The goal was to slay this semester.
Literally.
Slay it.
Slay it by accomplishing the whole plethora of commitments that I had enlisted myself in.
I was going to be so on top of school.
Read every single chapter of every single book and really learn.
I was going to be disciplined and save money to travel by packing lunches and not eating out.
I was going to have the Peter Pan script memorized so long ago and be completely prepared for every rehearsal.
Add to those a twenty-six hour work week, a few friends, some other time commitments, and a bunch of dreams about being a writer, story teller, and creative.
For the sake of brevity, I'll fast forward 2.5 months to the middle of march. What passed was a miserable case of tonsillitis, a missed week of work and rehearsal, two rounds of antibiotics, one foul tasting apple cider vinegar concoction, one four months passed expiration drivers license, one missed fafsa form, one crying meltdown, a few other calamities that I won't mention, and.... oh yeah.. turns out the tonsillitis was a result of mono, which I managed to get without kissing anyone. Go figure.
As a result of that marvelous viral infection, I was told by a very wise person in the medical profession that I ought to be in bed for four hours during the day as not to relapse before the show (which opens in less than a month).
Considering that most of my other "slay the semester goals" have already gone to the goal junk yard - the place where all good and bad goals go to die - the few that I was holding onto involved throwing myself at life with all the energy I didn't have.
So. in essence. I have not slayed this semester.
My friend Haven is really into fitness... I shouldn't say really into.
My friend Haven is pursuing fitness and doing so well. She does competitions and she places. There's a whole shelf in her room filled with these muscular lady trophies.
She told me once that during her work outs lately she had been just saying, "Lord, Lord, Lord," to get her through, because they were hard.
A few weeks ago, while drinking latte's with my friend in the early morning, I said to her:
"Where we end is where He begins."
It's slightly ironic and comical to me because I spoke words I hadn't understood.
The more my goals have slipped out of my grasp, the sweeter Jesus has become, and the more sure of Him I have been.
The sicker I have felt, the more I have had to rely in faith on the hope that He is my healer.
It does not mean that healing will come when I wish it, but that it will come.
And until it does, the Lord Jesus will be enough.
I have been prayed over by my community, and reminded that rest is and was God ordained.
So when I'm at rehearsal, being a lost boy, attempting to have all the energy that a preadolescent boy has, and I just. don't. have it. would I say, "Lord, Lord, Lord," and rely on His Sufficiency.
Would my best plans fail as I grow in dependency and remember that where I end, is where He begins, and that when I have the least to give, my Lord Jesus has the most.
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Sometimes, I am apprehensive to share because I know there are people facing life threatening situations, and what are my petty problems compared to those. I'm thankful that Jesus doesn't tell us our struggles are insignificant, and that He grows us in every hard situation, whether it is a little hard, or a lot hard.
