Lead, Kindly Light

“Check your harkbox” is a set of three magical words. Below, an excerpt from a letter I received yesterday in response to the one I had sent -

And so we are almost done. In a few weeks we should have our diplomas and debt and be on our way. I think a lot about your ambitions and how you see your life. I want you to continue to cast them in the more favourable light where you actively recognize the extent of good you seek to create.

You are a godly woman who will lead a righteous life; it is worth knowing, too, that you will lead a great life. [In your road to becoming a prosecutor] Your humility has had you take pause and contemplate each step. When you succeed your right heart will bring healing to everyone you touch.

And yet, sometimes I think you feel your work is modest. Before God it of course is. But so is anything else we do. Yet, I worry you, in your humble dedication, might underappreciate how much of God’s service you do each day in every role and capacity you assume.

You already think big, I want you always to feel big, not because we are doing anything grand in the Lord’s eyes, but because He gave us some spectacular gifts. You can serve with your grand aspirations and be right with the Lord. [...] You are absolutely right to be asking whether your targets are His; I just say keep going until He tells you otherwise, and keep asking.

This is the eighth letter I’ve received since we started writing about two years ago. Each letter is as insightful and rich as its predecessor (and in tinier and tinier font). Good thing we established the letter-writing regime early. If we can keep it up now, when we live literally three blocks away, certainly we can continue internationally come autumn.

I have this bad habit of blogging even though my head is thick with weariness and desperately wanting rest. But I just have to say something about spring.

Spring is here.

I’ve seen the signs – last week I saw beautiful purple and lavender crocuses peeking up out of the ground next to small daffodils reaching up toward the sun in earnest. I also saw brilliant pink and white hyacinths lining the base of a brick wall, and an early pile of pansies with their petals fluttering in the breeze. A couple days ago I woke up – not to the sound of my alarm clock – but to the incessant chirping of birds in the trees outside. And yesterday, I walked home in a cool and steady rain, and cozied up on my living room couch as the pattering turned to a downright downpour, emphatically accentuated by lightning flashes and peals of thunder.

Yes, I thought, spring is here.

And not just with respect to the weather outside. I feel like I’m entering another season of spring in my life, after a cold and sometimes-harsh winter. This last year was tough for me; I’ve written about the cynicism, the hurts, the disappointments, the fears, enough before so I don’t feel the need to review them here again.

Spring is springing with respect to life again, though. Things are coming back to life, to varying degrees depending on which part of life we’re talking about. My social life is raging full speed ahead again, after three months of semi-seclusion. My prayer life is rejuvenating, as is my soul’s desire to thirst after God. Hope is being reborn; trust is slowly – very slowly, and sometimes trippingly – resurrecting itself. And I finally feel, again, like I’m making a difference in some lives around me. That makes a huge difference, because I think that’s what makes me feel the most alive, in the end.

And…I thought I was going to write more but I am so exhausted. So…abrupt ending, but…the message remains the same – spring has sprung!

And everything that’s new has bravely surfaced
Teaching us to breathe
What was frozen through is newly purposed
Turning all things green
So it is with You
And how You make me new
With every season’s change
And so it will be
As You are re-creating me
Summer, autumn, winter, spring

~ Nichole Nordeman

Today’s sermon was fantastic. I can’t begin to reduplicate it here, but I’ll try and share the main points.

We live in a society where we are judged by any number of popular standards: the number of zeros that follow the dollar sign in our savings accounts and stock portfolios; the level of prestige we garner in our jobs; where our colleges rank according to U.S. News and World Report; the number and type of degrees we hold; how beautiful/handsome/sexy we look; whether we’re married and the number of our offspring (and how beautiful they are);…on and on.

We all know what the major categories are. Our lives here are, often and in so many ways, centered on what we can do to earn respect and love. We always feel the need to prove ourselves, because the world teaches us that we have no value apart from these “measures of success” that society dictates to us.

At the same time that we attempt to earn our value and self-worth, our mindsets drive us to devalue others who are, in our twisted calculi, less worthy than we are. So we look down on–consciously and inadvertently–the aged, the boring, the crippled, the poor, the unemployed, the widowed, the orphaned, the mentally ill… and we treat them with everything from contempt to indifference.

The good news in all of this is that Jesus isn’t like that. Jesus looks at us as we are – and He offers a new lens through which we ought to see ourselves. The Bible tells us that “God created man in His own image, in the image of God He created him; male and female He created them” (Genesis 1:27). We were ALL made in the image of God, which is why Jesus welcomed all people to Himself.

