All I can say

I thought about this blog earlier today back when I was feeling rather upbeat about life and fall. But now...

But now it is evening - a time when depression often seems to shallow me whole. And on top of that this is an evening that marks the official end of summer here in Chicago. This is my last week.

On some level, I am ready for summer to be over. Things like this don't last forever and when I can sense that they are ending it is better to just end them instead of having to wait around while things slowly die out. (Well not die out in any real sense, but this past week and what I assume will be this week too mostly just feels like a long goodbye that is taking too long to happen). But I am here until the very end and am actually will be the last DOOR summer staff to leave. Once again, I watch as all my peers head back to their real lives while I try and make sense of what that is supposed to mean for this 24 year old with no income and too many college loans.

This is a tough time.

So you see, it is actually hard for me to focus on the good - what I was originally going to blog about when I am standing on yet another season of goodbye and starting over.

But I will try.

This evening, it was only Halo, Alissa and myself at the church for orientation. Actually, I don't really do anything at orientation and so I had some downtime while Alissa and Halo finished sorting some things out before the group arrived. I was alone in the sanctuary - lying on the front chairs and listening to the music Alissa had hooked up the speakers from the computer.

As I was staring at the ceiling alone in that solitude, I had this thought: This is what faith had felt like to me lately. Actually maybe just life in general. I am very aware of how alone I feel. And instead of having this profound moment in the silence, I can't help thinking, where is everyone? How long will I be waiting?

Okay - I am sure you're wondering, how can this be a positive thing? This is how: I was suddenly aware that maybe this stage of whatever illustration you can pull from lying on the pews in an empty church is no longer full of anger. Even though I am very aware of my brokenness, it feels a lot different now than it did a year ago.

Last summer, I came home from South Africa feeling defeated in so many ways. And I was angry. Good dang, I was angry. I was so angry at God, at the Church, of leaders of the Church, and of myself for failing to met some type of "faith standard" that I could not seem to mold myself into. I spent so many evenings that summer craving my journal out of my anger and tears. It felt like a year of service nearly destroyed me.

So, last April, when Krista sent me an email asking me if I would be interested in helping with DOOR for the summer, my immediate response was absolutely not. Even though this is kind of a "paid position" this is essential the same thing as a "service term" in my mind. And why on earth would I volunteer to do that, when I felt like I was still trying to gather up the pieces I had lost in South Africa. I was burnt out. Still. After almost an entire year of being back. No thanks.

But I came anyway.

I've already mentioned what a positive decision this became but I never really fully realized how much of living here this summer has helped me let go of a lot of anger- even without me realizing it. Maybe it was just time. But maybe it was God's face for me this summer. Generally speaking, I still feel very frustrated with a lot of church and faith things but as I had that brief moment alone in the sanctuary this evening, I finally realized that anger was not as present as it used to be.And maybe, just maybe, I am to the point where I can talk about my faith struggles without weeping like a woman in mourning. (I am not making any promises though).

One of my current jams is this song by David Crowder Band called "All I can say." (youtube it - and ignore all the people who have no idea how to make a power point). I was thinking about this song a lot tonight and the two different parts of it.

In the verses, the writer expresses a lot of doubt and anger - crying out to God, wondering where God is.

Didn't you see me crying? Didn't you hear me call your name? Was it you I gave my heart to? I wish you'd remember where you set it down.

Later, in the bridge, the writer comes to this conclusion:

I didn't notice you were standing here. I didn't know that that was you holding me. I didn't notice you were crying too. I didn't know that that was you washing my feet. 

Quoting songs really does not do them justice. But, I look at these lyrics and feel like in South Africa my faith was stuck in the first section. Now, I feel like I am at the bridge realizing that God has been here crying with me this entire time. That is a powerful image.

I am not saying that I am done struggling with things because I am most definitely am, but as I think about this summer I find myself thinking about the chorus of this song.

This is all that I can say right now - I know it's not much. And this is all that I can give - that's my everything. 

I don't feel like I have very much to give. But I do believe that I have a God who is bigger than this mindset and who is determined to use me anyway. I just need to have the courage to show up.

I was at a wedding this weekend in Goshen. During the ceremony, the groom's father (who is from Argentina) sang "How Great Thou Art" in Spanish. Okay so first of all, my Yoder side of the family sings this song all the time and because of that it nearly destroys me (in a good way though, but it makes me cry my face off). But as this rich, Argentine voice rang out in this beautiful old barn, I couldn't help but realize that I am not done yet.

This is a dumb realization. Of course not. None of us are. Just because I did a year of service after college doesn't mean I am off the "service hook" ever. After all, that's what our entire lives are called to be. But it was comforting, remembering that God is a big God - a great God - who cares for me, who has plans for me even after yet another thing in my life ends and I transition yet again. And as I listened to a man from a different hemisphere sing this song so dear to my heart in a language I don't know, it was comforting to remember that this is true for everyone. not just me.

This is all that I can give - that's my everything.