I realized this week how tired i am, emotionally, physically, mentally.
This semester has been hard in many ways. I'm taking 21 credit hours and I have to plan my life by the minute in order to get my homework completed and have time to work two jobs, see friends, eat, and sleep a little. Every time I turn in an assignment that is only half of what I wish it could be, I feel guilty, tired, sad. I try, but I fail so many times.
I desire to live life to the fullest, but does that mean stretching myself to the limit? Instead of writing a paper on literary criticism or Victor Hugo, I long to have conversations with the people that I care about. I long to serve like I did this summer in Vietnam, rather than thinking about myself, my time, my homework every day.
I have asked myself multiple times if school is worth it. What is the point? Then sometimes my professors pull a strand of light from the dusty words. Strands of truth about life and people, and God's grace. And I again devote myself to my classes.
God's grace is a beautiful thing.
Where would I be without his grace to withhold me when I feel as if I am going to fall into a heap on the ground. It is his grace that allows me to be human, to forgive myself for my faults and keep living for Him. It is his grace that allows me to believe in Him, in his love, his forgiveness, his power.
This semester I read through 1 and 2 Samuel, and I read of David and his struggles, which were far worse than my own. God was teaching him to trust and to obey. Perhaps this is the lesson I need to learn as well. Yet even with this knowledge I feel drained.
Hopkins (as usual) says it best:
|WHEN will you ever, Peace, wild wooddove, shy wings shut,|
|Your round me roaming end, and under be my boughs?|
|When, when, Peace, will you, Peace? I’ll not play hypocrite|
|To own my heart: I yield you do come sometimes; but|
|That piecemeal peace is poor peace. What pure peace allows||5|
|Alarms of wars, the daunting wars, the death of it?|
|O surely, reaving Peace, my Lord should leave in lieu|
|Some good! And so he does leave Patience exquisite,|
|That plumes to Peace thereafter. And when Peace here does house|
|He comes with work to do, he does not come to coo,||10|
|He comes to brood and sit.|
I long for peace.