My First Semester At Seminary

[Warning: Very long post. You may want to grab a snack.]

I did not always imagine myself at seminary. The dream did not follow a sudden illumination or a walk down the church isle, it was born and slowly developed within Columbus and Waco, Texas, conversations with wise friends, and a tear and prayer-filled night at a D-NOW. It was revealed by the graciousness of God, to care for me enough to allow me to wait in silence and then to, again, care for me enough to grant direction and hope. It came from a re-occurring ache I felt when talking with middle and high school girls and desiring to hold my own broken hand to their gaping wounds. Last summer I cried alongside girls whose pain I could not fully understand and relied deeply on the One who could. Ten months ago, during a D-NOW weekend with twelfth-grade girls in Allen, Texas I spent a night in desperate, frustrated prayer both over their struggles and my own. I was exhausted by the silence I had felt for so long concerning my future. The following morning I applied to the Biblical Counseling program at Dallas Theological Seminary with very little background in either theology or psychology, the two main subjects I am now working for a master’s degree in. I am thankful for both the days of frustration and excitement, sadness and joyfulness that I have experienced since moving to Dallas and continuing this crazy journey the Lord has allowed me to travel. I am learning that both the mountains and the valleys are the result of His grace in my life.

I do not know much about other people’s experience with seminary, because I did not do a lot of background work in terms of asking other people about their experience and doing research the way I absolutely would have had this been my childhood dream. (My type-A personality is all about the preparation. Haha) But I can tell you very honestly about mine. As I began studying under these wonderfully intelligent and loving men and women at Dallas Theological Seminary and reading some of the most intriguing and convicting books I have ever read, I began to feel so very broken. I felt stripped of everything I have ever tried to put my identity in; relationships, health, love, external circumstances, affection, appearance, etc. I often felt vulnerable and fearful of the future. I felt spiritual attack like I have never felt before in my life and really learned what it meant to depend on prayer and to fight for joy. Now, as I near the end of the semester, fully aware that I have not seen the end of spiritual attack, I can say more confidently than ever that God is good and does good, that the Word is trustworthy and that He keeps His promises. I have felt more deeply into others’ pain and my own pain this semester than probably any season prior — seen the darkness in others and in myself — but there is a warm place of worship that pushes out despair. There is affirmation in my heart that He is who He says He is. He is full of mercy for His children. He came to Earth, felt the betrayal of friends, experienced pain so great and yet died so that you and me, those who constantly choose lower, more convenient goods, could know life and life in full.

This semester I have also had the privilege of nannying for three beautiful children and working alongside their hard-working, gracious and wise mother. The oldest child, Aidan, attends a Christian private school of which I have loved seeing the work they get the children to do. One day Aidan had to write out on sheets of construction paper promises including “God is good,” “God is faithful,” and “God is who He says He is.” I pray that Aidan learns these promises in the way that penetrates his very being. I pray I do, too. I pray that, throughout seminary and throughout my life, I have the faith of a child.

Another thing this family has taught me is forgiveness. Children forgive so quickly. They can be so mad at me when I take them away from their toys and insist they get ready for bed, but five minutes later they are laughing hysterically at my silly voices when I read them their bedtime story. Holding grudges is such an adult practice. I am not saying that forgiveness is easy; I’m saying it’s childlike, in the best possible sense of that word. And it is in these moments that I remember the Lord’s view of children. And lest I begin to take my time with children for granted, I remember the Word says this about an 8-year-old boy:

“Josiah was eight years old when he began to reign, and he reigned thirty-one years in Jerusalem. And he did what was right in the eyes of the LORD, and walked in the ways of David his father; and he did not turn aside to the right hand or to the left. For in the eighth year of his reign, while he was yet a boy, he began to seek the God of David his father, and in the twelfth year he began to purge Judah and Jerusalem of the high places, the Asherim, and the carved and the metal images.” [2 Chronicles 34:1-3]

I feel more than ever that life is not guaranteed. I am not guaranteed tomorrow. I am not guaranteed another chance to tell about His love or to get to know people. These realizations can quite easily lead to fear, but they can also lead to a decision to make the most of our time here, to decide what is worth living and dying for.

“Like anybody, I would like to live a long life. Longevity has its place. But I’m not concerned about that now. I just want to do God’s will. And He’s allowed me to go up to the mountain. And I’ve looked over. And I’ve seen the Promised Land. And I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight that we as a people will get to the Promised Land! So I’m happy tonight. I’m not worried about anything. I am not fearing any man. Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord!”
[Martin Luther King]

These words give me hope. It is abundantly easy to grasp tightly the things of this world, but there is joy in full waiting for us. My Spiritual Life class has talked a lot about what our “life vision” is, that, because of our limited time here, we should be working toward a goal. Our professor has encouraged us to assess the “scars” and “stars” that make up our past and look ahead to what we hope to accomplish before our time on Earth is up. In my paper concerning these ideas I wrote, “the vision for my life is to bring glory to the Father through joyful submission of His will and His direction.” I pray these are not simply words furiously typed out somewhere around 2 a.m. the night before that paper was due, but words that affect decisions, sacrifices, and relationships I make in the future.