Back in Jesus’s day, men were the only people that counted. In terms of social status, women were just a smidgen ahead of children, slaves, animals, and other property. In other words, women and especially children were given the same type of contemptuous treatment as we as a society inflict on marginalized populations (the poor, the sick, the less attractive, the less “successful,” etc) today. So imagine the crowd’s surprise when Jesus–who was then known and acclaimed at the very least as a great teacher–responded to children thus, according to Mark’s account:

 People were bringing little children to Jesus to have him touch them, but the disciples rebuked them. When Jesus saw this, he was indignant. He said to them, “Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of God belongs to such as these. I tell you the truth, anyone who will not receive the kingdom of God like a little child will never enter it.” And he took the children in his arms, put his hands on them and blessed them.

(Mark 10:13-16)

Jesus loved the little children, because He saw them for who they were – they were, as we all are, made in His image. And He took it a step further. He didn’t just LOVE the children; He honored them by saying that all the rest of us (adults and whoever is listening) should become like the children–which I imagine must have shocked the contemporary sensibilities of the listeners in His audience. Matthew 18 says -

At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?” He called a little child and had him stand among them. And He said: “I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven.”

The thing is that children take and take and take. They can’t feed themselves, clothe themselves, or otherwise take care of themselves. Without parents or other loving guardians, children die. They can’t survive on their own.

Jesus’s point is that WE are like children too. And in order for us to truly understand God for who He is as our Lord, Savior, Provider, and Father – we have to become like children. We need to understand that the world is absolutely wrong; we cannot do anything to earn that which we really need. It’s all fruitless. The only thing that can save us is utter dependence on God, through faith in His Son that gives us eternal life.
That’s point one. Point two goes back to the thing about us being made in the image of God. The pastor had a picture of President George W. Bush with him today at church. He held it up, then lit a match and held the flame close to the picture. We all fidgeted uncomfortably in our seats, and wondered if Pastor D would actually go ahead and burn the picture of our country’s leader. He asked, “Does this make you uncomfortable?” It certainly made me uneasy.

That was his point – that the way we treat something that bears the image of someone else, reflects the way we feel about that someone. So regardless of how people feel about President Bush, he is still our nation’s president, and it would be a huge sign of disrespect and dishonor to burn his image. Not that the piece of paper itself means anything–but it symbolizes him.

Another example comes from the toppling of Saddam Hussein’s statue in Iraq after his execution. The people didn’t topple the statue because the statue did anything in particular – it was just made of stone and cement and other raw materials. But it symbolized a fallen dictator, and tearing down the statue represented Saddam’s fallen status as a leader.

So it is with us, as people bearing the image of God. Every human is born, made in the image of God – and that alone is what endows us with value. Not our accolades, our fat wallets, our blemish-free skin, our fancy cars or gigantic houses. Just the fact that we bear the image of God is enough. More than enough.

And that’s all that Jesus cares about or sees – He sees through the junk in which we hide and the flimsy nothings with which we self-medicate, and He tells us that we are loved just because we’re His children. It’s a powerful message, and one that should change the way that we treat all the people around us. Regardless of the things that they are or aren’t according to the world’s twisted standards, they have value simply because God gave them value by making them human.

The way we treat others, then, reflects how we value the One in whose image they were made.

I’ve mentioned him before here – but my 1L crim professor and 3L paper advisor is also a brother in Christ. I attended his church for a couple years, and we have had some good conversations about faith and the law. I’d always been inspired by his ability to express his faith with great personal humility, yet with complete security in Christ. As he faces his most challenging physical obstacle, his faith still does not waver. As I continue to remember and pray for him, he continues to inspire. Below I’ve excerpted a recent post from his blog…hope you find his words encouraging too…

Read the original post at “Less Than the Least” here.

My cancer has been promoted: I’m officially in stage 4. My doctors have found two cancerous nodules—a euphemism for “small tumors”—one on each of my lungs. I started chemo this week. Next week, I’ll see a thoracic surgeon who will, sometime this summer, cut those tumors out. Needless to say, this isn’t good news—though, thanks to medical advances (especially, thanks to those evil drug companies that politicians regularly attack), it isn’t disastrous news either. We’ll see what the future brings.

I don’t have any previous experience with this sort of thing, but judging from what I hear and read, I’m supposed to be asking why all this is happening, and why it’s happening to me. Honestly, those questions are about the farthest thing from my mind.

