the process of becoming

a blog for twenty-somethings trying to navigate the world and follow your dreams


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remembering, and coming back to… where?

Whoa. Hey. I’m back.

But the question I ask myself is… where, exactly? This blog name is temporary, this post will only be seen by few before even I forget about it, my apartment lease is only for 12 months, I won’t even be a STUDENT anymore come mid-December… oh my gosh, nothing is permanent.

Nothing is permanent.

I will graduate, have to find a new job and a new apartment, write stuff (?), maybe change my marital status, do ministry, expand my family, live in other countries, make a difference….? Such lofty dreams for a 21 year old who feels as fragile as papyrus.

Nothing is permanent except Christ and His glory. That I can take faith in. He promises He won’t change, and He is just – yesterday, tomorrow, today.

Yet I rarely take real and true (as in … tangible, that prevents me from stressing) comfort in the promises of the Bible these days. Now, I don’t know if it’s because I am undergoing so much change, and my limbs are flailing out towards a grip in the midst of foaming rapids, or because I just feel… dry these days, but I’ve been facing a lot of lies. And I really need something to hold on to. My faith is still there, even if I still forget, still worry if my next paycheck will cut it, still worry about the rubble of student loans awaiting me in a few months, still doubt myself to the point of tears on random nights where I should instead be rejoicing.

Life is hard. It’s more than we can handle.

I watched footage of the collapse of the World Trade Center towers today, in remembrance of September 11th, 2001.

My nine-year-old self slept in that day, until right around 9 am. Shortly after finding breakfast, I walked to the downstairs of our small Minnesota-suburb home to start on my schoolwork for that day (this was shortly after my parents started homeschooling me).  I picked up a grammar book (Dad taught grammar and English in the morning before switching with my mom and going to work) just as my dad ran down the stairs and flipped on the TV in front of the couch. And for two hours we did nothing but stare at the screen.

I don’t really remember what emotions were going through my head. I wish I could find my journal entry (I was an avid writer even back then), but I can only see the screen. Falling debris. Ebony smoke rippling into the sky. Ash everywhere. People running. I didn’t understand…

Years later, I can’t remember exactly, the Christian radio station my mom listened to constantly in the car played an audio drama of one man’s phone call to his wife and children from one of the top floors of one of the towers. Mom cried. I cried. I think it wasn’t until then that I felt like I was in the shoes of those who were impacted. I had felt affected before, but that moment stands out in my mind more. I pray for those who lost family members and friends, and I still feel like I’m nine and I’m watching it for the first time. I shocks me every time.

I just finished the book Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close, which made me want to start writing fiction again.

Slowly but surely I am realizing who I am and why and how experiences shape me into this person. But I am also learning about who I want to be. I don’t want to be someone who casually shrugs off what’s happening in this world, but I also can’t be the other extreme of crying over the little things (not spilled milk, but like… similar things. I am such a girl).

Anywho, my heart is heavy today as I write this, for more than the reasons listed, but I have this strange hope I haven’t felt in a long time… like God is answering my prayer to get me out of this desert and make me into a sturdy book instead of a fragile thin sheet. I will wait on Him for as long as it takes… which means my whole life.

This is worth it.

More later. My thoughts are a little scattered right now. But hey… I’m back. To here, at least.