked they knew not what, nor how, but He had taken them at their word, and granted them all their petitions. They were hardly willing to follow Him so far, or to draw so nigh to Him. They had upon them an awe and fear, as Jacob at Bethel, or Eliphaz in the night visions, or as the apostles when they thought that they had seen a spirit, and knew not that it was Jesus. They could almost pray Him to depart from them, or to hide His awfulness. They found it easier to obey than to suffer, to do than to give up, to bear the cross than to hang upon it. But they cannot go back, for they have come too near the unseen cross, and its virtues have pierced too deeply within them. He is fulfilling them to His promise, "And I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me." 

ahead.

Redemption changes everything. But it doesn't stop there. Redemption leads to a response of gratefulness that should be reflected as we go about living from day-to-day. This is the heart of worship and because it is a response to God's redemption offered to us, it ought to infiltrate every area of our lives.

In short, worship is a lifestyle.

It is living saturated and steeped with the knowledge + gratitude that you are saved from your wretched self. It is the asking to be molded more and more into His likeness, begging to be cleansed of our old selves, then feasting on the Living God because nothing else can satisfy. It means your prayers should not be asking for an easy life, because easy never got anything done. Easy never advanced the Kingdom nor did God ever promise easy.

But now at last their turn has come. Before, they had only heard of the mystery, but now they feel it. He has fastened on them His look of love, as He did on Mary and Peter, and they can but choose to follow.

Little by little, from time to time, by flitting gleams, the mystery of His cross shines out upon them. They behold Him lifted up, they gaze on the glory which rays from the wounds of His holy passion; and as they gaze they advance, and are changed onto His likeness, and His name shines out through them, for HE DWELLS IN THEM. They live alone with Him above, in unspeakable fellowship; willing to lack what others own (and what they might have had), and to be unlike all, so that they are only like Him.

Such, are they in all ages, "who follow the Lamb whithersoever he goeth."

advance.

Yes, there is no easy in the Kingdom, but He is faithful. And so day by day, we continue living in the promise that He will not let us down. That He is for us, not against us. So yes, a little affliction here and there will come. What does that cost us? What is a little turmoil and pain compared to the promise that we are being refined to reflect His image? Keep moving, my dear friends, because as we gaze, we advance.

Had they chosen for themselves, or their friends chosen for them, they would have chosen otherwise. They would have been brighter here, but less glorious in His Kingdom. They would have had Lot's portion, not Abraham's. If they had halted anywhere--if God had taken off His hand and let them stray back -- what would they not have lost? What forfeits in the resurrection? But He stayed them up, even against themselves. Many a time their foot had well nigh slipped; but He in mercy held them up. Now, even in this life, they know that all He did was done well. It was good to suffer here, that they might reign hereafter; to bear the cross below, for they shall wear the crown above; and that not their will but His was done on them and in them.

Not our will done, but HIS. Yes? Yes.

To a new semester + falling more and more in love with my Jesus each and every day.

**excerpt(s) taken from Streams in the Desert by L.B. Cowman

hi, junior year, it's me

To my dearest friends, 

You may take this post to be somewhat of a sequel to the five-lettered word. This post has been sitting in my drafts box for almost 3 months now because I struggled about whether or not to talk about what I went through. Due to the nature of my circumstance, please understand that I chose to describe certain following events vaguely with all intent. This post is not about the others involved, or about what they said or did. This post is not even about me or the things I've said or done. Rather, if there is anything I want you to take away from this post, it's about what my God has done, all the goodness He's lavished upon me + all the things I've learned only through continual surrender and dependency on Daily Bread. Digging around for answers means you will have missed the point of this post + that would sadden me greatly. But for those who are walking through this same season of life with me + have helped me walk through the past five, six months, this one is for you. To Him be all the glory for what He has done and will do. 

x, 
A


We are always waiting for something these days. For a text, for a bus that never seems to come (REXB, I'm looking at you), for a significant other, for a Starbucks latte, for answers, for a class to end, for a new job, for a second chance, what have you.

Things have been no different with me. The clock keeps moving and I feel time slipping away as I seem to twiddle my thumbs and sit idly. Inaction triggers the control freak inside of me and I found myself lamenting this season to my mentor recently.

She replied that waiting was a lost art but that this period was also a refinement. It reaps the reward of faith in practice. What's important is what are we choosing to do in this time.

I mulled over her words. A refinement? Of what? My heart? My character?

Summer is long over now, but it wasn't until recently I finally found the closure I sought to it. Following the wave of emotions and unanswered questions that ushered into my life without warning the past four months, I was beginning to believe that I was not in a place to know + question what God had in store. He wanted to me wait. Still does.

But, wait on what, Lord?

