It’s easy to lose myself, here. It’s easy to forget who I am: all that I’ve grown to become, all that I’m becoming to be. Amidst the heaps of job applications and rejection emails, I’ve lost parts of myself. I’ve forgotten I’m thoughtful. I’ve left behind long winded study hours and work ethic. I’ve misplaced the pleasure in relaxing and free time. I’ve traded my past and present victories for guilt and shame while wearing the unemployed name.
I’ve wondered during these hazy days, what I will make of life. I’ve wondered what life will make of me. I’ve pleaded with God and employers for a chance at answers. I’ve gone to bed crying; I’ve awoken crying fresh wounds and worries. I’ve lost the sunny days to day dreaming of the future. The future, though promised to be fruitful, entirely separate and unlike how I wish it to be.
I’ve contemplated which road to take post fork of graduation. I’ve been curious if life should turn out something romantic and righteous—dazzling with life and adventure—or if we are molded to become bored and cynical, robots to the rhythms of life’s repetitions.
I’m pending, uncertain who trumps whom: the pessimist or the optimist. Oftentimes it does not seem worthwhile to exhaust myself with hopeful disdain to only prep myself for deterioration.
Throughout most seasons, I’ve lacked in urgency for one sun to set and a new one to rise. I’ve pressed into the wrestle and discomfort of long, hard days and doubt and distaste. For now, I’m craving an exodus from these days. I’m desperate for a cessation, a non-return to days of rejection and every plan and dream that goes down the drain with it. I’m more than hoping, more than yearning, for a chance. Chance to try my hand, to help our paining world, to help my heart.
I am unwise, unqualified, and not often sure of anything. But in this moment and every moment after, I am exercising through and through certainty. Certainty and faith in, and only in, Christ who has proved most-true, most-worthy, most-thoughtful, most-faithful. I have fierce faith that lives outside emotion and buildings, thrives in valleys and sorrows.
I know his promises to be faithful and fruitful, and his timing to be with best interest in mind. So I shall not doubt, nor question his timing of seasons or shifts in heart and place. I shall walk expectantly forward. For he is above, beside, behind, and in front of me.
I know one thing well: I can take God for his word because he is all he says he is. Beyond such knowledge, should anything else matter?
nonfiction narrator 