Once upon a time there was a girl. This girl was seventeen years old and a senior in high school. Her weekly schedule consisted of attending her prestigious private school (dressed from head-to-toe in her wannabe hipster Urban Outfitters attire) from about eight-oh-five am (she was always a few minutes late, but her economics teacher never seemed to care) til about three o'clock (school ended at two-forty, but she would almost always spend at least ten or fifteen minutes in the parking lot with her friends, catching up on each other's days). This girl would then drive her sister home, but not until after they had stopped by McAlister's Deli, the not-so-hot spot in Birmingham, Al, for sweet tea and chocolate chip cookies. This girl would then study for a couple hours, run, and then head right back up to the school for rehearsal for whatever play the drama department was currently perfecting, and in which she was always the star. Her weekends were filled with sleepovers, football games, catching predators, and trips to Doodles, which was the slightly hotter hangout for Bham high schoolers.
Then this girl turned eighteen and went to college.
This girl was not naive. She had known that college would be hard. She had foreseen the difficulties of saying goodbye to her best friends of twelve years, of giving up her private school fairytale lifestyle, of wearing tshirts and shorts to class instead of skirts and heels, of stepping down from the Barbara B Barker stage and relinquishing the spotlight to her younger friends. But she hadn't realized that her worth came from these worthless things.
You can guess where I'm going with this.
This weekend I went home to see my high school's fall musical. I had been looking forward to it all week. I was the biggest drama geek in high school: skipping class to hang out with my friends in the green room, singing duets on the stage "just because," eating all of my meals in the auditorium instead of going home. I loved planning my daily schedule around the times posted on the callboard, of course allotting for time that I would spend after rehearsal hanging out in the parking lot behind the auditorium. I loved the feeling that performing gave me; it was a wonderful, self-glorifying rush, singing on that stage, and nothing else could make me feel that way. Then I went to college, and I began performing on a much larger stage, but in a much smaller way.
This year, I'm not going to rehearsals every night. I'm not performing in shows. I'm not sitting next to my best friends during class who will clap for me when I get a good grade on a test or give me a hug when I don't. I don't have friends to compliment my carefully planned outfits every day because I'm wearing tshirts and nike shorts and Chacos just like every sorority girl on the planet. And instead of eating lunch at the same table with the same girls in the same gym that I've been in since I was twelve, I'm eating at a sorority house with 75 other girls that I still don't know all the names of, even though bid day was almost three months ago.
I'm starting completely from scratch. I'm redefining my life. The foundation that I spent twelve years building...? Not so solid. It crumbled, as it should have. I'm not meant to be in one place forever. No one is.
I've had to redefine my life in college in a big way. And in four years, when I graduate, I'll have to build another life from nothing all over again. And again when I get a job. Or move. Or get married. My life, from this point on, is never going to stop changing.
I've realized recently that maybe, had I not been so wrapped up in these meaningless things, my transition to college would have been much easier. Had I not defined myself by the group of girls that I met with after third period every day, had I not found my identity in the amount of time I spent in the auditorium, had I not placed so much importance on what outfit I was going to wear to school the next day...
These things were idols. If they hadn't have been, I wouldn't miss them so much. I filled my life with these things that I believed were truly fulfilling. But, the truth is, while these things might be wonderful, they don't last forever. They don't even last nearly as long as we would wish for them to. And that is a difficult pill to swallow. Friends will disappoint you, possessions will turn to dust, and talents will fade away.
But something that never disappoints, disintegrates, or fades, is the love of Christ. Which is why our identity is found in Him and only Him. If we attempt to place our trust or define ourselves in anything else, we'll find ourselves lost and disillusioned the next time we're forced to start over. So, the only option is to lean on Jesus. Everything else... well, it's sinking sand.
But something that never disappoints, disintegrates, or fades, is the love of Christ. Which is why our identity is found in Him and only Him. If we attempt to place our trust or define ourselves in anything else, we'll find ourselves lost and disillusioned the next time we're forced to start over. So, the only option is to lean on Jesus. Everything else... well, it's sinking sand.
"Truly my soul finds rest in God alone; my salvation comes from Him. Truly He is my rock and my salvation; He is my fortress, I will never be shaken."
Psalm 62:1-2
