Tag Archives: Friendship

Not Content

I write it in my journal at least once a week, and more these last few months. I scribble it down like habit. Lord, please make me content in You. After all, we all know that no one falls in love, makes friends, or discovers what they should be doing with their lives until they are content in God.

A couple of nights ago, I started to scribble it again. Lord, please make me con- I scrawled. Something stopped my pen and I crossed out the sentence. God has been moving in pretty obvious ways recently, and I remembered something. “Content” is defined as “satisfied with what one is or has; not wanting more or anything else,” or “mentally or emotionally satisfied with things as they are,” and that is not what I want.

At that point, I realized that while “contentment” is certainly not a bad thing, and while God is certainly enough in every aspect of my life, I do not ever want to be content in God.

I never want my relationship with Him to come to a place where I have stopped wanting more. I never want to be satisfied with things as they are, because I forever want to long for more and more of Him. 

Lord, please help me to ever long for even more of You.

No matter my circumstances. I don’t just want to be content. If I’m single forever. If He is my only friend. If He keeps deciding to reveal only the next 30 or so seconds of His plan for me…

All I want is to want more of Him.

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First Snow and Happy Tears

We’re sitting on the floor, talking, when Kelci bursts through the door screaming about snow. Not three minutes later, we’re in the plaza with what seems like the rest of Moody.

Indeed, white fluffy flakes are twirling gently from the sky, collecting on the ground and plaza ledges, covering my black gloves and jacket in a fine, dusty, blink-and-it’s-melted layer. I’m admiring the shape of each snowflake on my glove when I decide to look up.

My friends are in a huddle, they’re talking and yelling across the plaza at other friends, throwing meager snowballs at each other… but I’m in my own world. I’m looking up, blinking against the onslaught of snowflakes; blinking for another reason too. As I look up at the suddenly-wintry sky, tears prick the back of my eyelids. Happy tears.

Happy tears because I live in Chicago and I go to Moody. Happy tears because we ALL came down to see the snow – all five of us – like it used to be. Happy tears because we’re walking down the road to Sweeting just to see the two light poles wrapped in Christmas lights. Happy tears because Christmas is coming and I’ll be with my family for nearly a month.

Happy tears because even though it hasn’t seemed like it, time has kept moving. Happy tears because life goes on. Happy tears because God is faithful. Happy tears because everything is going to freeze soon, the weeds and the flowers both, but the cold kills the weeds. Happy tears because when it thaws, the weeds will be gone.  Happy tears because if winter is here, spring must be coming soon. Happy tears because that’s obviously a metaphor.

I’m blinking and flicking the back of my hand across my eyes and clearing my throat. Jesse is there and he’s saying, “you look so happy,” and I’m giggling like a giddy schoolgirl because he has no idea. I’m clapping my hands and grabbing Molly’s arm and yelling, “snoowwww,” over and over and over.

I rejoin the huddle of friends, smiling and laughing and reveling in the novelty and purity of what will soon become a nuisance. Everyone is so caught up in the celebrating that they don’t notice I’m still blinking rapidly, but that’s okay. I know, and it’s only the first snow.

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Comm[unity]

In a world of fake, forced community, where “hihowyoudoing” has become one single word, spit out by a person who hasn’t even stopped walking; where any admittance of failure, hurt, or vulnerability is met with befuddled stares and uncomfortable, awkward exits…
In this world,

I am so thankful for the community God has allowed me to be a part of.

This season of life is stressful, and sometimes “hihowyoudoing”  is most honestly be met with

You know what, today sucks.
or-
I’m actually not okay, and I’m not sure when I will be.
-or-
I’m rejoicing from the deepest part of my soul.
-or-
I’m carrying so many burdens for other people and I’m so grateful I can do that but I’m about to crumble from the pressure.

Romans 12:15 says, “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep,” and that is truly what I have been taught to do here at Moody. Never before have I realized the depth of this verse, the feeling of rejoicing with and being rejoiced with, mourning with and being mourned with.

Never before have I felt so acutely that I am not alone.

My friends get excited with me over things that would ordinarily not excite them in the least. We stop in late at night, after work or meetings, to see how the interview was, if she got the job, if she passed the test, how teaching went. Bare feet pad down the halls at 11:30 pm to jump up and down and muffle screams with pillows. Six or seven girls sat through Handel’s Messiah because our dear friend had a solo… at the very end. We eat way too late at night, go for walks in the pouring rain, and close our computers to turn around and be present.

