Discomposing

2019 came with vicissitudes for every aspect of my life, from a new apartment to a new job to a new haircut to a new community, and it’s been wonderful. I’m incredibly thankful for where I am, however, a pessimistic demeanor copiously subverts everything around me.

Discomposing: the days swarm past me as life becomes a conundrum. I am weary from the weight of life’s general plights, heightened through unanticipated catastrophes that stifle me as I attempt to keep going. I’ve woken up every day this week pleading: “just get up. Just make it into work. You can make it another day,” and by 10 o’clock I’m convincing myself: “just make it to lunch. If you make it to lunch, you can make it through the rest of today.”

You can make it through.

We weren’t meant to “just make it through.”  Christ said, “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly” (John 10:10).

Lately, it’s been “one thing after another,” mounting each day and piercing each night.  I should be sleeping right now.  I should be.  I wonder if life will always be like this?  After all, it has been for so long. 

“It’s not supposed to be like this,” I know.  But it is like this. “What did I do to deserve this?” I ponder restlessly.

Where is the abundance of life?  Nothing lasts forever, I know that, but this season feels unending and I am growing wearier and wearier.  Yet He is strong, and He is strong when my strength dissipates.

Everything aches.  My mind, my back, my heart. 

Father, please restore to me the joy of my salvation (Psalm 51:12).  I believe, help my unbelief (Mark 9:24).

In Loving Memory

Life is too precious.

 

My Grossi met Jesus March 11, 2019.  She listened to Him release the words, “Well done, Thy good and faithful servant.”  I wonder if He had tears in His eyes as He said it.  God watched Mary Ellen endure her deepest joys and most anguished sorrows.  She made it—she fought the good fight, and she finished the race with joy.  I wonder if it brought tears to His eyes.  

He had comforted her when she mourned, as He comforts we who mourn.  

 

I think that the hardest part about grief is knowing that you will never be able to make memories with that person again.  Death prompts you to remember all the little things that you didn’t realize you would miss.

 

Her smile, her laughter, her lipstick, her spunk.  Her resolution.  She was stubborn, as many of you know, and she was strong.  I admired her tenacity.  

 

It’s in those little moments that you grow to love someone—it’s the collection of those small moments that builds our trust and our admiration.  Those small, insignificant moments.  

And it’s often not until death that we realize the magnificence of all those moments.  

 

Mary Ellen Schraner built her life from a collection of moments that highlighted the importance of faith, family, and friends.  This church and these people made those moments.  You, here today, were everything to her.  She found her foundation in Christ and her blessings and joys in you.  

 

Nine years ago, my mother gave her a notebook entitled Grandmother, Tell Me Your Story.  Within it poses the question, “What are some of the things you hope your children and grandchildren have learned from you?”

 

Her answer: “Faith—the belief in God, Cooking—Hospitality,” which I know many of you inherited, and “peace in the family.”  Mary Ellen taught me those three things, and she taught me to have fun and to celebrate when life calls for celebration.  She prayed for her family more than anyone I know, she welcomed me to her home many times, and she filled my heart with joy and abundance.  

 

It’s strange that she’s not here with us.  It doesn’t resonate well.  My mother once said, “We are eternal beings.  We were never meant to say goodbye.”  I suppose that is why it is so devastatingly painful to miss someone who deposited memories into our own life that made us have a life worth living.

 

So, as we hold our breath, and as we will the world to stop spinning, let’s take the quietness of grief and utilize it as a reminder to cling to the mundane moments.  Let’s hold one another a little closer, for a little longer.  Life is far too precious and far too short to cling to anything but those who love us.  

 

I John 2:17 reads, “And the world is passing away along with its desires, but whoever does the will of God abides forever.”  This became one of my favorite verses the first time I endured grief from a separation that feels so very permanent, but the reality is that permanence fades when you recall Christ’s three words: “It is finished.”  

 

Mary Ellen was ready to meet the Savior of the world, the God that held her tears in a leger.  The God that gave her breath, and the God that took her breath away.  The God who allowed tragedy, the God who prepared and encouraged her through devastation.  The God who blessed her with so many people and things.  The God who allowed her to live a full life—she was not afraid to meet the God she knew so well and loved so dear.

 

I wonder if she brought tears to her Savior’s eyes—happy tears.  Christ knew that He brought her home.  The heartache and the pain of this world has left her, and she has been made alive in the fullness of Christ.  

