My Life in Miniature

I’ve now been away from home for ten days. In case you’re wondering, that puts me ten percent of the way through the time until I can go home. That sentence is perhaps a bit revealing. Yes, I’m dying to go home. It’s not that it isn’t beautiful here, nor that there’s any job or activity awaiting me at home. It isn’t even that I don’t think this summer is worthwhile anymore. I just miss everything in Chattanooga, and I’m already tired of being here.

But that makes all of this seem much worse than it is. To be honest, I’m no more bored up here than I would be at home. Actually, were I at home, there would be less things to do and I would have less money with which to do them, since I quite my job to come here. Still, I miss the old place, and with business so slow up here and my ministry not yet really begun, I’m ready to leave.

Thankfully, I have hope. Alexander Pope said, “Hope springs eternal in the human breast.” Brave Saint Saturn said that it’s the bravest thing of all. I think they’re both right. My hope specifically is that this time will be worthwhile. No matter how much I want to bail out, I truly believe that, whether or not God led me here, He allowed me to come here and can do something great with me in this place. I may not like being here, but if I stay here, I can learn perseverance, patience, commitment, and hopefully something new of God. Already I’m learning how much I love my family, and how much I need the support of those who love me.

All of this thinking built into a bit of a revelation today while I was praying. I realized that this is in some way my life in miniature. I have no idea what the rest of my life is going to be like, and I often wonder whether I’m going to be able to handle it. However, I know that I can handle each passing day with my hope in God. Here at Custer, each day is all that I can even think of, yet I’m not spending my days trying to go home because, more than anything else, I want to learn the lessons God wants to teach me, even the hard ones that feel something like a season in Hell. Maybe that last bit was melodramatic, but you get my point.

Now I’m here, trying with everything I have to be patient and to enjoy the good times. I’m glad that there are good times. I’m getting to talk more deeply and for greater lengths of time with my family, and occasionally I get to spend some time exploring a beautiful place with other Christians. They tell me that when we get busy, the time will pass quickly. I hope so.

So already I’m learning. I said when I started all this that I was prepared to wrestle with God. As I learned in seventh grade, wrestling is really difficult, and you usually hate it while doing it. However, it makes you stronger, and you learn from it. If the cost is any indicator, these lessons should be quite valuable, and I’m glad that I’m learning new things. I’m glad that I’m being forced to depend more on God, even if I don’t like the process. Now if only I can get to the conclusion and get out of here, it will all be glorious. Paul told me to count it all joy; considering that he was trapped in filthy Roman dungeons for months at a time, I suppose I can follow his advice. As I press onward toward the completion of this time, I am strengthened by my hope, and I am glad to find that even when my life looks both terrifying and impossible, now and for the rest of my days, I can hold to hope and try to flourish in each day, leaving all that makes me collapse in tears in the hands of my loving Father.