High School Blues

I'm not sure if this post is what you think it is, but we'll see.

This week I was knocked on the head again with the High-School-Flashback Pixie Stick. I had one mere opportunity to hang out for about an hour with my friend Justin, who called me and asked last-minute if I'd visit Francis Lewis High School, my alma mater, to say high to the Army Instructors (AIs) of the JROTC program. I did just send them my family Christmas letter, but I wasn't prepared to visit them within the fifteen minutes Justin was going to come pick me up. I felt funny, even though I had visited them a number of times within the last few years, because as I returned again and again each year, there were less faces I recognized and less who cared about me...except the AIs. But I did enjoy seeing the AIs and knew they liked it when I dropped by to say hello. And I knew if I didn't go now with Justin, I probably wouldn't make the time the rest of the week to say hello.

So what struck me during my visit was how these thoughts and feelings started rushing back from the last few times I had visited Franny Lew. The last time I visited last year and the year before that, my eyes were opened to how I didn't let people see God and how He was the driving force in my life. I tried to be as kind, patient, and nice with as much integrity as I could to try and hold my life together - to be strong for everyone else who was falling apart. But some of them couldn't see Him. I stood in the way of His glory.

As I stood in the hallway right outside the JROTC classroom with Justin asking 1SG small-talk questions about people in JROTC that I should've known, I thought about how many opportunities I had let me slip by to really care about the souls and lives of my fellow JROTC leaders and all who followed me. And I let myself be praised for my "perfection" and "good heart" without pointing back to God. I absorbed His glory and kept it for myself without desiring to really get to know those He loves and taking it home with me as soon as the day was over.

I cared about those who cared about me and thank God He was working through me in my weaknesses and lack of training as He was pursuing my good friends Raymond, Mary, and Priscilla. It was totally God and not me that brought them closer to Him. But it was hard for me to care about those who didn't pursue me as a friend, and I didn't even bother to try because I was so scared. I avoided the opportunities God had given me to reach more of those who needed Him.

I was looking around at my high school with new eyes, where all I saw were lost souls and how much I wished I could go back and share with my peers the things I've struggled with and the things I've learned from His persistence.

Having dinner with an old high school friend further crushed me, as we asked each other about how we're doing and I tried sharing with him about my experience at Urbana. We got around to talking about life, the purpose for it and all the evil the surrounds us. I kept asking him questions but listened to him as well, but I also tried with as much love and grace to point out the contradictions and inconsistencies he had in his thoughts about life. I prayed and prayed for God to work through me as we talked.

My heart completely sunk, though, that whenever I shared about God, he'd say, "Oh, Tamaria. I'm glad to see you're the same Tamaria I knew in high school."

Could he really not see how different I was since high school? How much courage from God was needed for me to even be talking to him about God? How much I cared about him but how much more God cared about him?

I was confident by the end of the night when he said, "I know what you're trying to say, but I just can't buy it," that I needed to trust God in His mighty works. It was never about me the moment I called my friend up to meet with me. It was never about me the moments I shared about God with him. It was never about whether or not anything I said got through to him. It was up to God.

Maybe I should've or could've said things in a different way, with a different approach. Maybe I needed to call him more often. Maybe I needed to pray for him more often. In any case, as I prayed later on that night after I returned home, I didn't worry. I knew God was pursuing him and that He was using me despite my weaknesses and maybe lack of eloquence or profound enlightenment. It seemed impossible for his stubborn soul to be saved, but if God chose him, he would be - no matter how much or how long it took. So I will wait on Him. I will pray big and bold for him to the God who is sovereign over all, creator, and revealer. And I am confident that He will answer in His time.

P.S. I didn't mean in my previous Urbana/Room Swap post that I didn't want to talk about Urbana! I'm sorry. I meant that I felt like it was expected for my next post to be about Urbana, but there was just too much to share for me to write all about it. I wanted my Urbana experience to permeate through my life and through my blog posts, rather than saying, "Here's what happened at Urbana. That is what happened there and that is where it is going to stay. The End." Plus, I'd rather talk about it in person with you than have you read it here and then not ask me about it at all when we talk. Also, I am still processing some things. I'm sorry for the miscommunication!