I wanted to scream that from the rooftops today, but I just couldn't seem to do it. The activities this past week just wore me out and all I wanted to do was come home and put my feet up. Instead, I walked in with a long face that had my cousin asking, "What is wrong with you?"
"I'm tired, "I said.
(Keep in mind that I have been getting up at 5 a.m. for the past two days to leave the house by 6:30 a.m. so I can get to campus in time for my 8 a.m. sessions.)
"You haven't even started classes, yet," she said.
"I know, that's what makes it so bad. I'm wondering how I will get all this done."
What I really was thinking was "Can I really do this?"
Since accepting my call, all I've seemed to have are questions: "Will I be able to handle the work? Am I really in the right place? Am I crazy? Can I really write five papers at one time and read more than 100 pages for one class and 80 for another in two nights? Can I . . . Will I . . ."
Then I took a breath . . . and remembered I accepted this call, which means, as one of my fellow seminarians shared, that I have signed on to pursue a different form of life that is unlike my natural inclination. I accepted God's invitation to transform me into who he wants me to be. And I knew upfront that it wouldn't be a cakewalk. Growing pains are just as they sound -- a pain. And I seriously need some 800 mg Tylenol, right about now.
A professor reminded me of that this morning, but that information somehow got lost by 6 p.m. -- that was until I started to pen these thoughts a few hours ago.
That professor reminded me that it's perfectly normal to be fearful, to have questions and ask questions. We just shouldn't be so quick to look for rapid-fire answers. That's kind of what twentieth century author Rainer Maria Rilke, in his fourth letter in Letters to a Young Poet, was saying when he said:
" . . . have patience with everything unresolved in your heart and to try to love the questions themselves as if they were locked rooms or books written in a very foreign language. Don't search for the answers, which could not be given to you now, because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps then, someday far in the future, you will gradually, without even noticing it, live your way into the answer."
So why am I crying again?