Partly, that’s because they aren’t hard questions. Why does our world have gravity? Why does the sun rise in the East? There are technical answers, but the metaphysical answer is simple: that’s how reality works. So too here. Only in the richest parts of the rich world of the twenty-first century could anyone entertain the thought that we should expect long, pain-free lives. Suffering and premature death (an odd phrase: what does it mean to call death “premature”?) are constant presences in the lives of most of the peoples of the Earth, and were routine parts of life for generations of our predecessors in this country—as they still are today, for those with their eyes open. Stage 4 cancers happen to middle-aged men and women, seemingly out of the blue, because that’s how reality works.

As for why this is happening to me in particular, the implicit point of the question is an argument: I deserve better than this. There are two responses. First, I don’t—I have no greater moral claim to be free from unwanted pain and loss than anyone else. Plenty of people more virtuous than I am suffer worse than I have, and some who don’t seem virtuous at all skate through life with surprising ease. Welcome to the world. Once again, it seems to me that this claim arises from the incredibly unusual experience of a small class of wealthy professionals in the wealthiest parts of the world today. We think we live in a world governed by merit and moral desert. It isn’t so. Luck, fortune, fate, providence—call it what you will, but whatever your preferred label, it has far more to do with the successes of the successful than what any of us deserves. Aristocracies of the past awarded wealth and position based on the accident of birth. Today’s meritocracies award wealth and position based on the accident of being in the right place at the right time. The difference is smaller than we tend to think. Once you understand that, it’s hard to maintain a sense of grievance in the face of even the ugliest medical news. I’ve won more than my share of life’s lotteries. It would seem churlish to rail at the unfairness of losing this one—if indeed I do lose it: which I may not.

The second response is simpler; it comes from the movie “Unforgiven.” Gene Hackman is dying, and says to Clint Eastwood: “I don’t deserve this. To die like this. I was building a house.” Eastwood responds: “Deserve’s got nothing to do with it.”

That gets it right, I think. It’s a messed-up world, upside-down as often as it’s rightside up. Bad things happen; future plans (that house Hackman was building) come to naught. Deserve’s got nothing to do with it.

Why, then, are we so prone to think otherwise? This is one of the biggest reasons I believe my faith is true: something deep within us expects, even demands moral order—in a world that shouts from the rooftops that no such order exists. Any good metaphysical theory must explain both of those phenomena: both the expectation and the lack of supporting evidence for the thing expected. The only persuasive way to get there, I think, is to begin with a world made good that was twisted, corrupted, bent. Buried deep in our hearts are hints of the way things ought to be; the ugliest reality can’t snuff them out. Still, that reality exists; it can’t be denied. Christianity sees that reality, recognizes it for what it is—but also sees the expectation, and recognizes where it comes from.

Bottom line: I don’t need anyone to tell me why I’m in the situation I’m in, and I certainly don’t think I merit an exemption from the rottenness to which the rest of the world is subject.

But I do need to know some things. Three, to be precise: first, that I’m not alone; second, that my disease has not made me ugly to those I love and to the God who made me; and third, that somehow, something good can come from this. My faith tells me that the God of the universe suffered everything I suffer and infinitely worse. Death and suffering don’t separate human beings from our Creator—on the contrary: those things unite us with our Creator. The barrier became the bridge: that is the great miracle of the Incarnation, the Cross, and the Resurrection. So I need never suffer alone. Job’s story confirms that, far from rejecting the ugliness of disease and pain, God embraces those who suffer and takes on their suffering. Beauty and ugliness are turned inside-out. Joseph’s story and the gospels alike show a God who delights to use the worst things to produce the best things. That doesn’t make life’s hells less than hellish. But it does make them bearable.

This isn’t just whistling in the dark—at least, I hope it isn’t. It all makes sense to me: it fits the world I see and feel, with all its shades of glory and misery. And it answers the questions my soul cries out. “Why” isn’t one of those questions.