 

While we cry because we miss her, I think that Christ may shed a tear in welcoming her home.

Light-Hearted

Fact: I am insecure about my writing when it’s not demanded from an overflow of desolate emotion[s].

Maybe that’s why pain beguiles me.  I don’t like pain, but, somehow, it seems to be the only thing that provides me with enough bravery to inscribe my thoughts.  Sorrow composes beauty—I’ve witnessed it create masterpieces in the lives around me, but perhaps I need to gain a similar perspective on lighter emotions.

Today, I do not write from emotions drenched in disappointment, but, rather, from an abundance of joy.

The joy of the LORD is your strength.

God carved this verse in my mind at the beginning of 2017: page after page in various notebooks were etched with the simple eight words.  I often scribbled the verse at some of my happiest moments, and thus it seemed peculiar when God reminded me of this verse.  It came in moments when I didn’t feel like I needed strength–moments when I was strong.  I was so happy, so why would God remind me of a verse that seemed more appropriate for perilous days?  

I was such a fool to think I didn’t need those words because I didn’t understand the weight of them at that time.

God allowed those joyous moments, each one meriting my trust and my strength in Him, and He reminded me at those specific times so that I would know exactly where strength proliferates when those perilous days would finally come.   

Truthfully, I couldn’t remember where those words came from… Thus, I googled the verse a couple weeks ago, and that’s when I gained a new understanding.

Then he [Nehemiah] said to them, “Go, eat of the fat, drink of the sweet, and send portions to him who has nothing prepared; for this day is holy to our Lord.  Do not be grieved, for the joy of the Lord is your strength.

Nehemiah 8:10

I was unaware of the beginning of the verse’s final sentence each time I journaled it. 

Do not be grieved,

for the joy of the Lord is your strength.

My eyes opened.  Inhale, exhale.

God engraved that verse in my mind when I was strengthened in Him to show me that He was the same God when I was crushed in spirit; He gave me that verse amidst joyous occasions so that I would know where to acquire strength when I felt despairingly weak.  He was there with me in those joyous moments, showing me His loving kindness in ways I would not comprehend until nothing else made sense. 

The timing that confused me was the exact time that God was pre-preparing to strengthen me again.  He knew how events would unfold in my life, and He knew I would need to remember His kindness when I felt that I could no longer bear my circumstances.  It’s one of the greatest paradoxes that beautifully played out in my own life: “Therefore I am well content with weakness, with insults, with distresses, with persecutions, with difficulties, for Christ’s sake; for when I am weak, then I am strong,” II Corinthians 12:10 (emphasis added).

In joy I write, remembering the sovereignty of a God who continued to remind me of His goodness when life was “good” simply to re-remind me of His goodness when life didn’t feel good. 

God reveals His strength gloriously through the depths of my humility.  I despaired, but He did not allow me to linger in anguish.   He reminds me that He is good, that yesterday and today are temporary, and that I can trust Him with tomorrow.

I received this notebook for Christmas from Victoria Romano, with the verse displayed on its back cover. Tori didn’t know what this verse had meant to me, she was just a dear friend giving a sweet gift. Behind the scenes, Christ was strengthening me through my weakness in the remembrance of this verse and those moments.  I felt unbearably weak for so long, but He renews me each day:  I feel strong again because that verse permeates my every breath.

Thank you, Lord, for doing in me what I wished would not be done, and for reviving the life I had not known was dead.

The Reset

And it was the end of an era I was not ready to let go of…

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Two-Thousand and Eighteen: a year that completed four years of alteration. 

– 2014 –

We moved to Virginia days after I graduated high school.  I was sixteen, driving from Arkansas to Virginia with Shadow as my copilot, and leaving everything familiar behind except my family.  We knew nothing of Virginia nor the East Coast, but I was supremely excited for the anticipated adventure.  Though I had many dear friends there, I was ready to leave Arkansas.  June 4, 2018, we arrived at our new home and a series of changes rapidly ensued.

[Journal Entry, dated July 25, 2015, italicized]

Sometimes I stop myself and take a breath and let it sink in; this is what I wanted, and this is how I imagined it.  I have lots of friends who love me…we stay out late and stay up even later.  We laugh and cry together, and I’m independent.  This is what I always dreamed of. Yes, it’s horrifying, but if I’m really being honest, I’m in love with the constant chaos of everything around me. 

