For those who are where I am (that is, in a terribly awkward state of transition), or have been, or will be – and you’re most certainly one of the three – here is part of an uncomfortable story with a happy ending, though the author doesn’t yet know what it is.
Who am I now? Now that I’m no longer a student, and I have no traditionally “meaningful” way to fill my days in this season of waiting? Waiting, readers, is not passive as many of you know. Waiting can take everything out of a person.
God, “my soul clings to you, your right hand upholds me (Psalm 63:8).” I wait for You. Not as gracefully or patiently as I would like, but I wait. For You.
What I know for sure is that there is no cure for it. I must ride out these stormy seas and stay afloat by hanging on for dear life to the buoy I know to be trustworthy – Jesus the Christ. I know he is trustworthy because I recently made myself, in a moment of doubt and despair, write a list of times I know God has shown up for me (I highly recommend this exercise!). And thus I know this season will not last forever, as none ever do, and that Jesus will be my shelter in the storm, if I let him.
I may endure the storm spluttering, gasping for breath. I may emerge bruised and bedraggled. I know I’m not doing it the way I tell myself I should – surfing flawlessly atop the waves with a broad smile on my face, mascara intact – and I have no idea how others think I should weather this storm (and frankly, I have no energy left for that). Possibly – probably – if I were at some heightened level of spirituality, I would endure this season with more grace. But I will endure it, with God’s grace. And when I come to dry land, and Jesus helps me to my feet, my legs will be stronger, my spirit more solid, and the light within me not put out – but burning brighter, so that someday, God willing, I can help someone else find the shoreline.