Now and then I confess you cross my mind
Now and then I guess I have a little too much time
I’ve changed my way of thinking
I’ve tried hard to separate

What came too soon
From what came too late

I don’t think about me in terms of you
I don’t think about you in terms of us
I don’t think about us in terms of love
I don’t think about then in terms of now
I found a way to start again somehow
I don’t think about what we thought it was
Oh, in terms of love

…

Sometimes you know where you should go
Before you know the way
I’ll bother with tomorrow
Once I’ve made it through today

…

I don’t think about black in terms of grey
Or revelations in the light of day
I don’t think about cold in terms of ice
Or second chances happenin’ twice

I don’t think about me in terms of you
I don’t think about you in terms of us
I don’t think about us in terms of love
I don’t think about then in terms of now
I found a way to start again somehow
I don’t think about what we thought it was
Oh, in terms of love

~ SHEDaisy

To get the full value of joy
You must have someone to divide it with.
~ by Mark Twain ~

* * *

Love is an act of endless forgiveness
A tender look which becomes a habit.
~ by Peter Ustinov ~

* * *

Sometimes we let affection,
go unspoken,
Sometimes we let our love
go unexpressed,
Sometimes we can’t find words to tell
our feelings,
Especially towards those
we love the best.
~ Unknown ~

* * *

Plus another word on timing -

You cannot afford to wait for perfect conditions. Goal setting is often a matter of balancing timing against available resources. Opportunities are easily lost while waiting for perfect conditions.
~ Gary Ryan Blair ~

I could stay awake just to hear you breathing
Watch you smile while you are sleeping
While you’re far away and dreaming
I could spend my life in this sweet surrender
I could stay lost in this moment forever
Well, every moment spent with you
Is a moment I treasure
I don’t wanna close my eyes
I don’t wanna fall asleep
‘Cause I’d miss you, baby
And I don’t wanna miss a thing
‘Cause even when I dream of you
The sweetest dream would never do
I’d still miss you, baby
And I don’t wanna miss a thing
Lying close to you
Feeling your heart beating
And I’m wondering what you’re dreaming
Wondering if it’s me you’re seeing
Then I kiss your eyes and thank God we’re together
And I just wanna stay with you
In this moment forever, forever and ever
I don’t wanna close my eyes
I don’t wanna fall asleep
‘Cause I’d miss you, baby
And I don’t wanna miss a thing
‘Cause even when I dream of you
The sweetest dream would never do
I’d still miss you, baby
And I don’t wanna miss a thing
I don’t wanna miss one smile
I don’t wanna miss one kiss
Well, I just wanna be with you
Right here with you, just like this
I just wanna hold you close
Feel your heart so close to mine
And just stay here in this moment
For all the rest of time
Don’t wanna close my eyes
Don’t wanna fall asleep
‘Cause I’d miss you, baby
And I don’t wanna miss a thing
‘Cause even when I dream of you
The sweetest dream would never do
‘Cause I’d still miss you, baby
And I don’t wanna miss a thing
I don’t wanna close my eyes
I don’t wanna fall asleep
‘Cause I’d miss you, baby
And I don’t wanna miss a thing
‘Cause even when I dream of you
The sweetest dream would never do
I’d still miss you, baby
And I don’t wanna miss a thing
Don’t wanna close my eyes
Don’t wanna fall asleep, yeah
I don’t wanna miss a thing
I don’t wanna miss a thing

I’m posting these lyrics for Matt, a brother and a friend. I don’t care so much about the lyrics for what they say, because they don’t apply… it’s more the song that matters, because we danced to it last night at the Barristers’ Ball. Something clicked during that dance. I’ve realized it before – and other people have pointed it out to me – but last night I really understood that Matt has given me a great gift through his friendship and brotherhood.

He is one of the few people here – and one of the few people in my entire life outside of my family – who has loved me purely, deeply, and faithfully, through all the time I’ve known him. I don’t know where that love came from. But it has been there all along, and it has manifested itself in all sorts of ways. With him, as is also very true with my sister C, I am loved (and even adored, on occasion) simply for being me. There’s no need to earn any love; I don’t have to do anything specific or be a certain way – the love is just automatically there. And it’s difficult for me to understand sometimes, because I’m used to having to earn (at least on some level) love and respect and all that. It’s how our society works. It’s how most of us have been conditioned and wired.

But with those two – in relation to me – it’s an entirely unconditional love. And let me be clear – it’s not a romantic love, either – which is very different (lest anyone get the wrong idea). I don’t know how else to explain it except that it’s the type of natural, unearned love that inspires patience, longsuffering, joy, forgiveness, trust, and all sorts of other good things.