Somehow, it’s terrifyingly beautiful.

I love my life, and I’m so thankful for where God has placed me.  This past year has been a year of healing that I never could have dreamed of, and of rejuvenating that I didn’t know I needed.

I was exhausted when I left Arkansas.  Now, being here has helped me so much.  I love it, and I’m not ready to leave.  But God is preparing my heart, and He will be with me.  I love him, and I love my life.  I am mortified of what will become of me, but I’m not afraid of who I will become.  If I keep Him centered, what is to fear?

12465568_10154294980021729_1345779115_oI wrote that a month before I left for Liberty University in a leather-bound journal that Laura Denson gave me.  Thanks to the community God provided me with, Hampton was everything that I prayed for when I left Arkansas.  I thought that going to LU would terminate many of the friendships I had made over the past year.  While some naturally faded, others wonderfully strengthened. 

[Journal Entry, dated December 11, 2017, italicized]

By the end of 2017, few people remained in Hampton whom I had met in 2014.  Much of what I had grown accustomed to slowly faded away, and I no longer spent ample time with a majority of the people in these photos due to peoples’ moves, church changes, and/or other miscellaneous life transitions. 

I was growing restless. 22549927_1433640100022655_4125797685064880172_n

This season pains existence.  Questions never cease, and answers never come.  The twenties are so much harder than everyone tells you… Unpredictability characterizes this stage.  My heart rips between here [Lynchburg] and Hampton… I’m exhausted from being alive.  I need something new.  I’m not even sure how I’ll make it next semester.  I am so burnt out.

And thus, I drove home for Christmas break, and my friends and family reminded me why I held Hampton so dear.

– 2018 –

[Journal Entry, dated January 1, 2018, itlalicized]

I began the year by running away to Europe—I specialize in running when I’ fear reality—and came back with a refreshed perspective. 

The Lord reveals things, not in our timing, but in His; yet He laces hints in unlikely moments.  My stubbornness falters me, yet He gives perfect grace to woo me to Him.  He called me out from the wilderness of my own mind and brought me back softly to His presence.  He’s reminded me of His sovereignty and His plan.  That’s right, God has a plan for me.  It’s a truth I’ve treated as a lie for quite some time due to my sin of disbelief.  

– – –

Walter was with me during my first year in Hampton, and he was the last person from that stage of my life that remained close.  When Walter died, so left the last consistent reminder of 2014.  IMG_5941.jpg

Thus, it was reset.

[Journal Entry, dated January 1, 2018, continued]

I allowed my ignorance and frustration to warp my mind; so I looked to my known God—a good God, a creator, an assigner of work, a loving Father, a sovereign king—and ascribed to Him all of my anxieties…I embraced negativity and ran from my Savior because of the pain in my heart.  I hurt, deeply, and I blamed God for it. 

Yet, all the while, it was He who spoke kindly to me.  It was He who whispered truth, even when I barely listened.  All the while, He was stirring up my affections, burdening me with trivial matters, exposing my heart slowly… Slowly, softly, gently, because He knew I could not take it all at once.

I lost Walter, my mini-cooper, the familiarity of Lynchburg and college life within two weeks.  My family moved the day I graduated, I quit a job I enjoyed a month later, and Shadow passed away shortly after that.  

I’m ready for 2019.  I’m excited to see what God will do.  He’s growing me and He’s healing me.  2018 made me realize the depths of my weakness, but I am relearning to abide in God’s strength.  I feel stronger and braver than I have felt in quite some time. BDBED1A4-9156-48D4-AED9-F87B59F016B5.jpeg

It’s like one of those movies that ends where it began—when I returned to Hampton in May, everything I became familiarized with in 2014 was gone. 

2018 was terrifyingly beautiful.

I moved to Hampton days after I graduated college.  I was twenty, driving from Lynchburg to Hampton with Spotify as my copilot, and leaving everything familiar behind except my friends.  I grew to love Virginia and embraced the East Coast, but I somberly and optimistically anticipate the next adventure. 

“Cling to What Is Good”

November 22, 2018

“Here, Hopey, it’s your turn.”  My Aunt Beth smiles as she hands me our family’s Thanksgiving notebook—the ledger that preserves memoirs from the past three years of each of our lives.  I release an oppressed sigh as my fingers trace the globe on the book’s cover and my mind drifts to a conversation I had with a dear friend the week prior.