Things I am so thankful for in this season of life: Jesus. The faith He grants us. How often I have cried out in the night “I believe, Lord, help my unbelief” and felt His new mercy in the morning. The prayers of the saints, they have been deeply felt. The Fosters. My gracious & selfless boyfriend. The Gilchrist family. DTS. My friends near and far who have significantly weakened the sting of loneliness in transition. My family who supports, encourages and inspires me in all things. The Hsiao family. Encouragement. My warm bed in my warm apartment with my Spirit-filled roommates. Jessica Acklen, Sommer Ingram and Nick Dean who uplift and make me laugh even from afar. Late night talks with Sydney Savage. The kind, encouraging words of Preston Yancey — and so many, many more things.

“For You will not abandon my soul to Sheol; Nor will You allow Your Holy One to undergo decay. You will make known to me the path of life; In Your presence is fullness of joy; In Your right hand there are pleasures forever.” [Psalm 16:10-11]

Administration

There is a lump in her throat when Naomi realizes God does not need her to accomplish His plans. It wasn’t a new realization, but each time it parades through the ideology of her American culture, cutting back the weeds of a competitive society.

Naomi’s own age matched that of many of the oldest orphans when she began volunteering after school: answering phone calls, organizing files, building friendships. Now she runs the orphanage.

Each week more children are dropped off and each week she works to find them a home, knowing she will never play a significant role in that process. For a family to come along whose members yearn to give up everything they have for the sake of a child, well, the job cannot be a purely earthly one, can it? But it happens. Jehovah-Jireh, He is the eternal God who provides.

As she sends off one her sweet daughters from the orphanage, Naomi’s sadness is mixed with greater joy and relief. But tiptoeing back to their room and gazing on the rest of her girls, she doubts for the innumerable time whether God will come through.

He is not the uncertain part of her equation, though. Her own efforts are the ones that seem to unravel.

Prone to busying herself in a desperate desire to see proof of her sanctification, she has long been under the illusion that God needs her to accomplish His mission. I struggle, she thought, with patience, but not with getting things done.

Most days she feels far too young to be the pilot of such a shaky plane as “The New Hope Orphanage.” If the plane went down, however, she would go down with it. But is there not a difference between loyalty and control? Control loves when things are good; loyalty loves when the plane blows up. I struggle, she thought, with control, but I am certainly loyal to this place.

It is just past midnight and she is typing expense accounts. There is crying down the hall.

Her coat hangs limply on the back of her chair. Her shoes, which were tossed off not long after serving dinner, now lay side-ways on the floor. Naomi walks silently, babying her sore ankles. Rebecca is crying from the room where Naomi’s 13-year-olds sleep.

“Darling, what’s the matter? Nightmares, again?”

Rebecca nods. A past full of darkness thirsts for redemption behind Rebecca’s large, tear-filled eyes. Naomi kneels down to place her hand lightly on Rebecca’s back.

Kneeling, Naomi prays for supernatural patience in Rebecca’s life, until Rebecca falls back into steady, rhythmic breathing. Despite feeling thick with shame by her own lack of patience, Naomi prays for it in her girls.

There it was — that same old realization. God is using her, despite her. He could have just as easily used someone else, but here Naomi is, just before 1 a.m., remembering her lack of patience. Jehovah-Jireh, He is the eternal God who provides.

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.” –Galatians 5:22-23

Fictionish: Potted Plants

When she stares out at the potted plants on her windowsill, she thinks about worship. Worship is being reminded of one’s size. Worship is recognizing dependence on Someone with the Patience, Faithfulness and Trustworthiness to yield growth in the recipient.

She has felt younger than ever since she packed up her textbooks, knowing full well she would not need them where she was going. Texas-born-and-raised, she had traded in her boots for tennis shoes that allowed her to dodge people and puddles en route to work in time to change into heels at the very last moment.

Like her textbooks, the plants served to bridge the 2,000–mile gap.  There are few plants in New York City. The pangs from missing her family were dulled by the reoccurring realization that she had received exactly what she asked for. She had hoped the loneliness of the big city would reveal her own smallness with a grander story. Turns out all it took were some plants.

“As for man, his days are like grass; as a flower of the field, so he flourishes. When the wind has passed over it, it is no more, and its place acknowledges it no longer. But the lovingkindness of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear Him, And His righteousness to children’s children, to those who keep His covenant and remember His precepts to do them.” –Psalm 103:15-18