shelves

The house is emptying out slowly. I find my ears prickling a bit at the sound of my own echo- I am not used to the sound reverberating off the nude walls. Mattresses sit bare and irregular patterns in the gritty dirt outlining the furniture where it sat the entire year look like chalked crime scene drawings--remnants of what once was.

I didn't think you could get so attached to a house. At the risk of sounding cliche, it is more about the people in it, I suppose, but something about the physical leftovers after everyone has written their last exam, packed their toothbrush up and jumped into the car with their families leaves me pensive and thoughtful. I miss everyone already.

There is a part of me that is scared about this summer. Every other summer, I was home. I was grounded. I knew what it was like to live with my family. I knew where the nearest friend was. Things are different now. More uncertain. It has not yet sunk in that I am flying to the Caribbean to love on some sweet kiddos and make some awesome new cross-country friends. But I really am. I will spend more time there than I will at home this summer.

I have nibbled at loss this year in various ways. College is kind of about loss and gain, in general. Losing a bit of your childhood. Losing the old-pair-of-shoes way you used to fit in with your family. The experiences you gain are worth the cost, but that doesn't ever make change easier, in any way. Or at least I don't think so.

In some ways, maybe God is preparing my heart for this summer. Loss may tear away a piece of something that once had a special shelf in your heart, but at the same time, you are left with an empty shelf. Vacant. Waiting for something new.

I wonder what God will fill the shelves of my heart with this summer. I could suspect from the place I sit now that my shelves will be full with the eyes and smiles of sweet Dominican children who will forever tug at my heartstrings. New friendships will be planted and potted and placed on my shelf. Some old friendships will be pruned, but not in a way that kills the plant. Just enough to allow for new growth and healthier blossoms.

I don't know what lies ahead. I am excited and a little nervous. I stand on the edge of a vast canyon. It stretches into the now-fading horizon further than my eyes have strength to see. What does this basin of earth hold? I may not know, but I want Him to have my hand as I take another leap of faith.

blooming where He has planted

I am happy to be in Wooster, Ohio today. Feeling a bit nostalgic as I reflect on the year, on God's goooooooooodness to me, and the seriously beautiful people He has placed in my life. I see Him knitting me into the family of the Body of Christ in new ways during this season, and I can only praise Him. He has made so much room in my heart for Wooster and the people I love dearly in this community and on this campus. I don't know if I can adequately or fully express how much this means to me-- only a year I was toying with the idea of transferring. God knew what He was doing, all along, and I would not rather be anywhere but here. This love for this place is undeserved, but I am deeply and endlessly grateful for it.

For He gives and takes away...and He is still GOOD! Blessed be the name of the LORD!