Trust in the Lord and do good;
  Dwell in the land and cultivate faithfulness.  
Delight yourself in the Lord;
  And He will give you the desires of your heart.
 Commit your way to the Lord,
Trust also in Him, and He will do it.

-Psalm 34:3-5

Yesterday marked the first day of my Spring semester working in campus ministry. As we slung our bags over our shoulders, my campus director gave the ardent charge: "Let's go get tired!" He was half-joking, but it has been so fitting in light of the beginning of this year, the great shifting of what "normal" will look like for me as God has directed me to look and consider what it means to give my life to Him. He's directed my wandering eyes from the harvest fields illuminated in the distance to the heads of grain peeling before me. I think He's calling me to dwell in this land, to stop my wistful fence-climbing and break up the soil I've been standing on all along. 

In the beginning, God planted a garden in the land of Eden, and He told Adam to work it. There was no sweat of the brow, no thorned weeds to tear up his calluses. But God gave him life and a job, and like Adam, He gives us life and a job. I've been thinking about this, the way He has given us breaths and bodies and selves full of life to steward for the job He's called us to, especially as it applies to evangelism. It can be a thing of beauty, surrender and joy in seeking first the Kingdom of God, or it can be a place of struggle where we either hoard and bury our "talents" or spend them like the prodigal son on small and passing pleasures. 

But oh, there is a beauty in the lavish spending of our selves for the glory of God! May we spend our lives for the King, may we run this race collecting  scabs on our knees and dirt under our fingernails. May our cheeks be creased by the joy of Jesus and our feet be blistered from the spreading of Good News. May we exercise the muscles He reformed when He told us to pick up our mat and walk, and with our numbered breaths may we declare that God has given us eternal life, and this life is in His Son.

Last Sunday my Pastor taught on the promises of God, and tonight I find myself in the familiar place of longing. Of the waiting, of the hope that never dies only because it's a Holy fire. When the wavering comes, when the wind of the accuser causes the light to tremble, the oil of the Spirit and the Word cause it to keep burning. 

The longer I live, the more I realize the futility of the pursuits of this world. I got my BA, but my college education felt, in a great many ways, like a lesson in learning enough to sound intelligent without knowing very much at all. The more I learn, the more I learn that there's more I don't know than I thought. It's funny how both pride and humility can come out of study, even though humility alone should be the result. 

I had a conversation recently with a woman about marriage. I told her something about the "nagging" that follows the single person all of the time, and how nice it would be for that to stop with marriage. "It doesn't go away," she told me. "it just looks different." I didn't ask her what she meant. But I can imagine. I can watch married couples, I can see their imperfections, and I can know my heart's own restless evil. Marching down the aisle doesn't eradicate sin. A spotless gown the color of snow cannot sanctify the bride. Only Jesus can do that. Only through the slow, painful process of iron-sharpening-iron and humble repentance can something beautiful rise to the top. It's only after the battle has been fought that the dust can settle and the two can come out one. 

Last August, God led to me to commit one year of my life to campus ministry, twelve months to discipling girls and evangelizing on campus. My dreams were hopeful. I heard stories of miracles in dorm rooms. I talked to one woman during our training who had gone through the internship before, asking her what one word of advice she had to give me. "Don't have any expectations," she told me. 

I took her advice, and without holding any expectations, I have not been disappointed. But I have faced discouragement as reality has set in with discipleship. Plans to meet fall through the cracks. Missed calls happen. Life is busy, always busy, it is midterm season, it is final season, work will not give any mercy. I see my sin, it is not a pure "them" problem. My sin creeps up like poison in the moment of opportunity. Calvin said our hearts are idol factories, and it is sickening how quickly new models arrive on the scene in mine. Temptations arrive to make discipleship about me, about my value in the eyes of God, about my value in the eyes of others, about my value in my own self-evaluation.

All of the these life groanings and realizations are real. But they are not final. 

They are not the climax. 

We do not call them a small thing or close our eyes and pretend they're not there. Neither do we re-label the bad things and call them "good". 

We expose and accept the jagged edges of our pieces, and we lift our eyes to look beyond the wreckage. There are whispers of a Bridegroom who has loved us from the start. There are rumors of a Rescuer who brings joy in the morning, when we begin to assess the damage. 

There is word of words that are sure. Trustworthy. True. Promises with a spine on them. A Promise made in flesh. A Promise made in blood. 

"Wretched man that I am! Who will set me free from the body of this death?

 Thanks be to God through Jesus Christ our Lord!"

                                             He will make all things new.

Her joy gushed out like a broken sprinkler, spreading over all who would receive her--and all who would rather not. Even her walk took on an elated stupor, following the pattern of a skipping calf, or a child trying to avoid stepping on the lines.
When she took a breath, she spent it on praise, and when she set her hands to work on a bouquet, she could never tug at one bud without including an island of soil beneath it.