Rewind a little. The week before school had picked up, I reread the book "Passion and Purity" by Elisabeth Elliot. If you are unfamiliar with who Elisabeth Elliot was, she was the wife of Jim Elliot, one of the five missionaries martyred for his faith for taking the gospel to the Auca Indians. During my junior year in high school, my Daddy gave me a copy of this book in an effort to get me to read more thought-provoking books and I had enjoyed it immensely. But things were drastically different this time around because suddenly, it seemed as if Elliot and I were the same person.

Hold on. Back up, you say, what does the wife of a missionary have to do with you? Well, simply put, "Passion and Purity" has a subtitle. Ahem.

"Learning to Bring Your Love Life Under Christ's Control"

Yeah. Loaded. You know, this topic about dating has long been coming. But let's not get ahead of ourselves just yet. Shortly after Elliot had met Jim at college, he'd confessed his love to her but then told her that God was calling him to be single. For how long, he had absolutely naught a clue, but he was bowing to the Father's will. She respected that + so began the waiting period.

I soaked up every single word on each page like I'd never read it before. Bottomline was: The attraction was there. The timing was "wrong." But the faith they both lived out as they laid each other down at the foot of the cross and the surrendering of their emotions + feelings back to the Father blew me away. There is one particular section that stands out in my mind because I had been battling with a flurry of insecurities and fears about myself and the future. Elliot writes:

“…what was God going to do about all this? Was he interested in the plight of two college kids? Had our cause perhaps escaped His notice? Would He bother with us when He was busy with who knew how many worlds?"

I'd wondered the same myself. Could something so seemingly trite really matter to God? There were, after all, a million things that took priority over us. God caring about two kids + their feelings for one another sounded trivial, maybe even silly, in the grand scheme of things.

But then Elliot proceeds to blow all doubts out the water, taking her stance straight from the passage in Isaiah. 

"[from Isaiah 40:12-27] 'Who has measured the waters in the hollow of his hand, or with the breadth of his hand marked off the heavens? Who has held the dust of the earth in a basket, or weighed the mountains on the scales and the hills in a balance? Do you not know? Have you not heard? Has it not been told you from the beginning? Have you not understood since the earth was found? He sits enthroned above the circle of the earth... Lift your eyes and look to the heavens: Who created all these? He who brings out the starry host one by one, and calls them each by name. because of his great power and mighty strength, NOT ONE of them is missing. Why do you say, O Jacob, and complain, O Israel, 'My way is hidden from the Lord; my cause is disregarded by my God’? Do you not know? Have you not heard? The Lord is the everlasting God, the Creator of the ends of the earth. He will not grow tired or weary, and his understanding no one can fathom."

"[her own words] Not a star, not a planet, not a meteorite or a quasar, no, not even a black hole or a black dwarf is missing. God made them. He knows their names, knows exactly where they belong. Can He keep track of us?"

I was rendered speechless. He knows. God knows. 

As far as my own story goes, there was no drama, no anger, no resentment in either party. After a string of ambiguities within a friendship, I received a text from him to meet up to talk one morning. Essentially, it was we either considered being in a relationship or stepped away. I remember reading the devotional, Streams in the Desert,  a few minutes before he arrived and the title of the chapter that day read "When The Spirit Shuts the Door" and just like that I knew before he'd even started talking exactly what he would say. Looking back now, I find it funny because it was like God had beat him to the punch. (Sorry, that was really cheesy. Moving on...)

In Chinese, there is a phrase we use called "she bu de" which loosely translated to English means "reluctance". But it holds the connotation of a reluctance to leave something or someone because of a degree of (heart) attachment. It was all that kept running through my mind as we talked.

After we'd parted ways, I wandered back to the reading room and collapsed into the nearest cubicle. My phone was bursting from a plethora of texts from close friends I'd quickly messaged prior to our talk to say a quick prayer for me asking how it went. I couldn't bring myself to reply to any of them. Didn't have the words or the strength. Suddenly, I felt weary and craved solace with the Lord.

What now? I pleaded to Him. In the deafening silence, my phone suddenly buzzed in reply, indicating the new email sitting in my inbox. Weary, I unlocked my phone to clear the notification and my eyes caught the subject line:

"Waiting...waiting...waiting."

It was a newsletter from dear friends serving overseas + I felt my eyes tearing up as I scanned it. Near the end of it, they asked, "What is it that you are waiting upon Him to do for you? May it be something that pleases Him to grant you because it glorifies Him."

Well, that was my answer. I was to wait on Him, not him. I put my head down on the desk + wept. Wept because God was good + He'd taught me so much and because I knew God was Sovereign over my situation. Wept because I knew our situation did not escape His knowledge. Not in the least bit. Wept because I realized how much He loved me and it overwhelmed. Wept because God's presence shadowed whatever present grief lay in the days to follow. But last, cried because I was human after all + the feelings were still there + somehow it felt like I had suddenly lost a friend. A good friend. How strange the words "I think we should just stay friends" seems to cut all ties because it feels like you are anything but after that. How strange and a mystery how emotions can bring two together + pull them apart all within the same heartbeat.

