Burning lungs, burning heart.

 It is so easy to get distracted.

 I have filled my life with distractions until I nearly suffocated under their weight. I said I trusted God to show me where to walk, what the next step in life was - but I wouldn't sit quietly long enough to listen him. A small corner of my conscious prodded me to stop filling my life with small nothings, to remember my God and seek after him, but I often muffled it with thoughts of "not yet. soon. after I _____." read, watch this show, work, spend time with family, sleep. So many excuses. Sometimes I assuaged the guilt by opening my Bible and dispassionately reading a chapter or by shooting off a quick prayer. But I knew the time was coming when I must once again get serious, set my feet firmly on the path, and seek His face.

The time has come.

Being in Ecuador, though only for a short time, has stirred something inside me. Yesterday nearly everyone was leaving for the day, so I went over to El Refugio.

I went there often in my high school years, a retreat center previously run by some very good friends, set at the base of a great hill/mountain ridge. Trails climb up the incline through the trees to meet low and high ropes courses, a zip line, a campfire circle, zigzagging up, up, up the steep slopes. This was my goal, to hike up until I found the perfect spot to sit and pray. The yearning for communion with my God grew stronger the more I thought of it. So I ventured out, lungs burning, calves shaking, up, up, as I settled into a steady rhythm. I suddenly remembered why I liked mountain climbing. 

Alone, I felt no pressure to go faster than I felt I could, no guilt for holding others back. I enjoyed the steady rhythm: breathe in and step with my right foot, breathe out and step with left. Lizards scurried off the trail at my approach, a fox looked back at me and loped into the bushes. The sun shone brightly, sometimes boldly warming my back, sometimes friendlily peeking through speckled shadows of leaves. A strong breeze brought fresh air to cool me in my exertion. As I got higher I saw the red shingled roofs of the buildings of El Refugio dwindling below me. 

I found the perfect spot. The path leveled out and broadened to encompass a fire pit with benches around it overlooking a gorgeous vista. Pine needles cushioned the ground, an air of peace encompassed the shady clearing. Uncertain where to start, I opened to Isaiah 40, a favorite passage of mine. Completely isolated from listening ears, I felt comfortable reading aloud, feeling the passion of the prophet roll from my tongue and tighten my chest. I cried as the LORD lamented Israel's rejection of Him, and as He forgave them anyway. I followed Isaiah through chapter 53, another that touches my heart, reading and rereading, frequently copying verses into my journal. Then I knelt down and prayed. 

And in the stillness of my open soul, waiting before the LORD, I felt the certainty which I had sought for months - what to do next in life. And His peace and joy filled my being.

Our God is so good. Yet how often do we, His people, stop up our ears and close our eyes, persisting in giving our attention to useless things and then grumbling against God in our calamities? I ache to convey God's faithfulness and goodness and mercy, to show people their sin and God's redemption. I ache for those who are blind to it and have never tasted it. I ache for those who, like I, knew but have forgotten. 

We in our pride think it is all about us, about making ourselves happy. We often think God will make our lives go the way we want them to. We often think God loves us and saves us because we are special. But this is so wrong. He saves us for His sake. If we are special, it is because he has chosen us. 

I shouldn't seek God so He will give me something. Lately my focus has been on finding direction, not on being with  God. I should seek God because of who He is. I limit myself and spurn God when my focus is on my wants and needs and how God can give them to me. God has created me and redeemed me for His glory. May my life be ever for this end.

"I have swept away your offenses like a cloud, your sins like the morning mist. Return to me, for I have redeemed you." Isaiah 44:22

Raindrops.

Rain.
I love the rain. I love walking in the drizzle, I love the heaviness of an approaching storm, I love downpours that soak straight to the bone.
I love the wind. Which is good, since I live in Chicago. Gentle breeze, brisk gust, strong gale, swirling round and round - I can almost fly...
Rain signifies something deeper to me, though.