– – –

“Hope, how are you doing?”  My eyes involuntarily fell into my coffee cup before I mustered the courage to respond.

“Honestly?”  I paused as I decided between duplicity and vulnerability: “I feel physically beat up.  I feel like I got knocked down this year and have been kicked over and over and over again.  I am physically and mentally exhausted.”

– – –

Beholding the journal, I apprehensively open the cover.  What on earth am I supposed to write this year?  Thanksgiving looked different than what I had anticipated weeks before, and I dreaded receiving this notebook; however, recalling that memory, sitting in my brother’s house, and being surrounded by family, somberness softly melted into gratefulness.  Thus, I began with three simple words: “2018 was a year.”

* * *

I pondered the past eleven months of one surreal year.  I spent New Year’s 30,000 feet in the air headed for London—I felt independent and free and unstoppable.  I was twenty years old and flying to Europe for a five-country tour with some of my best friends, and then returning to my final semester of college.  I had no idea what my life would look like after graduation and studied for half our trip, but I was reminded to enjoy the moment.  God would provide in such miraculous ways in the months to come.

26730908_1520870774632920_5734749559510876688_n.jpgLife was a blur between January and May—sooo many late nights spent with Isabella, Emily, and Judd.  Book club continued with Candace as we finished Priscilla Schrier’s Resolutions for Women and began Amanda Bible-Wilson and Raechel Myer’s She Reads Truth.  We celebrated Ben and Lauren’s engagement and we cheered as Judd open for John Mark McMillan.  School was crazy, but that’s consistent, so what’s new there?  It was a perfect semester, culminated with enough stress and excitement to fill one’s life with awe and thankfulness.  I spent more weekends than I had preferred in Hampton, but, in the end, I will forever thank God for how He arranged those trips back and forth.

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Then we come to my favorite memory: at the end of April, Walter, Tyler, and Josh visited me in Lynchburg for a Hillsong concert. I remember sitting at dinner with Walt and Ty and thinking that it felt like old times—these had been my dear friends since I was 16. We all headed back to Hampton for Matt and Kayla’s beautiful wedding and continued to make the greatest memories.  Walter convinced me to stay in Hampton after graduation and my sweet friend, Rachel, made that possible.   I remember calling my mom that Monday and telling her how sweet that weekend had been—Ty and Walt visited me every year I was at Liberty and I didn’t think that would have been possible for them to come this year.  That was the last time that I saw Walter.  God was so kind to allow that trip.31430356_1616995038353826_3057660479495575863_n.jpg

After that weekend, everything seemed to fall apart.  There were nine weeks of affliction—nine weeks where God revealed that nothing is constant, and nothing is permanent apart from Him.

Weary and discouraged, I boarded a plane to Portland, Oregon for a trip my grandparents had planned months before.  I spent 18 days surrounded by family in a place far from the troubles of home.  I learned how to breathe again and how to rest in the Lord’s presence.  I realized the amount of pressure I bombard myself with when I attempt to rely on my own strength.  I am so, so weak.  I learned to lean on the strength of my Savior.

37927544_1727112754008720_5934112775352614912_n.jpgWhen I returned, my external circumstances remained uncertain, but my internal conflict ceased.  I was ready to leave Virginia and would have given up had it not been for the encouragement of Nelly, Derek, and my grandparents.  August 8th, five days after I got back, I accepted a job in Virginia and chose to persist; the shadows of the uncertain slowly began to fade away.

– – –

I dreaded receiving that notebook, for I had no idea what I would write.  What do you write for a year you wish did not exist?  It’s been a year.  Many things about this year feel fake–like they didn’t or shouldn’t have happened.

