I'm tired. My calendar and syllabi don't seem to be noticing. At the end of each week lately my calendar resembles something off John Nash's office wall in A Beautiful Mind.
I've been fighting this week but I have very little fight left in me. And this weekend is my second weekend this semester of ministering with my choir in Boe instead of going to my church. God has carried me so beautifully through the past three weeks. Even yesterday a beautiful thing happened: I was walking through a back hallway I rarely frequent, on my way somewhere else. I ran into the "college pastor" from the baptist church in town, a wonderful guy I really trust--one of those "the Bible says it, I believe it, I live it" people. "How are you?" "Great, how are you?" He pressed. I don't know what possessed me to say "Actually, I'm soooo tired of acting as a mediator between my Christian buddy and her lesbian roommate." "Oh? I'm dealing with a similar situation right now, may I ask what your friend's name is?" I told him. "Wow. We're talking about the same person." We sat and talked for 20 minutes, praying at the end and thanking God for causing our paths to cross in such an unlikely way, putting those words in my mouth.
God is still with me.
But tonight I am dog tired. Tired of the daily grind, the alarm clock that wakes me up before dawn to practice, the huge projects and tests that have not let up for a day this semester, the classes that break up my days so I can't study for huge projects and tests, the nagging bad ankle and wrist that keep getting worse, the stiff upper lip I'm trying to maintain not just for my oboe embouchure but in the face of loneliness that I'm assuming is part of being 21 and compounded by being in a world like St. Olaf College. Summarily, it's the constant fight I'm engaged in to stay happy, peaceful, thankful, cheerful, hopeful, living on the joy side of life. Though I've been winning that fight and growing stronger and stronger every day, this week has seemed particularly bloody. I feel like I fit into the after-battle scene in Branagh's Henry V. Yet even though I see I'm the winner, when I survey my remaining need and lack side by side with my strength and growth the latter is nothing. Grace, however, is everything.
Pray God's refreshing grace would meet me on Sunday in the beauty of the liturgy in Boe, so that I would have great courage to head into the final push to finish this semester. Please especially pray this week that I'd do well on a huge music history test. It's Wednesday at 1 CST if you wanted to know. Yes, we just had one of those. Yes, another one is coming. It feels like the hurricane season of 2004.
For now I'm going to put on Alistair Begg, try to finish building my Chrismas web sale and then take a benadryl and sleep for 9 hours. Then tomorrow will be a marathon. I do not have a light agenda for a single day between now and my flight home. The counting of weeks has commenced. Six from Tuesday.
I've been fighting this week but I have very little fight left in me. And this weekend is my second weekend this semester of ministering with my choir in Boe instead of going to my church. God has carried me so beautifully through the past three weeks. Even yesterday a beautiful thing happened: I was walking through a back hallway I rarely frequent, on my way somewhere else. I ran into the "college pastor" from the baptist church in town, a wonderful guy I really trust--one of those "the Bible says it, I believe it, I live it" people. "How are you?" "Great, how are you?" He pressed. I don't know what possessed me to say "Actually, I'm soooo tired of acting as a mediator between my Christian buddy and her lesbian roommate." "Oh? I'm dealing with a similar situation right now, may I ask what your friend's name is?" I told him. "Wow. We're talking about the same person." We sat and talked for 20 minutes, praying at the end and thanking God for causing our paths to cross in such an unlikely way, putting those words in my mouth.
God is still with me.
But tonight I am dog tired. Tired of the daily grind, the alarm clock that wakes me up before dawn to practice, the huge projects and tests that have not let up for a day this semester, the classes that break up my days so I can't study for huge projects and tests, the nagging bad ankle and wrist that keep getting worse, the stiff upper lip I'm trying to maintain not just for my oboe embouchure but in the face of loneliness that I'm assuming is part of being 21 and compounded by being in a world like St. Olaf College. Summarily, it's the constant fight I'm engaged in to stay happy, peaceful, thankful, cheerful, hopeful, living on the joy side of life. Though I've been winning that fight and growing stronger and stronger every day, this week has seemed particularly bloody. I feel like I fit into the after-battle scene in Branagh's Henry V. Yet even though I see I'm the winner, when I survey my remaining need and lack side by side with my strength and growth the latter is nothing. Grace, however, is everything.
Pray God's refreshing grace would meet me on Sunday in the beauty of the liturgy in Boe, so that I would have great courage to head into the final push to finish this semester. Please especially pray this week that I'd do well on a huge music history test. It's Wednesday at 1 CST if you wanted to know. Yes, we just had one of those. Yes, another one is coming. It feels like the hurricane season of 2004.
For now I'm going to put on Alistair Begg, try to finish building my Chrismas web sale and then take a benadryl and sleep for 9 hours. Then tomorrow will be a marathon. I do not have a light agenda for a single day between now and my flight home. The counting of weeks has commenced. Six from Tuesday.
1 Comments:
After this coming week, you will be able to count the rest on one hand. Count your blessings.
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