Joy and Unknowingly Joining God's Movement.

I've had a lot of thoughts lately that I reply to in my head by saying, "Ooh, that'd make a good blog entry!" I haven't blogged on a single one yet, but now I'm going to try to combine them into one and hope that they somehow relate to one another (and that this isn't as long-winded as it could be).

One of the things I've been thinking about is how hard it is for me in this exact stage of life to just be present with a moment. It used to be a lot easier for me to just exist in a moment that somehow seemed unbound by time. It seems to be a contradiction, to be so in a moment of time to be unaware of the concept of time, but somehow I know that state because I've experienced it.

Maybe it's the cool of the fall, maybe it's the stress of feeling like I'm in a place I am ill-equipped for, but whatever it is, I keep returning to memories from years ago. One memory that has kept coming back, like a ripple in a small enclosed area that keeps reverberating in space, is the memory of the jacuzzi.

In high school, one of my best friends and I had this tradition of sneaking into this jacuzzi that was owned by a condo out on the Island. There were a few variations to the tradition, but the overall effect was, we would sneak into this jacuzzi late at night. We snuck past the "No Trespassing" sign without a second thought. It became our place. It was as though we always belonged there. We never did anything crazy. We were quiet and respectful. Sometimes we invited friends and sometimes it was just us. It was our escape. We could be joking around or having a serious conversation. Some of our deepest conversations happened out there. Somehow there was an openness there that we couldn't experience in the light of day in the realm of our normal lives.

I remember the feeling of the water. I remember how badly our frozen feet hurt when we first stepped into the hot water. I remember how cold it was in the dead of winter when we ran from the car to the jacuzzi in our bathing suits. I remember the sounds of the ocean waves lapping onto the shore, just  a couple dozen yards from the hot tub. I remember the stars above and the way the moon shone through the clouds on so many nights. It was almost a sacred place.

I have missed being so present with people, with nature, with God, with a single moment. I have been so boggled by a sense of unbelonging in some ways. I am in a new place and I feel right about it. Mostly. But there are still so many questions. Am I supposed to be working where I am? Where am I supposed to live? How is making an actual living possible? I have no doubts that I am supposed to be here. I have doubts about HOW I am supposed to be now that I am here.

I am living in so many moments that don't exist, mentally and emotionally trying on different solutions as though I was picking out the right dress for prom. There's the hope of this beautiful dress, with elements of a few of the special dresses I have tried on. This color, with that waist-line, that intricate beading, and those materials. It would make a beautiful dress. But if such a dress existed, would it really fit? Would it even be as beautiful as I envisioned it?

My saving grace in this has been reading through my journal. Old entries. I had all these ideas of what I wanted. Often God has led me to places that have been different than what I've wanted:

1) I wanted to go to college in Florida, where I had a Bright Future's scholarship with my name on it and acceptance to an academically competitive school. I ended up doing Mission Year in Chicago.
2) I wanted to continue living in Englewood and go to school there afterwards because it fit with my understanding of how God wanted my life to be.
3) Then I wanted to go to school at UIC, where I had already been accepted into the school and into the Honors program. I ended up at a private, Christian school (incidentally, since I was a young teen, I have *never* wanted to go to a Christian school). But I still did live in the inner-city.
4) I ended up moving out of the type of neighborhood I envisioned myself living in. I ended up in a neighborhood that, to me, seemed quite posh in comparison. I moved up near my college.
5) I intended to major in Psychology, but I ended up majoring in Biblical and Theological Studies.
6) After graduating, I intended to stay in Chicago and to start a home church with friends. I ended up moving here, to South Carolina, to become part of a church and God knows what else.

I was amazed at one point, looking at all of these things, trying to make sense of it. I felt like I'd never chosen anything in my life until I moved to South Carolina. But hadn't I chosen each thing in that list?

So often people rely on God to close doors for them to know what to do. Strangely, the way God has often worked with me is by not closing doors. He hasn't closed doors. In fact, He's often left doors open to the very things I thought I wanted.

How? How have I so consistently chosen against that which I so very desired?

Joy.

Somehow, at each step, when I was faced with what I wanted and what else was available, joy is what so often grounded me. This isn't always the case, and it isn't the case for two of the numbered examples above either. But it has so often been that indication of God's movement.

I remember when I was in high school, I imagined myself leaving everything behind, stepping into a canoe somewhere and seeing where it led me. I have lived in the hope of one day being able to do that in life without realizing I was in the darn canoe the whole time. How much I have feared and fretted and kept myself from living in the moment when the whole time I have been exactly where I have tearfully, fervently prayed and hoped to one day be.

I am here.

The phrase that keeps coming to mind to describe where I am now is that I feel as though I have accidentally stepped into a stream that is now carrying me.

Joy has been part of what has kept me in the stream. I have made some darn foolish decisions based on joy.

I chose to move to the inner-city, far away from anyone I knew. I chose to stay. I chose to leave the neighborhood I thought I was staying in Chicago for. I turned down acceptance to a fairly prestigious university - actually two. And an honors program and full-fledged scholarship (that I worked hard to get) to boot! I chose a degree that is unmarketable, especially for my gender. I chose to move to South Carolina without any sort of job security and I am still very aware of that fact.

But I am overwhelmed with joy. And I see God pulling together pieces from my past and piecing them together here now. Things that I had journaled that I wanted in my life, just days before I found out about the option to move here... Seeing those desires finding root here. Seeing my purpose in Mission Year being rediscovered in a non-urban environment. Seeing my love for singing and teaching finding homes.

Joy keeps me present in the moment. Joy keeps me united to God's heart and His purposes for me. Joy directs the way I live my life. The decisions I make sometimes that look stupid. I doubt sometimes. But then I find myself seized by a joy and an assurance that I am still in the canoe in the stream. And God keeps proving to me piece by piece that I am okay. And I can see for myself that I have ended up with a life that is better than the one I dreamed for myself. Not better in a worldly sense. But better nonetheless. And I praise God.