And … I haven’t always been good at reciprocating that love. Maybe I’ve been better with C, because she’s crazy-awesome. and she’s a sister, which make the dynamics easier and simpler. But with Matt, I’ve been difficult to deal with at times, and I’ve said/done potentially/probably hurtful things, and worst of all – I’ve avoided or otherwise neglected. And I’m sorry for that, because last night I realized that yet again, Matt had done something for my good and wellbeing. Even though he himself was not feeling well, he dragged me, kicking and screaming (figuratively) and protesting and hitting (literally), to the Barrister’s Ball so that I wouldn’t miss out on a rite of passage that I had deemed too silly and unimportant.

And as was the case when he emailed me about the Janet Reno/WLA event last year, and insisted that I go, even texting me to remind me on the day-of; as was the case when he dropped everything to come counsel me through a family friend’s very sudden and untimely death; and as is the case every time he dishes out honest advice in a letter, he had my best in mind last night. He didn’t want me to regret my choice to miss out on the last big bash of law school – a chance to get all fancy-looking and see friends at their best before the rush of exams begins and the whirlwind of graduation hits. I finally put all the pieces together as this song came on and we took care not to step on each others’ toes. And I am so grateful for being able to recognize the great gifts of friendship that I’ve been given.

Really, C should get a song too. Because she loves me that way too. Sacrificially, purely, deeply, loyally, perpetually. I don’t get it. I just don’t get it. I’ve done nothing to deserve all her love – and all I can say is that through her, I can see in a tangible way what kind of love we’re supposed to have for our brothers and sisters in Christ. C, you know I love you (and I know you’re reading this!).

So…I’ll end the sappy love-fest. But, this is such a blessing to be able to write about a brother and sister in Jesus who love the way that they do because of Christ and His power that enables us to really love with the type of love written about in I Corinthians 13. Thanks be to God.

Won’t you be a good boy

Listen closely and enjoy

All the benefits that getting wisdom brings

Give her esteem

She is priceless and supreme

She will crown your head with more honor than kings

Get her boy and let yourself surrender

Run alone with her and never fall

She is wisdom and the most praiseworthy trait of all, of them all

Embrace her and the love she brings will save you

To the Father’s justifiable ways

She is wisdom waiting with her prize

Garland of grace

Do you have none

Do you cry out for the One

Would you offer anything to understand (Listen closely to her)

Study her well

And in time the truth will tell

How it’s wisdom that completely makes her man

She will now, so

Get her boy and let yourself surrender

Run alone with her and never fall

She is wisdom and the most praiseworthy trait of all, of them all

Embrace her and the love she brings will save you

To the Father’s justifiable ways

She is wisdom waiting with her prize

Garland of grace

- Garland of Grace, Smalltown Poets.

There aren’t that many days of law school left… if today is April 4, that means that I could be completely finished with every class, every exam, and every paper in exactly one month – provided that I become a Speedy Gonzalez and get everything done and take my any-day/eight-hour exam early. Potentially, just thirty short days stand between me and the official end of my law school education.

It’s a surreal thought. I remember calculating my law school graduation date back in fourth or fifth grade, when I had already established that I wanted to be a lawyer… First it took me a while to figure out my theoretical college graduation year… and then I had to find out how long law school lasted, in order to determine that 2008 would be the magical year. It’s been sixteen years since God first placed in my heart a dream and a calling to be an attorney. Sixteen years. That’s a long time. And this is the year that it all comes true [provided that I don't die or become otherwise incapacitated between now and June - sorry for being momentarily morbid, folks - I've had a little too much Trusts & Estates class].

* * *

I had one of my 1L sisters over for dinner tonight, and as we dished over slightly-better-than-standard, home-cooked, creamy chicken and pasta fare, our conversation took winds and turns and eventually meandered over to a topic oft-revisited on and near this campus. The topic doesn’t have an official name, though it has plenty of synonyms and correlates: inadequacy. insecurity. anxiety. doubt. unmet expectations. weakness. fear. regret.

Together we confessed our occasional (and sometimes not-so-occasional) lapses into those dark spaces. As a 1L, she still has the majority of her law school career in front of her. So many options and opportunities, and yet only so many hours in a day. To compound the problem, with every opportunity that she forgoes, doors naturally – yet irrevocably – close. Never mind that those doors were not open to the vast majority of American law students anyway; in all likelihood, the only thing she and her peers will see in that moment is the door closing, and with it, a flash of doubt about the wisdom of their choices.