Yet God reminded me of His faithfulness.  I remembered all the little moments that God used to prepare me for greater trials.  I remembered Becca and Brittany and Lauren and Ben and Candace and Daniel and Maddie and Katie and Jocelyn and Jenny and Judd and Isabella and Emily—29102040_1573573962695934_132536839882033839_n.jpgI remembered all of the friends who made college so wonderful and who helped me finish.  I remembered how God allowed Candace and I to read a book about how He is permanent in a world that is passing away before and after Walter met Him.  I finished college feebly, returning to school for final exams and papers the week after Walter passed away.  I remember how Sandy and I clung to one another that first week back.  I remembered how kind, supportive, and understanding all of my professors were.  I remember how God allowed me to graduate despite the hardships—I would not have finished that final semester apart from God’s grace.32982080_1638167396236590_9186676991623954432_n.jpg

33027682_1638178599568803_2408179426903719936_n.jpgI remembered spending almost every Friday night with Morgan, Gabi, Laura Kate, and Lauren watching It Takes a Church and laughing together.  37121019_1708897055830290_1329648512505217024_n.jpgI remembered the summer that my Church became my family in the purest way.  I remembered visiting my parents in their new home and getting to spend a week of sweet vacation with them.  I remembered going to Colorado to visit Tyler with Lauren, Mike, and Scott, and enjoying ourselves though everything that could have gone wrong went wrong.  I remembered running to the beach with several friends to get away when things got too rough at home.

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I remembered worshipping with those closest to me—in tears, in song, in celebration, and in laughter.

* * *

I received that notebook and I relentlessly wept as I mourned the past year.  My family saw me and they held me as I clung to them.  Nothing needed to be said, we all knew.

Thankfulness overcame me as I thought about the family that surrounds me.  I held my niece each morning as she ate breakfast, and I played with my nephew’s hair until he fell asleep.IMG_0030.jpeg  I enjoyed early mornings with my parents and Luke and Karley and Aunt Beth and Uncle Terry and spent the afternoon the whole family.  Each day was so sweet and so special.  It’s been wonderful to have Luke and Karley live near–they have blessed me so much.  Each of my siblings and their families have surpassed my expectations this year–I wondered what our relationships would look like once Mom and Dad moved away–I have grown closer to all of them this year.

It’s been a year–more painful than words express.  I did not want to be grateful this year.  I did not want to acknowledge all that God has blessed me within 2018–I wanted to focus on all that God has allowed to be taken from me.  But He has blessed me, and He has been with me and before me through it all.

Let love be without hypocrisy.  Abhor what is evil, cling to what is good.

Romans 12:9

I am so weak.  I need God’s strength and I need that reminder to “cling to what is good.”  He is good, even when life aches.

When my strength fails, He is strong.  When circumstances change, He is constant. When people disappoint me, He is faithful.  When I make mistakes, He is forgiving.  When everything collapses, He is a firm foundation.

2018 was a year.  Yes, I do feel beaten down, but “we are afflicted in every way, but not crushed; perplexed, but not driven to despair,” II Corinthians 4:8.  Therefore, I will hope in the God that provides everything I need yesterday, today, and forever, and my hope will not be put to shame.

For Further Reading:

Hebrews 10:39

II Corinthians 4:16-18

Job 1:21

Psalm 136

Hosea 2

I John 2:17

Deuteronomy 31:6

II Corinthians 4

Life Without Homework

I will thrive this Thanksgiving for the first time since 2015: I exhausted the past three Thanksgivings pulling all-nighters to write copious amounts of research papers due days following the “break,” and returning to school barely reposed enough to function.  Isolation required my presence the past three Thanksgivings, but this Thanksgiving I can fully devote myself to those around me.

It’s a rare season.  Life post-college thwarts my previous expectations—they said it would be demanding, but I did comprehend why—how moderate our imagination articulates itself when considering the future.  Life bustles with business, but not in the sense of ever-pervading papers and deadlines.  I anticipated a consistent routine once I settled into a job, but correlations of events tease me each Monday as I recognize no two weeks mirror; every week acts as its own epic, presenting new themes, characters, events, and settings, each authored by me.  I invite the atmosphere and the characters based on what I choose to do instead of what is required of me from a syllabus or standardized set of expectations placed upon me by another.  However, let me not deceive the reader into believing I have limitless control; much does not go according to plan and many uninvited characters and circumstances and conflicts invade the picturesque plan I envisioned at the beginning of the week, nevertheless, a majority of the time I choose what and who enters the realm of my existence.  It’s a new freedom unknown to the exhausted student—one’s schedule predominantly depends on his or her desires for the moment—it’s quite odd not to arrange my schedule based on anyone or anything external.

I am only beginning to recognize and to indulge in this new freedom, as it is both structured and unstructured. I suppose I am slowly grasping that the consistency I yearned for in college is unattainable, and, perhaps, that is a good thing.

