ramblings on existence

I am drinking beer tonight. Alcohol is so closely connected to breaks for me. time off from studying and classes. Its the epitome of relaxation in my book. The perfect compliment to hanging out with friends, a cozy night with my parents, a way to celebrate an ending. Along with that, the emotionally needy puppy curled up next to me evokes the memory of breaks. Her presence is a central part of my home. When I sat down this evening, she didn't wait for the proper beckoning but jumped into my lap and buried her head in me. Right now, I stopped stroking her soft ears for a second, and so she looked up at me with her big, sad eyes that are asking, are you still there? am I still here? Dr. Kapic in my doctrine class talked about how his new puppy would always bark just for attention. He said, its like she's saying, look at me, I exist, I exist, look at me. Sometimes I feel that the puppy's cries perfectly capture my heart. Every interaction with people is me asking, you still there? am I still here? I exist, right? When I worked at camp, the kids had this thing, left over from the good adult influences of their lives, where they would affirm someone else by saying, I see you or I hear you, and then add the person's name. I loved it. One of the little girls in my cabin this summer wanted to do the blob, jump off the twelve foot tower onto a giant rubber pillow of air sitting in the lake and then be propelled of the end into the water by the force of a friend jumping off the tower onto the other end. At the top of the tower, she hesitated, Ms. Hannah, she called to me sitting on the deck. I couldn't hear her and she yelled again and again. Finally the lifeguard had to get my attention. I turned and yelled back at her. I see you, you've got this. And she jumped because I was watching.

This semester, I had so many questions, and one of them was how can I affirm my own existence? I walked through days where many hours I felt unseen and unknown, and I craved someone to stop and enter in, listen to all the thoughts in my head, laugh at my stories, hear my hurts, affirm my existence. And some days I would wonder if there was anyone who could do that and how could I perhaps be self-dependent in this. If there wasn't someone to affirm my existence, how could I remind myself of my identity? And even as I wondered how to be, how to live alone, God sent people into this. He sent people unforeseen, people with no reason to love me, who didn't know anything about the inner hurt but who just valued me. There weren't people to count on, necessarily, I had no safe space, but God's provision, though irregular and from strange places, was never unfaithful or inconsistent. There was always provision. always. And as I've learned over and over again this semester, it's not the people speaking but the Father speaking through. The people are important and needed but it's the Father who is essential. He has promised to provide, and that provision is guaranteed even though the place where it comes might always be changing. And that's okay. I exist, and better yet, I am loved.