I journey on . . .

I had to be reminded today that life is about journeying . . . waiting . . . living a number of experiences that build upon themselves to provide lessons -- if we grasp them -- that allows us to move with more wisdom into the next phase of our lives. I'm just coming off some hellish weeks of mid-terms with a sad disposition because I'm not doing well right now. The last exam, I struggled through it this week (It was a take-home exam that should have been completed with 20 pages of answers. I only turned in 12 or something like that after staying up all night trying to finish.)

So, right now, the grades are not good. I'm behind and in trouble in the bulk of my classes and I'm wondering once again, "What is the lesson? God where is this going? Am I really equipped for this? Who in the hell thought they should let me through the doors of this place?"
And I've yet to really hear all the answers.

I would love to run away, but sadly I cannot, because I recognize that there is nowhere else for me to go. Candler is where I'm supposed to be . . . even on the days when I'm frustrated about being here. . . even on the days when I have more questions than answers about my life's direction and capabilities.

So, I'm attempting to regroup and establish a plan for how to move forward -- one of which is to hone my synthesizing skills to better understand the information -- and I'm trying to live in the many questions I have right now. I'm preparing for a girl's night featuring a movie documentary showing and discussion with members of Sistah Circle, a ministry group for women of the African diaspora that I head up at Candler. And as I have been preparing, I was reminded of a reading from Rainer Maria Rilke's fourth letter he wrote in the Letters to a Young Poet I want to share with them about being in the midst of life while grappling with the questions about an uncertain future. I think all of us find ourselves in that place from time to time. But Rainer Maria Rilke has wisdom to share:

"be patient toward all that is unresolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves like locked rooms and like books that are written in a very foreign tongue. Do not now seek the answers, which cannot be given you because you would not be able to live them. And the point is, to live everything. Live the questions now. Perhaps you will then gradually, without noticing it, live along some distant day into the answer."

So, with that sage wisdom I journey on . . . trusting and believing that I will live into the answers at the right and appropriate time. In God's time. I journey on, carrying with me the words God spoke to Jeremiah, when he too was not certain about the mission he was called to take up: For I know the plans I have for you, plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you a future and a hope." 29:11

I got questions, very few answers

Orientation is over!!!! Yippee!!!!
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 . . ."

Ugghhh!!!!

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?