The typical path goes from grade school to high school graduation, then college to college graduation. At this point you've had about 21 years of stretching in what we'll call a vertical direction. Slowly and steadily stretching you, pulling you, and (especially around exam time) yanking you into a tall stretched piece of fabric. And after all that,
SNAP!
You're released from the vertical stretch and PULLED sharply from side to side! Oooph! Life after graduation, as we are all warned but don't feel equipped to process, is very different from ALL YEARS PRIOR. Then what's all that vertical stretching about if life post college is a painful horizontal yank?
Some have escaped the painful post-college tug by diving into a steady career, where they'll slowly and safely be stretched for another 18-21 years, just like the previous 18-21 years. This was a really common model for post-college life until, oh, about 10 years ago. This is a crazy rarity now--the job market is just not that stable, and career ladders seem to be missing a few rungs. And this situation does not guarantee genuine and sustainable personal growth. Ask anyone in the rest of Needles Eye Ministry how "steady job as my identity" has worked for them.
Some people delay the discomfort of the post-college shock by signing on for more school--but much like the characters who run upstairs in horror movies, you too will have to face what's chasing you when you've run out of school to take.
I graduated in December 2010 and asked my dad to not ask me about what "my plans" were for at least six months. He's a planner, a preparer, a diligent provider--a banker! It made perfect sense for him to want to hear my goals. The terrifying problem was that I had no idea what my goals were. You see, there was no doubt about the goal in high school. I graduated 4th in my class and got accepted into my college of choice. I succeeded. Goal accomplished. In college, the goal was a little hazier, but I took all the classes, made great grades, and graduated a semester early with a major and two minors. Success! I guess...?
But I had no idea what came next. For 21 years everything had been certain and laid out before me--a trustworthy path. At the end of that path, I didn't know what the goal was next, so I was having a hard time feeling that same success. And let's be honest. I'd gotten my validation for 2 decades from those feelings of accomplishment.
That's when I felt the chilling voice whispering behind me, and I started running from it. If I had to name the thing that I've been running from, I would call it Doubt. Wikipedia defines doubt as "a status between belief and disbelief, involves uncertainty or distrust or lack of sureness of an alleged fact... or [a lack of sureness of] a decision." It goes on to describe how doubt brings into question some perceived reality, and how it can have a paralyzing effect, causing the doubter to feel unable to act due to concern about mistakes due to the questionable nature of reality.
I did not want to hang out with Doubt. I had a terrible feeling that Doubt would pull the carpet out from under me (I was already feeling a little shaky) and I would see my life as what I feared the most--a tremendous failure. So I ran.
I would hear my parents, friends, respected elders, and my own driven inner voice all shouting "suggestions" about what the new goal should be--what direction to go in now. I'd hear one and think, "Sure! I can do that! That's my new goal! Success, here I come!" After a bit, my enthusiasm would pause for a breather and Doubt would creep up behind me and send a chill up my back. Doubt's favorite game is "what if" and I don't like that game. "What if" implies uncertainty, the unseating of beliefs, and the uprooting of "facts." I like things to be yes or no, right or wrong, and I want to know the distinction right off the bat.
But Doubt would whisper still, and would convince me that I had enough evidence on hand to support that I was NOT where I needed to be at that moment. I'd chosen WRONG! Mayday! Ok. Now I know, I'd think. I can fix this.
About face! March!
I would run to the new goal suggested by the failure of the last one. The problem is that this cycle continued, first only rarely and about big things, but then more frequently and about more minute items... and then Doubt's voice became the only voice I could hear about almost anything and I was constantly running from one thing to the next, haunted by failures.
There are a few things that Doubt has had no ground to question in my life. The first is God's existence and the saving grace of Jesus. Doubt and I had that discussion while I was in college, and rather than let Doubt have the last word, God Himself spoke in, and that was that. There was no room for Doubt in my belief in God and my salvation in Jesus Christ any longer, and for that I am immeasurably grateful. The second is the sanctity of my marriage to Jared. This is not to say that Doubt didn't have a field day all throughout our dating relationship--but that only served to make me doubly sure of my love for Jared, his love for me, and the holiness of our marriage.
