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.