How gracious that I might not become ensnared in the monotony of life—“mundane” seems like an imaginative state instead of something that could be known.  I am sure that I will experience a season of uniformity, but not yet, and I have come to terms with that.  Perhaps God has created me for much more than the routine I crave: the inconsistency surrounding me reminds me that God consistently upholds me throughout every change and every season.

This Thanksgiving I rejoice that I am freed from past responsibilities—the season of being a student has ended, now I must relearn the glories of Thanksgiving—and I will attempt to enjoy the holiday free from distraction.  The past three years make this fourth year significantly sweeter.  These are the moments I worked terribly hard to arrive at.  I made it.  I finally made it to the Thanksgiving I cried and prayed for each all-nighter.  The song emanates through my earphones:

Your promise still stands, great is Your faithfulness

I’m still in Your hands, this is my confidence:

You’ve never failed me yet.

I never imagined that this is what it would be like—I rarely do—but I will remember the faithfulness of God.  He was faithful in that season, He has been faithful in this season, and He will be faithful in the next season.

This is the Thanksgiving I can finally be present for—this is the season of abundance God has carried me into.

Life is good, even when tragedy pervades, stress overwhelms, and inconsistency controls.  We serve a faithful God who knows and overcomes our sorrows, struggles, and sins.
All is well, for we have been set free.

This Isn’t What I Pictured.

All of my security strips away: I am torn from my community and discomfortably displaced from the routine I expected.  I have a passion for people and an irritation at the Christian’s lack of care.  My heart broke last summer when I realized the amount of people all around me that the church neglects, particularly my base.  I have influence there and I do shine a light for Christ; obviously He wants me to continue the work He began there.  I am His humble vessel.  I will wait on the Lord and I will rejoice in the things He has provided for me.  I am safe, I am happy, I am comfortable, and I am poor.  I am separated from my community at large, but I am united with God.  I must be more intentional now if I want encouragement from the Church.  I must ground myself in Christ, independent of theocentric organizations.  For the time being, I cannot serve the Church, but I can serve the lost.  I cannot pour myself into a ministry, but I can minister to the neglected.

I am committed to Christ, to the Gospel, and to the Church.  While my schedule may separate me from the Church, it does not disunify us.  My purpose is to spread the Gospel through demonstrating the love of Christ.  My assignment is Yorktown Naval Weapons Station.  I have been commanded to serve Christ through all I do, that He may be glorified through all my works.  He knows my work and He sees my struggle.  I hope in Him and my hope will not be put to shame.  He will fight for me, I need only be still.  I trust in Him as my provider and I believe He will deliver me in His time.

Serving Christ does not mean everything will immediately fall into place, but it does mean I am following a plan based on someone else’s knowledge and authority.  I need not fear, for the Lord my God is with me.  I will do everything in my power to love and to serve those around me.  I will use my influence at the Naval Weapons Station to fulfill God’s purpose.  I am here at this time for this reason.

I will rejoice in my humility.  I will accept help.  I will learn to let others love and serve me.  I will remember the importance of life and I will extend grace until my soul aches and groans.  I will learn to love: deeply, faithfully, and earnestly as God loves the world and Christ loves the Church.  I am ready for the unknown and I will embrace this season with thankfulness.  I will not wait for my hope: I will abide in hope and actively respond to God’s commandments.  I am not called to understand—I am called to obey amidst suffering.

‘Love at First Sight’

Typically, when someone asks me the question “Do you believe in love at first sight?” I gawk and chuckle as the words “definitely not” slip from my mouth.  However, in light of the assignment, I mulled over the question long enough to contradict myself: I must believe in ‘love at first sight’ because I daily claim to love people I have never met.  Loving God characteristically builds love for others regardless of acquaintance.  Love abounds the moment one’s eyes meet his or her child, and compassion may fill one’s heart at the sight of tragic scene.  I cannot deny the love that prompts compassion for those around me, but I will deny the cliché of meeting someone and immediately “falling in love.”

One cannot love without a proper amount of knowledge and understanding—one does not somehow accidentally stumble into love—love requires action, discipline, and cultivation.  Attractions spark interests that may lead to love, but love cannot survive on attraction alone.  Love grows through experiences, through memories, and through forgiveness.  Love manifests itself in devotion when the ‘feelings’ of love disappear, and love conquers the fears leading up to the absence of feelings.  The definition of love quoted from I Corinthians 13 demands situations which test love and I do not believe one could experience the depth of that kind of love the moment he or she looks upon another human being for the first time.

