That night, I was having my traditional “I just really want
to go home and spend some time with my brothers, away from all girls because
girls have way more drama than I can handle” moment. But along with that, I
realized how wrong I’d been acting toward one of my friends, trying to figure
out what to do about it, and realizing that deep down, I didn’t really want to change what I’d been doing. I’d
lost a heart of love toward her, and in its place seemed to be this disgusting
lump of hostility that I didn’t recognize. So I cried. And prayed. And asked
for prayer.
Fast-forward a week. Friday came along as usual, and I had
to decide whether I was going to Street Level Ministry that night. (A group
from Crown partners with a street evangelism ministry in the cities each Friday
night. God brought me there last semester. It’s a different story than this
one, but I’d share it sometime if you’d like.) The last few weeks of the
previous semester hadn’t seemed to be bearing fruit outside of a minor personal
impact, and during the first outing of the new semester, I hadn’t actually
spoken to anyone. Was I still supposed to be going? I couldn’t tell, but I
decided to go; the people are like family, and it’s the one time in the week I
get off campus.
Going was a good idea.
Kayla, one of the leaders in the ministry, asked me
questions that let me talk about the situation with my friend to someone
completely outside it. Alyssa, a woman about my age who was waiting for a ride
home when we spoke, is so close to knowing Jesus it hurts that she hasn’t met
Him yet. That conversation, though, reminded me of why God originally called me
to that ministry and why he wants us to talk to the people we don’t think will
listen to us. I came back to Crown overjoyed at how God works.
By the end of the next day, I was frustrated again—not by
God, exactly, but by my inability to even try to fix my friendship. By my fear
of talking to my family about what I do on Friday nights. God, who had seemed so good—so close—just
hours before now seemed like my backup, backup plan. Church wasn’t much help,
as I disagreed with the pastor’s interpretation of the passage he was speaking
on (which hardly ever happens), and I remained in this funk until Sunday night,
looking forward to chapel. But then, someone reminded me that chapel was going
to be outside, and I felt a series of objections run through me: I don’t want to be cold, and I forgot a
jacket, and I don’t have my ID to scan in, and I don’t know what they’re going
to make us do, and I really don’t like unknown things. Whiny me went anyway.
Going was a good idea.
They had set up the chapel band outside, near a bonfire. We
all circled around it and sang worship songs, interspersed with scripture
readings. Chapel officially went from 9:00 to around 10:00, but several of the
musicians and many Crownies stayed to keep singing and praying together. Song
after song played for another hour before those guitarists let their fingers
have a rest, and another person took their place. I didn’t leave until 11:45,
after quite a few conversations with Jesus. I just couldn’t leave. God kept me
there, long past my bedtime, reminding me that I am His. Being His, though,
can’t just mean the rewards of joy and the abundance of blessings I have. It
has to mean that I am His humble servant. By the end of the night I had a list
of people who I needed to apologize to, and a heart willing to do so.
That was a few weeks ago now, and (obviously) things aren’t perfect. I’m still having trouble with that friend, and I have to ask
God every day, multiple times per day to help me with that. The difference is that I’m no longer looking to blame anyone and everyone outside of myself. And in
admitting that I’m the one that needs to be humbled, the one that needs to be
changed by the Holy Spirit, I’ve found a source of freedom and joy.
In short, God is good. Be joyful in hope, patient in
affliction, faithful in prayer. And…
Going is usually a good idea.
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