And me, I’m at the other end of the journey -  but my status as a 3L doesn’t render me immune to the same attacks of doubt. As a 3L, my work here is almost done. Even as I prepare to rise from my knees, dust off my hands, and accept my juris doctor degree, doubt haunts me as well. My series of choices have long been made, and I’ve finished three years of climbing my way through a decision tree. And here I am. I’ve ended up somewhere – though only when I am removed far enough away in time and space will I be able to truly assess the position I currently occupy.

When I look back in the future, will I regret the path I chose?

* * *

In my law school years, I’ve abided by a general philosophy of prioritizing my Christian fellowship and spiritual growth; developing and nurturing personal friendships and relationships for mutual edification and/or evangelism; studying criminal law and trial advocacy with deliberate intensity; and getting close-to-sufficient sleep so as to remain as mentally sane as possible.

In my most calm and coolly reasoned moments, I laud my own efforts to maintain these particular priorities because I (currently) believe they most closely reflect the tools I need to harmonize my God-given calling as a Christ-follower and as a Christ-follower-who-happens-to-be-a- criminal-lawyer. There are, however, times when I begin to wonder if I’ve made some grave mistakes along the way that I will regret.

Maybe I should have tried out for the Law Review after all. Maybe I shouldn’t have spent as much time sleeping or socializing. Maybe I should have made more efforts to network by attending the Thursday night happy hours. Maybe I should have done another clinical. Maybe I should have taken Tax. Maybe I should have written more papers. Maybe I should have applied to V5 firms. Maybe I shouldn’t have waited on the clerkships. Maybe I should have gotten to know more professors. Maybe I should have cast my social net more widely by joining more student organizations. Maybe I should have chosen a different firm. Maybe I should have … maybe I shouldn’t have…

Apart from these pangs of fear, I’m not generally one to look backwards much in life. I may ponder the past with frequency, but I rarely regret significant decisions that I made along the way. That’s why it feels so strange – because for this, the most arduous personal mission I’ve embarked on to date, I have the most fear of regret… but this is the area where I ought to have the most confidence. Because I have prayed over this path, and prayed through every step for the last sixteen years. And I have confidence (most of the time) that God has brought me exactly where He wants me to be.  And I know He can redeem my mistakes, where I have misstepped along the way. So … what’s up with the crazy doubts?

I think what it is, or at least part of what it is, is a tendency to measure “success” on terms apart from God-centered goals. During my three years at this school, I’ve been surrounded by at least five thousand brilliant legal minds, most of whom launch from this place with spectacular career trajectories. It is not surprising that I watch the rockets taking off around me and follow them with my eyes as they soar to all manners of terrific legal jobs. People are out there writing new constitutions, enacting much-needed legal reforms, running for political office, freeing the oppressed from prisons, fighting against human rights abuses, innovating creative legal solutions, setting judicial precedents that will govern for generations to come… and then… there’s me.

I have, compared to so many people around me, relatively humble goals. Well…as viewed from one lens, my goals are humble. I’m aiming for a federal prosecutorship – and not as a bigwig Presidential-appointee United States Attorney… I want to be one level lower, an Assistant U.S. Attorney. And while it would be grand to do that in the Eastern District of New York, I don’t demand it. I think I’ll be happy in any place where I can make a difference.

I’ve also thought about teaching criminal law at a college somewhere. And that gig doesn’t need to be Stanford, Yale, Harvard, or Princeton. It could be a state school – I’d be cool with that – I just want the chance to influence young minds and expand their worlds in a way that Kevin (influential college professor of mine) did for me.

And then, at the tail end of my career, I think I might want to see if I could become a juvenile court judge somewhere. While my colleagues here at school tend to aim for the federal bench – and some are already eyeing positions in the Supreme Court – I think I would prefer to serve the children in a community. That’s where my heart beats.

But see, my goals – measured against the much-higher ideals and dreams of my peers here seem…a little small. Sometimes I sense my parents questioning my decision to come to this place to receive this fancy education – if my dreams and goals are only so small. Under their reasoning, this fancy degree wasn’t necessary to do the things I want to do. And that makes me wonder sometimes – did I make a mistake?

* * *

If I could only keep my eyes on the God-centered goals, though, I would not measure myself and my choices against those of others around me. God’s got plans for them, but I’m only responsible for being obedient with regard to the plans He has for ME.

In the end, when this world comes to a finish and we are all gathered up to heaven to finally meet our Father in heaven, I’m only going to need to answer about the decisions I made for His Kingdom and His will. A view focused on anything apart from that will lead to fears and doubts and all that other nastiness. That’s not productive. And it focuses on the wrong thing.