God radically manifested His love through Christ knowing exactly how the world would react—He did not do so blindly.  Love examines the heart of another and chooses to dwell regardless of what he or she knows is present; love is an action that transcends a moment of introductory intrigue.

Favored Communication

I have a hierarchy of preferred forms of communication.  Supremely, if at all possible, I favor meeting an interlocutor face-to-face, but with friends and family members scattered across the planet, if I solely communicated when in one’s presence, I fear I would rarely converse with him.  Therefore the hierarchy begins: first with FaceTime (which is almost like being together), then a phone call (a steadfast option), then letter writing (something I am enamored with), and finally, as either a last resort or an exceedingly convenient option, a text message.

When one communicates to his interlocutor face-to-face, he listens to another’s tone of voice, observes body language, and deciphers sensory signals he would be unable to identify in a simple text message.  A phone call, however, removes the element of one’s body language from the listener’s perception, but the listener may acutely listen for his interlocutor’s tone of voice to further interpret his demeanor; however, some interlocutors master the art of concealing emotion from their voice in order that his listener inaccurately perceives his sentiments.  Written communication leaves interlocutors with little sensory interpretation, thus I place letter writing above texting; in a letter, one has a larger platform to expound the subject matter and may earnestly articulate his words.  One’s text often must be brief and concise and this often hinders one’s ability to thoroughly and/or properly explain his message.

While I prefer Face-Time over all forms of distant communication, I appreciate the convenience of a traditional phone call.  Because calls may be made without a Wi-Fi connection, they effectively allow sensory communication between interlocutors.  Oral communication allows one to clarify in a way that written cannot: people interpret written communication unreliably, while one can explicate his message copiously in oral communication.

The Splendor of Benevolence

While concluding our third (and presumed final) book, Candace and I enthusiastically agreed that we must begin another; though graduation looms within months, we couldn’t handle the possibility of not studying another text together.  Candace drove us to Lifeway to select a new book, however, we couldn’t imagine what would happen once we arrived.

Sitting on the floor in the bookstore with inquisitive spirits and incessant laughter while searching for our subsequent book, a middle-aged woman approached us:

“You have no idea how much encouragement it brings me to see you two young ladies sitting on the floor of the Women’s section laughing and looking at all the different books,” Julia graciously stated.  Candace and I thanked her and introduced ourselves to meet our new friend and with tears welling in her eyes she commended us for simply being our silly selves.  Once we parted ways, Candace and I browsed the bookstore, but, after we decided upon a text, we returned to our original section and Julia found us once more.

She thanked us again, but this time she released the tears to recede as she described the hardships she’s enduring.  We were able to pray with her and perceive the weight being lifted from her mind as her demeanor melted from a deep sorrow into a gentle joy.  Julia informed us that God provided exactly what she needed, and thanked us for inspiring her.  This courageously vulnerable woman thanked us, simply for sitting on the floor of a bookstore: instantly, we were humbled.

We parted again but met her at the checkout but said our final goodbyes by happily waving to our new friend as she walked out the door.  Candace and I brimmed with gratitude about our encounter with Julia—she was so vulnerable and so encouraging even while enduring such pain.  Moments after Julia left, we reached the front of the line and the clerk handed us gift cards that Julia left for us; awe overtook Candace and I as we processed the clerk’s gesture—what a sweet woman to leave a gift to two strangers.

We beamed with joy on the car ride home.  That’s the Church—that’s the body of Christ—we uplift one another when sorrow submerges us and we exhort one another when we perceive the Holy Spirit’s work in one’s life.  This was one of the most beautiful moments I have experienced in quite some time.  I was so blessed to meet Julia, and I know Candace was too.  She began addressing us with kind encouragement, and she completed the conversation with a gracious gift.

Candace and I reflected on God’s faithfulness, occupied with awe and humility.  Joy invaded our hearts and strength replenished our minds—this is why we pray and study God’s word—these moments are why we faithfully serve Christ and commend one another to do likewise: because Jesus changes lives.  From the moment one surrenders their life to Christ, He does not stop radically impacting them and gently beckoning them into His presence.  We saw that in Julia’s life and we felt that in our own lives; we serve such a faithful God who constantly reminds us of His steadfast love.