But if I've learned anything these past few months, it's that not a single thing escapes His cause--nothing too small or too trivial. And beyond that, He is good + faithful and He uses all life circumstances to draw us closer to Him if we should so willingly oblige. That following morning, as I stood in the kitchen fixing my breakfast + reflecting on the events of the past day, the song "How Deep the Father's Love" came to mind. How great a God we serve that stooped down low to look mankind in the eyes and redeem us in our wretched, wretched state. If He has brought me so far, who was I to question + stand in the way?

So as the story goes, Jacob wrestled with God as He pressed out the old him (Genesis 32:22-32). And though he emerged, broken and weak, he emerged new. I, myself, was learning that ever so slowly. Flipping through my planner recently, I'd found this note I'd scribbled and tucked in it whilst in a moment of grasping clarity and confidence:

"God is writing my story. Would I be foolish enough to get in His way? There is literally nothing in this world that would give me sound reason to step in between what God is doing. To do so would be foolishness. No, I can't. I must allow Him to do the work He requires in me."

The one image that kept coming to mind was that if Christ was not in the picture, it was all meaningless and honestly, terrifying. Reminded strongly of the passage in Philippians 3:8. Every aspect of life boiled down to whether I was to choose Christ over my own desires and yearnings. If I was to choose between anything and Christ, I was to choose Christ because everything else in life was counted as loss if He were not to be in it.

It would be foolish for me to say that this is where my story ends because, aha, that is far beyond the truth. You would get the picture of me contently basking in the Lord's goodness day in and day out, which is true somedays, but surrender is, as you know I'm sure, a daily experience. It is moment-by-moment. You may think you've given up something to the Lord only to have it come again... and again... and again. And each time, you give it back, lay it down at His feet, again... and again... and again.

I need to hang a sign up around my neck that reads "THIS HUMAN BEING IS A WORK UNDER CONSTRUCTION. HAVE PATIENCE. PLEASE." because that's exactly what's going on. I would be lying if I didn't say I didn't struggle with questioning why the door was closed in the weeks that followed. Honestly, even more than a month after it'd all been said and done, there were still the occasional mornings I'd tumble out of bed and drag my feet out the door to class, work, lab, and see and interact with people. The weeks started to get better and I'd feel fine. But then mutual friends would unintentionally bring up his name in completely irrelevant conversation and it hurt all over again. I especially didn't want to meet up with close friends who were aware of my situation because they'd ask how I was doing and I was ashamed to admit my heart had trouble seeking closure.

Let's revisit the idea of waiting. What is waiting? Waiting on God does not mean sitting idly on your bottom and twiddling your thumbs. On the contrary, waiting on God (at least for me) has involved putting 110% into everything He's called me to do and boy, there is a lot to be done. Not to mention, God in His ever-funny ways has been pushing this season of my life to start addressing many insecurities and fears I've been running from. Terrified at what I'll find here, but that's for another day, I suppose.

Somehow, my inability to see around every bend up ahead has also pushed my faith into practice. This is where head looked at heart and said, "Hey you get it now? Do you understand what it means to wait?" Heart looked at head and whispered, "Not yet, but I'm beginning to."

A few days ago, I received an unexpected visit from a dear friend for my birthday who was vaguely aware of what had been going on in my life up to this point. Before we parted ways, he pressed a little leather box into my hand. There was a note on top scribbled in blue pen ink that read:

"...to help you to remember His time."

I opened the box and the clean and wide face of a beautiful watch gleamed back at me. The smell of new leather filled the car. I blinked back tears. Speechless.

God was still reminding me in His still, small ways:

Wait On Me.

It's junior year. My time at college is already passing by faster than I can even fully comprehend, but I'm embracing this new season of waiting on the Lord. Prepping for whatever lies ahead in the meantime and know that when He calls, I'll come running.

kintsugi

Earlier today, I was Face-Timing with my best friend when she suddenly asked if I had ever heard of something called kintsugi. I shook my head, thinking perhaps it was some anime she'd perhaps gotten into recently. Her eyes lit up with excitement as she explained that it was a Japanese art where one would collect and take broken pottery and fill in the cracks with powdered gold so that the new product was worth more than it had been before. The word kintsugi literally means "to patch with gold." The philosophy behind this art is that it treats all the cracks and imperfections about that piece of pottery as a part of its history rather than a flaw that needed to be hidden.

As she continued explaining, my mind was taking this powerful imagery and running in every direction with all the analogies I could draw from it, but finally, it landed on one simple word:

Redemption.