The following illustrates that final point – yesterday, I was surfing Facebook, and checked out the profile of my buddy Georgie, who finally friended me this week. In the personal information section, I saw this -

About me: It’s not.

That’s the material point.

It would be an understatement to say that I’m a reflective person. I think pretty deeply about a certain set of things and a certain group of people in my life who are important to me. I think, and I ponder, and mentally ruminate, and then sometimes I write. This public blog is the third of my three currently active blogs; the first is semi-private, and the second is absolutely private.

The second blog is the one that gets the least attention, though it is the blog that most closely mirrors my uninhibited, most genuine self – with all its trappings of fear and joy and anxiety and triumph. That blog gets the writings of the highest of my highs, and the lowest of the lows. Today I went back to look through it for the first time in a few weeks, and revisited a lone entry from last fall. It followed a silent summer, which is too bad, because there was plenty to say then…

By the time fall rolled around, I was angsty and restless, stretched to the limit like a proper piece of taffy, and emotionally aimless in parts of my heart. If a sound were to illustrate my state of being at the time, it would be – I think – like a little metal pellet being shaken randomly inside of an old soup can. No grand echo, no purposeful boom. Just…tinny. Irritatingly tinny. And chaotic.

The chaos and restlessness were enough to prevent me from blogging extensively [or hardly at all] about what was going on then. This lone entry represents a rare moment of quiet when I calmed down enough to reflect again, and write. I wrote about things that three girlfriends had sat down and said to me that night. I wrote them down because I didn’t want to forget what they said, and it was important to me then. It’s still important to me now.

Comments on what they said is another matter for another day. Today, I was convicted by reading the words of one of my sisters – just reading them, I could hear her voice speaking to me as clearly as I heard her, sitting across from the dinner table that night. That was six months ago. Were it not for this blogpost, that conversation would have long been forgotten.

I haven’t seen her since we celebrated her birthday at the beginning of November. Can it be that five months have already passed between now and then? She’s missed out on so much of my life, so many lessons I’ve learned, between now and then. And who knows what host of things I’ve missed out on in her world. Seeing her words jump out off the screen today, I knew I had to resurface. It was time.

It wasn’t always time. I had my reasons for staying hidden for so long. It wasn’t just the facial reason that I gave – that I was busy – though, doubtless, I was plenty busy, with more on my plate than I could handle on more than many occasions. But more than that, I needed the time away. In a way, I think I needed to break away from my usual support groups [or at least some of them] and walk on my own in a different direction – take a walk by the ocean, take a hike through the woods, trek out on the desert sand, wander in circles and just set out by myself for a while. Not that I didn’t still connect with friends – but I connected less deeply with the ones I kept around, and then virtually disappeared from the rest [like this particular sister]. It was lonely, but my soul craved that loneliness as much as it hated it. Because it meant that I had to be alone with God, and that’s something I knew I had to learn how to do – it’s a way I had to learn how to be – before I could shake the chaos and return to normalcy.

So that’s what I did. I did what I thought was necessary, and as circumstances around me got worse right around November and December, I turned inward – and upward. It was a painful, purifying experience. It was monumentally difficult at some moments. Curl in a ball on my bed and cry myself to sleep kind of difficult. Sit on the floor next to my desk and kneel to pray and weep to God kind of difficult. Worship through music and struggle through the parts about God loving me kind of difficult. Looking back, I know that God provided strength and love enough – even though I didn’t always feel that way.

Like I said, it was purifying. And I know God used that desert to bring about growth and newness in my heart. He didn’t keep me in the desert for too long; He brought me through it before I thought He would. But still, I didn’t resurface. I kind of did, for some people, but never reconnected with this sister. Until today.

And even though I had good reasons for disconnecting, I had to repent as I reached out to her today, asking her to join me sometime in the next week for dinner. I had to repent because I really am sorry that I waited so long to reestablish our relationship. And I shouldn’t have disconnected in the way that I did. Signals are important in any case, and total disconnection the way that I did it was unjustifiable. I expect more from others – and certainly from myself.

I hope she writes back soon; I expect that she will. And I will meet with her, and give her a big hug, and tell her in person how sorry I am for being irresponsible. I’ll explain the things that warrant explaining, though not in the way of excuse… just in the way of explanation. I don’t think it’s too late to apologize. It’s never too late.