I keep searching for a guide, something to gauge my thoughts and emotions by. I cannot put my finger on it, but I feel it. There is a rawness inside of me that is just tumbling up and down the walls of my stomach. I’m nervous and excited, relieved and burdened, all at the same time.
For the past 6 years, I have done nothing but spin my wheels. I’ve dug myself quite a deep pit over here in the mud; and I’m ready to leave it. After entertaining option after option after option, I realize all roads would have pulled me out by now if I had committed to them, but I couldn’t. The awfulness that never ceased to rise up inside of me while trekking the wrong path would not allow me to wander just anywhere.
So now, again, I’m attempting to climb out; poising myself to step into one more thing that’s new. This one, however, is perhaps the most uncertain of all. Perhaps the most unclear with a conclusion that is the most unconceivable of all. With no foresight (no, not ONE context clue of how this will turn out), taking these steps into the grey throw me into an emotional fit; but somehow, I know I have to walk this walk.
Given this is the case, I am granting myself an “Oprah moment” and simply bringing myself into surrender. I am accepting the fact that there are some things I will not know, understand or even clearly see until I get there. Obviously, I have no choice but to “see through the glass darkly” and, for the first time in my life, I am coming to grips with the ‘unknown’ which is a huge step on so many levels for me and for so many more reasons. Fortunately, as I go along, I am also learning that with surrender comes its wonderful partner, peace.
As a child, I spent summers with my grandparents in Delaware. An evangelist and deacon, they taught me as much of the Word as they could. On Sundays, Grandma would preach like she was going to grow wings and take off for heaven at any second; while Grandpa prayerfully minded his seat on the first or side pew; but with us grandchildren, the preaching boiled down to simple reading and memorization, which, of course, is all we needed since the baggage of reasoning had not yet taken a toll on our minds. To this day, I can hear my grandmother’s voice when I read certain scriptures from the Bible. Lately, and even as I write this, I can feel her pointing her finger in my chest and hear her saying, “Trust in the Lord with your whole heart and lean not to thine own understanding; but in all thy ways acknowledge Him and He will direct your path.” (Prov 3:5-6)
So many times since entering my 30s over four years ago, Grandma’s voice has whispered the most appropriate points of faith and power in my ear as I’ve rolled along. Although she’s been gone for almost a decade now, still today, she never fails.
This week, as I wander through the streets of Emory, hoping I’ve chosen the right (and by right I mean ‘closest’) parking deck, or meander through the halls of Candler, praying I’ll find all the books I need at this stage of the game and that my professors will be a million times more enthralling than the ones I’ve had in all the ill-fitting grad programs of prior, I will carry grandma’s voice and finger-poking with me. I will allow it to calm me when I feel my heart begin to flutter with anxiety over this decision; or when the subject matter causes me to bust a capillary or two in the wee hours of the morning. I am going to enjoy and most importantly, COMPLETE this journey with this newfound peace thanks to continuous surrender, which, I admit, I may have to do more than a few times throughout this experience. And if nothing more comes of this than the opportunity to know I finally trusted and acknowledged Him, in all His glory and all-knowing splendor, just like Grandma told me to, I will be just fine with that.
- Lynnett Glass
Lynnett is an entering MDiv student from Jonesboro, GA.