These two places of solid foundation were all that I had left in February of this year, when I decided to stop running and face Doubt head on. Because of Doubt's cruel whispers, my trust in God's goodness and His presence in my life was shaken, my mental and emotional stability was weak at best, my health was declining and I blamed myself for it, and I had convinced myself that I would never have meaningful and enjoyable work. I was caught in a web of depression and despair, and the smallest of tasks felt both meaningless and overwhelming at the same time. Doubt would throw "shoulds" at me until I broke down and cried. I would make a list of things to do for the day, just to give me a small purpose for getting out of bed, thinking that I could have a taste of accomplishment at completing a task like paying a bill, but I would find myself in the fetal position a few hours later, totally overwhelmed by the weight of a single piddly task like doing a load of laundry.
I asked my work for a decrease in hours--which may sound really pitiful because I was already working part time for only 30 hours a week. I knew that if I was going to deal with this monster that had been chasing me for years, I was going to need some serious time to both fight and take care of myself. I cried out to God through tears to please--please--be present with me in a tangible way. I'd grown bitter toward God because He felt so cold and distant, but I wanted so desperately to experience the closeness of God more than the closeness of the Enemy, and to hear and know God's Voice more clearly than the mean voice of Doubt that I'd grown far too familiar with.
Then I got sick. A very interesting answer to prayer. I woke up feeling worse than I'd ever felt before. I was laying in the bathroom in the wee hours of the morning, moaning through a crazy fever. This had woken Jared up, so he came in and asked what he could do to help me. I heard myself ask him to read Psalm 23 to me. I think he was as surprised at the request as I was, but he was pumped that it was definitely something he could do! And he read to me:
The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He makes me lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still waters. He restores my soul. He leads me in paths of righteousnessfor his name's sake. Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me. You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies; you anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I shall dwell in the house of the Lord forever.
I can't explain it at all, but as he read, I felt the waves of sickness fade away. I asked him to read it again.
Jared obliged, and read a half dozen other Psalms to me as well, each one sending away feelings of terrible sickness, and building my strength bit by bit.
Side note here: gals, do not marry a man unless you can honestly and confidently say that he will read the Word to your sick self at 4:30am if asked. And men, seek to become men who will gladly read Scripture to such despondent creatures in the wee hours of the morning. This was not a romantic scene, but I don't know that I've ever felt so proud to be married to such a man as this.
This February illness marked an odd turning point for me. I realized that God is with me, He is for me, and He is bigger than the monster that I'd been so afraid of. God showed me in a very real way the healing power of His Word, and I have felt the Presence of God again many times over the past few months. It has NOT been easy, or even a steady uphill progression, but I have not been alone. I am still in my part time job that I struggle to enjoy, my health problems are not fully resolved, and some days I still feel fragile, but my trust in God no longer hinges on success, accomplishment of goals, or affirming circumstances. He lovingly removed those from my life to reveal my dependence on them, and has been teaching me to build my foundation on His Truths, even when I am not experiencing them tangibly at that very moment.
Our pastor, church family, and YP family have rallied around us,
most not even knowing the full extent of circumstances, but just determined to be
supportive and bless us with the ministry of presence. We are both so
grateful, and ask for that continued support. This season has been about asking hard questions, learning gentle truths, and letting God poke around in areas of my heart and mind that I thought were doing-just-fine-thank-you-very-much (but they were not doing fine at all). I've stood toe-to-toe with a world of expectations, both internal and external, and I've lived to tell the tale.
We YPs are all in some state of transition, or are about to be. That is the nature of the beast of being a 20- or 30-something. While reading 101 Secrets for Your Twenties I found #60: Our 20's (and 30's) are not about finding home; these years are about finding the right place to build it. I left college looking for a home built on top of my own accomplishments, and I ran everywhere for 3 years looking for it. When I realized that no such home existed, I panicked and listened to the voice of Doubt, which was less than helpful. Now I am listening to the still small voice of God, my only refuge, my eagles' wings, the lover of my soul, and my Savior.
Psalm 121: I lift my eyes up to the mountains--where does my help come from? My help comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.
