December

So, I’m sitting here, procrastinating (or taking a break, however you choose to view it). And I’m in the middle of my usual December restlessness, but this time, it’s a restlessness of being worn out with all this writing and studying, not a restlessness of hearing once more the call I’d ignored for too long. This is a good restlessness.

I’m sitting here in a haze of joy because I am moving toward something again, and that kind of joy has visited me a few times this week, as I was hacking the ice off my husband’s car before a pre-dawn drive to campus for an early-morning exam because the headlights on my van are acting weirdly and I decided maybe seeing the road was important; as I was celebrating once again that final turn into the road that goes into campus, that my ancient van has made one more day with its transmission intact; as I was comforted by the thought that even though I’m fairly sure not all my answers were coherent, I have one more final exam finished. I’m thankful¬†for the life in my heart and the heart in my life again. The light is on again –I’m once again walking the road of trans-rational faith, and it’s good. It’s very good.

Last December, I had a familiar stirring in my gut again about returning to school, and I knew I couldn’t run any further from my fear. Between mid-December and January 11, I had done the work to get back here in class, three weeks of whirlwind moments of panic and doubt, all sustained with an undercurrent of knowing in my soul that this was the right thing. And it is. All the disasters, all the contingencies, all the things I figured would go wrong? Some of them did, but God was bigger. Some never threatened to happen at all. Whether they do or do not happen is irrelevant to me now. What matters is that I know that no matter what, His is to plan, mine is to obey. He is big enough to handle it. He is never surprised.

And so, here I am sitting here in mid-December of 2015, carving out a new Ebenezer. This one’s all about reminding myself, reminding my children, reminding anyone who will hear of one thing: perfect love casts out fear. Every time.