now but not yet
Earlier this week, I felt good. Handing out ice-packs, tying shoes, answering parents' questions, teaching archery, showing second grade girls how to paddle a canoe, playing with and taking care of my seventeen campers; basically being the best camp counselor ever. And I had a revelation: I'm better than I thought at my job. I realized that I was pulling off all my responsibilities with insight and laughter. I felt so good. (are you ready? I totally just set you guys up for that pride-comes-before-a-fall trick)
Yesterday, I had a second revelation: I'm worse than I thought at my job. I yelled like crazy, even stood up on a picnic table and shouted like a maniac in front of the entire camp. Playing it as joke didn't diminish the feeling of relieved tension after I blew up, showing the authenticity of my anger. I also yelled at a group of boys, calling them out, trying to make jokes as I went, softening my rebukes, and every single joke fell flat. I finally just walked away, knowing that it wasn't a joke, that my yelling and tantrums were real. I was mad and wanted everyone to know, shut up, and go away. I felt like crap.
I wish I knew which one it was. I want to be something and move on; I want to be an excellent camp counselor, possess that unchanging character trait. I like definites. This is what that is. It's describing, labeling and categorizing, understanding by organizing.
But I'm coming to realize that life isn't definites, (something you, my horde of readers, probably already knew was coming since the beginning of this post). That indefiniteness has always troubled me a little when it comes to my faith. The Bible is real, fact. God is real, fact. God is this, let me understand. But along with God and whether I am a good or bad camp counselor, I'm realizing that there are things that are not describable, not understandable. Some things are too complicated to totally get, to totally describe. I think, maybe, understanding the indescribable is faith and I need to allow myself and my God to not always be describable. I need to allow myself to not be self-defined and my God to be bigger than I want.
A few weeks ago at a prayer meeting, I opened my eyes and watched the women weep and pray, resting and struggling in Christ, bringing their hurt and pain, but also trust and hope in the sovereignty of their Savior. They cried over a dead baby, who lived only an hour, cradled by his parents who later thanked the Lord that they had been able to hold him for so long. These woman cried and prayed, humbly bringing their pain to a loving God. I recognized the posture of pain and humble trust, having been there before. When I'm in that position of pain and trust, one overwhelming thought keeps coming back: I don't know. I simply don't know. I can't explain it all, but I hurt, I'm torn up, and I can't do shit to fix it. I need a Savior.
And my Savior is too indescribable to completely understand.
p.s. don't judge. my cussing was here used to show the depravity of my sin, something that truly is shit.
Yesterday, I had a second revelation: I'm worse than I thought at my job. I yelled like crazy, even stood up on a picnic table and shouted like a maniac in front of the entire camp. Playing it as joke didn't diminish the feeling of relieved tension after I blew up, showing the authenticity of my anger. I also yelled at a group of boys, calling them out, trying to make jokes as I went, softening my rebukes, and every single joke fell flat. I finally just walked away, knowing that it wasn't a joke, that my yelling and tantrums were real. I was mad and wanted everyone to know, shut up, and go away. I felt like crap.
I wish I knew which one it was. I want to be something and move on; I want to be an excellent camp counselor, possess that unchanging character trait. I like definites. This is what that is. It's describing, labeling and categorizing, understanding by organizing.
But I'm coming to realize that life isn't definites, (something you, my horde of readers, probably already knew was coming since the beginning of this post). That indefiniteness has always troubled me a little when it comes to my faith. The Bible is real, fact. God is real, fact. God is this, let me understand. But along with God and whether I am a good or bad camp counselor, I'm realizing that there are things that are not describable, not understandable. Some things are too complicated to totally get, to totally describe. I think, maybe, understanding the indescribable is faith and I need to allow myself and my God to not always be describable. I need to allow myself to not be self-defined and my God to be bigger than I want.
A few weeks ago at a prayer meeting, I opened my eyes and watched the women weep and pray, resting and struggling in Christ, bringing their hurt and pain, but also trust and hope in the sovereignty of their Savior. They cried over a dead baby, who lived only an hour, cradled by his parents who later thanked the Lord that they had been able to hold him for so long. These woman cried and prayed, humbly bringing their pain to a loving God. I recognized the posture of pain and humble trust, having been there before. When I'm in that position of pain and trust, one overwhelming thought keeps coming back: I don't know. I simply don't know. I can't explain it all, but I hurt, I'm torn up, and I can't do shit to fix it. I need a Savior.
And my Savior is too indescribable to completely understand.
I am a perfect camp counselor because I posses His righteousness; it is one of my character traits.
He is the reason I trust and all things will be for good, even a dead baby.p.s. don't judge. my cussing was here used to show the depravity of my sin, something that truly is shit.
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