exhaustion.

four months in, and i can already tell that this year is going to be particularly tiring.

my days are framed by how quickly i can get back into bed. i sleep as long as i can in the morning, i often nap in the afternoons, and i go to bed as early as possible. my ability to sustain long days has been decreasing weekly; the energy that i used to have has been long absent from my life. no amount of coffee, tea, or zzzquil that i use seems to be of any assistance. but then i realized, this isn’t a problem drugs can fix, because it doesn’t originate in my body.

my soul is weary.

it aches with a pain much stronger than any physical one i have felt before. my soul is going through this intense season of questions, answers, and changes; all that came unexpectedly and overwhelmed my life. honestly, its been brutal. raw. real. incredibly real. my tired soul affects every aspect of my life, my body included. march was an unwelcome reminder of this as i laid in a hospital bed twice in one week fearful and unaware of what made my body ache the way it did.

but through the midst of all this weariness and pain, there have been some incredible moments. friendships and relationships have been strengthened, i have relearned more about myself than i knew i had forgotten, i’ve learned how to rest, i’ve learned how to cry, and i’ve been taught how to rejoice for the beautiful moments of life.

like all seasons, this too will past. as i sit here in bed i can only hope that this season has only a short time left in it. this exhaustion of mine permeates into the smallest cracks of my weak heart and pushes itself until i finally acknowledge it. and when i do, i break so quickly and harder than the time before.

so right now, i fight this parasite of exhaustion and force myself to stay up later, eat more ben & jerry’s, and not sleep my days away.

a full grown tree.

“What I do expect and hope for you is that you will become even more of what you are already: steady, funny, and not one to suffer fools. I can’t wait to see what you do. You are, no longer, a seed, or even a sapling. You are a full grown tree. We’re all eager to see what the fruit will be.”

these words were written to me on the day of my high school graduation by one of my family members. i’ve been rereading them recently, thinking of who i am and what i expect out of these college years. for too long i’ve been told that college will be the best years of my life, where i will find out who i am. it’s true that i’ve learned much about myself, but not in the way i expected. instead, i’ve only learned what i’m not. i’m not a photographer

     an artist

     a scientist

im not adventurous or brave

     crafty, athletic, super outgoing, an excellent cook, musical

     the list goes on and on.

but none of this matters.

i’ve realized that college is not meant to teach me how to define myself. 

as a child of christ, the only thing that is supposed to define me is redemption. i’ve struggled with this concept of identity because i refuse to put my identity in christ. i eagerly look for something that i can put all my focus in, whether that be my academics, a person, or a job. however, every single time i look for an answer or reassurance from the things of this world, i am failed. the result of this misguided faith is a pain and brokenness all too real that leads me back to christ begging for help.

the wonder of christ is that he will never fail us, despite how many times we fail him. he is who i am; he is my identity; he is the fruit of this full grown tree. i dont need a list of adjectives, a personality test (ENTJ, for those who are curious), a major, or anything else to tell me what kind of person i am. all i need is christ.

and that’s enough.

“write [sober]”

the words aren’t coming easily to my mind; my fingers aren’t flying over the keyboard allowing my thoughts to be formed into words I can see, feel, and ultimately, edit. one of the beauties of the written word is the control that the author has over them. an author has the ability to create and delete, transform a reader through the intensity and imagery of the words that seem to float off of a page. but even now, i don’t feel the control i want to have over the words i’m writing.

if we’re honest here, i love to be in control. i could chose to blame this on my oldest child tendencies and the maturity i had to quickly develop so i could adapt to the different seasons of life. but its so much more than that. its a distrust. my inability to release control to someone else is both an indirect and direct distrust in God. this strange part of my life, where i am both an adult and a child, has required me to give up control.

this is perhaps the most difficult thing i have ever had to do. everything in my life is out of my control. i’m currently waiting to hear from two schools (again) so i can decide whether or not to transfer from app state. the most precious of relationships have been taken out of my incapable hands. my daily schedule is a revolving routine of school, work, and finding time to eat and sleep and possibly socialize. God has pushed me to my emotional and physical limits during these past few months, forcing me to truly surrender control to him. it’s a painful and exhausting process. i feel like i’ve been pruned like a farmer would his crops so that they could grow fully into what they’re supposed to be. this is my pruning. things have been cut out of my life, taken out of my control, so that i may grow into the relationship i am meant to have with God.

there is one thing i do have control over though: my response. i want to respond to all of these difficulties with joy, contentment, and grace, knowing that God is working to make all of this together for the best. and even though there are days or weeks that this doesn’t seem to be the case, i know its true.

i write for two reasons. one, it clears my mind. i actually prefer texting at times so i can visibly see my crazy written into words. two, i write for myself. I write so i can process, articulate, and communicate. but now i want to write for myself and for others. so, to quote my dear ernest hemingway, “write drunk; edit sober” and dye your hair when you need to feel some type of control, like i always do.