There are girls on the floor who invite me in to talk and let me ramble for an hour and a half. One girl came and read in my room on Saturday… nearly two hours in total silence, working on our respective homework, just being together. Sharing life.

It goes both ways. We don’t just share each other’s joys, we share each other’s sorrows. “She’s hurting” becomes “we are hurting,” So many times we’ve sat on the floor in a tangle of arms and legs, physically and tangibly surrounding the one who has been hurt. In my room, the mantra is “never apologize for your tears.” We stroke hair, scratch backs, give hugs, and hold our tongues in favor of comforting. We share. We share meals, we share emotions, we share life.

This season I’m in is uniquely blessed. Right now, I have a support net of people who help carry each other when life gets hard, and that same support group will walk a mile or two in the rain to celebrate a victory with Chinese food. I can’t do this “life” thing alone, and for these four years – I don’t have to. I just have to walk down the hall, or go to work, or look across my room.

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Not Tomorrow Yet

“We’re going to play in the rain, do you want to come?”

I had my night planned out. Classes start tomorrow and I needed to look over my syllabi, pack my backpack, put my schedule on my wall. I was going to heat up my leftover Chinese food and make a sign listing the books I’m trying to sell. But as my roommate begged, pleaded, and listed the million and five reasons why I absolutely HAD to come outside and leap around in the torrential downpour, I realized something: classes may start TOMORROW, but it’s still today.

And so, fresh out of the annual Vespers service, and with “Oh Happy Day,” still stuck in our heads, seven or eight of us crammed into the elevator in gym shorts, tee shirts, and flip-flops. We giggled in giddy anticipation as the floors ticked off on the display above our heads. 5,4,3,2,1, and we were in the lobby, huddled together staring at the deluge which had produced flash flood warnings in the greater Chicago area.

“On your mark, get set, GO!” screamed Grace, and we sprinted through the doors of Houghton Hall into the already flooded plaza . The deepest puddle reached the middle of my calf, and I was drenched to the bone in an instant. Like elementary schoolgirls we squealed and giggled, kicking plumes of water at each other as we ran around and around.

Shouts of, “HOLY CRAP, that’s COLD,” and “I can’t see anything!” and “Oh my gooooosh, this is so fun!” and “There’s still a dry spot on your back!” rang through the plaza. Upperclassmen carrying umbrellas gave skeptical looks, total strangers joined in the fun, and laughter tears mingled with the rain on our faces.

After ten or so minutes of stomping as hard as we could while screaming at unnatural pitches, we headed back into the dorms. On the way up, we drenched the floor of the lobby and the elevator. And seven college girls (no, really! We are! I swear!) tumbled out of the elevators onto Houghton Five, still gasping and giggling, dripping wet, shivering, and smiling.

Tomorrow will bring its challenges. Tomorrow I’ll drag myself out of bed before 6 am. Tomorrow classes start, tomorrow my job begins again. Tomorrow I have to eat in the SDR, have to decide what to wear, have to get back into a routine.

But it’s not tomorrow yet. It’s still today. And today, I walked over 3 miles in the rain to and from my home church. I listened to a message that cut me to the core. I ate Chinese food with my best friends. A lot of Chinese food. And ice cream. I painted my toenails. I made commitments, promises, and plans. I worshipped. I sang “Oh Happy Day,” and did the motions even though no one else around me was doing them.

It’s still today. And today, we played in the rain.

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The Things We’ll Remember

Five girls sit huddled close together on the floor as beds and chairs stand empty.  Appendages are tangled together – an arm slipped through another arm, legs piled on top of each other, a head on a shoulder, a hand stroking hair.  Prayers mingle with tears and laughter.  Half-finished homework is strewn across the room, abandoned for more important things.

———

These are the things we’ll remember ten, twenty, even fifty years from now.  We won’t remember which quiz we failed or which assignments we turned in late, but we’ll remember the reasons why.  We’ll remember the late nights spent speaking out the hard truths, the early mornings we dragged ourselves out of bed to go to breakfast.  We’ll forget the terms and references we crammed into our brains at 3 am the night before an exam, but we’ll remember the people we were cramming with, the late nights at coffee shops and the long walks back.  We’ll remember the things that can’t be taught in classrooms.

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