House on the Rock

I've never thought too hard about the saying, "there's a light at the end of the tunnel." But when I really sit and ponder it, it implies that the tunnel is dark. If the only hope we have is the glimmer of light at the end of it, there is certain darkness for the rest of the tunnel ahead. And that's exactly how the future feels: dark. It is impossible to see, to see through, to feel our way forward when we can barely see our hand in front of our faces. That's the path I've been walking. And even though there is a light at the end, the tunnel I'm in now is dark. You're probably tired of reading about this journey by now but it has been one of the most soul-shaping endeavors I've been on. From the torrential tears to the moments of rejoicing, I've felt more stripped bare and desperate for the presence of God than ever before. It seems like time and time again, Psalm 139 has been making an appearance in my life. A professor quoted it. A chapel...

What has been really cool throughout this entire process is being able to look back and see God's hand in all of it. Moments that felt so foggy are now crystal clear and we have no choice but to say, "Wow God. You did that!"  We had been praying for clarity. Not finding a house felt like a frustrating cycle of God-absenteeism, praying without answers, and running hard into closed doors. Getting rejected from different jobs seemed to be nothing more than an instance of God smiting me, a silly sinner, for my pride and thinking I know best. Paving out our path only to find it reach dead end after dead end put me in a place of wondering whether God was hearing me and questioning how he could really be working things for my good. And yet in the midst of it all, we prayed for clarity. I finally found a school that wanted to hire me - a successful middle school not far from my home with Christian administrators and a friendly workplace environment. It seemed like maybe I had fin...

 A chapel speaker came to Taylor and talked to us about a vehicle accident which robbed the lives of his wife and children. Leaving him completely alone, he thought there was absolutely no way his pain could get any worse. He was at his lowest point. There was no going any lower. And yet, he said something I will never forget: "Every time I looked down, I saw the face of Christ on the cross. When I thought I was at my lowest, Jesus stooped lower still." Jesus Christ left heavenly glory to come to Earth, die a brutal death he did not  deserve, and meet people in their deepest suffering. He is the relational answer to a world of hurt and brokenness. He was there with Job on the dung heap. He suffered a death we cannot fathom to a world that shook their fists at him and said, "how could you ever let this happen to me?" After reading chapter 31 of Job, I feel for Job. I understand why he would feel so fist-shakingly robbed and discarded. He really does seem to be the pi...

Throughout this whole journey, I have been so quick to turn proud and bitter. I want this job, I believe I am qualified for this job, everything about my life feels like I should have this job. I was on a walk with Kate and started to explain to her my thinking: "I just wish God knew..." I stopped in my tracks.  I wish  God knew? The omniscient, all-seeing star breather who hems me in behind and before and holds the sum total of my very hairs in his hand? Did I really just attempt to claim that there is something God does not know? And I realized that has been my entire mindset throughout this whole process. I have been proud, thinking my way is best, trying to force my will upon God's. I've been treating life like an emergency where it is up to me to get my plans to God just in time or else my entire future will fall apart. There has not been a single moment where I have slowed down enough to ask God what his will for my life is. There has not even been a time where ...

It became pretty obvious pretty quickly that things were not going to fall into place at the same time. It was mid-March when we felt like Westfield might be the move. Joe would have to tell his principal that he was leaving his current school long before he would even have an offer. I would have to commit to that area, which might mean turning down job offers from previous schools, even if I didn't know that I would have a job in the Westfield area. And, to make matters worse, we would have to commit to a place to live regardless of whether we had a job. A lot of saying yes with not a lot of visibility.  One night, at premarital counseling, our conversation drifted to the future. Jeff looked at us and said, "at some point, I just need to know how committed you are to moving here with us." Without really thinking, Joe and I looked at each other and nodded. "We're in."  And there it was. We were committing to a place where we had no guaranteed jobs, no place ...

A weird thing is that ever since I was in high school, my grandma has always told me about the English department at Westfield High School. She had heard sparkling reviews from friends in the area. I had always dismissed it, thinking, "I surely won't end up there." I knew nothing about it, but a fact about me is that I always think I know what is best for my life. So it had not been much of a consideration. As you probably know from my last post, I really wanted to be in the city. When I found out our friends, mentors, and premarital counselors, Jeff and Steph, were going to be planting a church in Westfield, I thought, "cool! Maybe one day we'll drive up from the city and check it out."  But strangely, the city lights grew dimmer in my eyes. Jeff mentioned something in passing about us "needing to be in community," echoing the nostalgic sentiments I was feeling for the tiny town of Upland. I scrolled the Westfield website and sent my resume over t...

Ever since my sophomore education class took a field trip to Chicago,  I thought I wanted to teach in the city. I loved the hustle, the noise, the people, the diversity, and the opportunity for impact. Urban schools were such a stark contrast from any of  the  cornfield-surrounded monotony I had previously known. I felt called, maybe, to teach in the city. So to meet a man who was teaching in the city? Huge. To marry that man? What a dream. It felt like everything was falling into place. I applied at a school three minutes from his, so close to the White River that we could kayak to work together. We had found a church we enjoyed, people we knew well, and something about the roar of city life felt like the lifeblood of my teaching career. It seemed perfect.  Sort of. Around March, we started looking for houses. Joe and I spent hours driving around, envisioning our lives in "the house with the red door" or "the watermelon house on 58th." We scrolled Zillow as if ther...

I have been ridden with a weird assortment of dietary hangups lately, resulting in days worth of constipation or (sometimes) the opposite. And that's not really relevant but last weekend, Joe said, "you know what you  haven't done in a while?" And I panicked because I thought he knew. But then he sweetly said, "blog," and I sighed a relieved, "you're right." So here's to blogging. And hopefully the other thing I haven't done in a while will happen soon. It's April 19. Every square inch of my agenda is covered with to-do lists and countdowns. I have a test I should be studying for but hot-gluing boutonnieres sounds better. Graduation is right around the corner, followed by a week of what Joe House calls, "Just Chillin," and then moving everything we own into an apartment, making an eternal covenant to each other, partying in Mexico, and starting life as husband and wife. It feels surreal.  Everything I do is the tempura mut...