Old made new? Wait, but not only that. Worthless made beautiful. For some, kintsugi ties back to certain Buddhist concepts of seeing beauty in impermanence, but for me, all I could think about were our lives in the Hands of the Potter. As humans, we have a tendency to try and fix whatever seems broken and useless and more often than not, we fail to do so and scramble to hide and disguise the ugliness in the aftermath of it all. Truth be told, we are broken and cracked in all aspects--far from redeeming. But God looked down upon us in His great mercy, picked up each shattered shard and put us back together, piece-by-piece. Each jagged edge is lined and held together by grace. Yes, broken and beautiful because He looked and saw that these imperfections were not to be hidden but that in all things, He would use them for His glory. 

Mmm yes, the beauty in being redeemed and refined. To God be all the glory for what He's done and will do.

a five-lettered word

Hello, my dearest friends. Somehow this unexpected hiatus from blogging ended up swallowing the entirety of my summer. I've been all over the place both figuratively and literally. Due to the nature of my circumstances and its involvement of other persons near and dear to my heart, I apologize for being vague here and there. To be honest, I still cannot fully articulate how I feel some days. Nevertheless, I will try.

Rewind back to the beginning of summer. Right after school had ended, it was a flurry of nonstop activity--camping, an outreach event, helping to shoot my first wedding, moving into my apartment and starting lab work (You can read more on that HERE.) In between, I was meeting up with friends here and there over the week. Some nights, I'd go home with my friend, S, and spend the night with her family. She and I would take long hikes after dinner and then sit afterwards in a dark parking lot, stargazing and surrounded by fireflies as we talked. I was still going home every weekend for my part-time job. Things fit perfectly into the tiny neat boxes that compartmentalized my life. Life was good, but despite it all, I was afraid of settling into the ordinary, and asked God to do something. Specifically, I asked God to make me new. Stretch me, break me, mold me, the prayer went.

Safe to say, He (happily) obliged.

It was not what I expected (shocker.)

He asked me a simple question, one that involved a five-lettered word.

It was not what I expected either (shocker, again.)

For me, this five-lettered word comes in various forms and actions:

>>It is synonymous with Surrender and throwing up the white flag. It is the relinquishment of realizing I am in no shape to run my own life because when I try, things get very ugly. Very quickly.

>>It whispers for me to wait--not on the situation or the person(s) involved--but on Him, not in expectancy for answers but knowing full well that my God is in control + I don't need to have a happy story-book ending to live a God-glorifying life.

>>It requires for absolute silence, even going so far to abstain from pouring out my wee heart cry to close friends and family. I have been afraid to even journal for fear that what I want in my heart must be given up to Him. As if somehow, by writing down what I wish for would solidify my mindset and make it all the more harder to return. Sometimes, I've ached to tell people exactly how I feel but too much noise, no matter how kind-hearted the intention may be, only brings more chaos.

>>It reprimands Fear. It chooses Faith. It does not pry my fingers off what lies inside the clenched fist but beckons to let loose the chains shackled around the heart because freedom in Christ is inexpressible. Faith over fear is always a choice.

>>It redefines the ambiguity the way I understand it to be from "train wreck catastrophe" to the understanding that the God of the universe is penning my story--word by word, letter by letter. I am terrified of open endings, particularly when they involve relationships. I seek closure in everything. But sometimes that's not what God entails in His plan and it is what I am learning to accept.

>>It teaches me to put to death all the little things in life, not for the sake of dying, but for the sake of living once more. This means placing my flaky emotions on the altar, whatever that looks like. To be honest, I'm not entirely sure what this means. I just know that I'm a girl and emotions are something I constantly have to wrestle with because they can get the better of me when I let my guard down. (Which, by the way, is all. the. time.)

>>It replaces grief with the promise of a peace that provides a haven from self-afflicted unbelief. Admittedly, I've shed more tears in this season of life than I have others and have seen my weaknesses, sin and struggles only more blatantly throughout this entire process, but the Lord gives grace. Partaking in Daily Bread is a real thing. I get it now. My God gives strength for each day--not an ounce less and not an ounce more--but it is enough. It is my manna, if you will. What is it?, the Israelites asked. I don't know, but I'll take it, Lord.

This morning, I opened my Bible to spend time with my Lover and my eyes fell upon this five-lettered word--the first word of the verse and the theme of my life. The tears stung but I couldn't help but smile because even now when I feel like I have walked out of my mess, He still whispers to me in the silence the same question that started it all:

"My child, will you trust me?"

Yes, trust. Go back and replace each description in the previous paragraphs with "trust" because initially, I didn't see it either. I saw a list of challenges and obstacles I had to overcome. The more I unpack it, the more I understand. Not fully mind you, but it's a start + I'll take it.

"Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding; in all your ways, acknowledge him, and he will make your paths straight." (Proverbs 3:5-6)