The summer before I started college, I felt lost and afraid - change is a big deal for me. I had left my country, my friends, and was leaving my family. As I stood alone in the backyard overwhelmed with grief, I stepped out into the gentle rain, looked up at the sky, raindrops splashing in my face, and challenged God - Do you even care??? The wind picked up and the rain thickened in a sudden downpour. The sound of wind and rain filled my ears, whispering to me, I weep with those who weep...
Raindrops remind me of God's nearness. He is near to me in my joy, near to me in my fears, near to me in my sorrow.
God speaks his nearness into my life through rain. Also through sunshine, and pink tinged clouds, and rustling leaves, but especially through rain.
A phrase from Founder's Week at Moody a few years ago swirls around in my head: "The nearness of God is my good." It is our greatest good, our ultimate, highest good. Seek out and treasure the nearness of God. He reminds me of his nearness through raindrops. How about you?

B.A. in Educational Ministries - Youth Ministry

I ought to be rejoicing.

But instead I feel rather numb. Every now and then, I realize I have graduated. I am done. There is no more homework, no more academic pressure. I blink, and feel a small stirring of satisfaction at the tip of my rib cage. I blink again, and it's gone. More often than not, if I even think about it tears threaten to spill over and join the wave of loneliness and homesickness washing over me.

Commencement is supposed to be the beginning - but the beginning of what? Real life. Adulthood. My problem is, I don't know how to be an adult. I still love swinging, singing children's songs, reading picture books, standing on things just to be taller... So what is someone wearing pigtails and humming Psalty songs doing in the Real World?

As I walked up to the stage, having not slept the night before and already made one mistake in the ceremony, I was afraid I might simply collapse in front of Dr. Nyquist as he held out my "diploma." When I sat back down, the butterflies, tired of being trapped in my innards, were beating with all their might making sure I knew something special had just happened. (Either special or awful, they don't know how to differentiate between the two).
Many of my friends have much to look forward to - weddings, great job offers, internships... I don't know yet what I am doing. All my efforts over the past few months have brought me to this day - and now it is over.
I'm ok not knowing the future, it doesn't bother me that much. I have full confidence my God will make things clear. But there is nothing pulling me forward, driving me onward, no spice of excitement and anticipation.

So I sleep (a lot), mourn the loss of what was, and generally walk around in a daze. Pretty soon I'll have to gird up my loins and pull up on my bootstraps - but for a brief moment I hover in time and space, enjoying the uncertainty, being "other," observing my life, waiting on God. And every day, it becomes a bit more real: I am Cristina Hunter, college graduate, Moody Alum.

Last.

Every time I blink, I'm facing another "last."
My last Monday Morning Meeting with Food Service. My last opening shift at work. Last week of classes, last couple late night city walks, last Tuesday night at ICI, last moments as a college student. May 12, graduation day, looms on the horizon, overshadowing all I think or do. It ought to be something I look forward to, but instead all I can think is last.

So I need a first. This is my first blog.

As an MK, I have said goodbye to many people and places. I feel like each goodbye I've had to say over the years has sucked a little bit of life out of me, and I don't know how much more I have to give. I don't like being uprooted.

Growing up, we would take broken pieces of ivy or spider plant and put them in a glass jar filled with water. This does not just prolong wilting - they grow roots. I was always fascinated  by being able to see the roots, normally hidden in dirt and flower pot, and amazed that it could survive and grow even though it had been broken.

Like ivy, or a spider plant, I've learned to put down roots in different places as I grow. But they seem all torn up. So maybe I have been broken off, maybe I am dangling above the safety of dark, moist earth, gasping for more than just air. Maybe the roots I learn to put down will be transitive, ready to switch jars, preparing to move into a pot.  Maybe I am doomed to forever live in an old coffee jar. Or maybe I am blessed in that way.

So here's to my last two weeks at Moody Bible Institute. Here's to an unknown future. Here's to another series of goodbyes - may my tears be swallowed up in the vast waters of Lake Michigan, washed away by the river, and hidden in the crevices of the cracked sidewalks of my favorite city. Chicago.