This has been the week I've been anticipating. Not without apprehension. A week, which signifies and marks half a dozen different ends and beginnings:
Yesterday I took my only two finals for the semester. Now I am done. One more year of college under my belt. Two steps closer to my goal. A whole year of reminders:
That I am where I am supposed to be.
That I am smarter than I give myself credit for.
That God does impossible things all the time.
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Last night was my last night at Serve the City in the east end. After a year of spending every single Tuesday on Second Street, I wrapped things up last night. Not without a few tears. And in one more glorious, sweet gesture -- after a gray day full of rain -- God parted the clouds and stopped the rain right on time.
I learned things about the world, about God, about people, and about myself while serving with the team in the east end. I was witness to miracles. And God used that little, forgotten neighborhood to grow something inside of me. Something, which might grow to be powerful and certainly has become a very part of who I am.
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Friday night will be hardest of all. Hands down.
A year ago a group of little girls got together in the medical clinic. Eating pizza and making Mother's Day cards. I remember walking into that clinic and being greeted by faces I wasn't familiar with yet. But they all screamed, "Happy Birthday, Miss Anna!"
So I would spend my twenty-second year drying tears and feeding the masses and listening to sweet, child-like revelations about Jesus and watching as "Girls Club" turned into "Kids Club".
And suddenly a dozen turned into four dozen. Or more.
Something was born. A fruit of the Spirit.
I have broken up fights and rocked to sleep and tickled. God has given me prophetic dreams about them. And I have watched a particular group of middle school boys rise up, touched by the strong hand of God... perhaps to be the very ones who will break the cycle.
They are my kids. Everyone who knows me knows I love them like my own.
But Friday night is our one year anniversary. The day before my birthday this year. And for a season, I need to leave.
I won't be able to keep my self too far away.
But somewhere along the way I fell prey to the prideful notion that these children needed me. That Kids Club needed me. That the east end needed me. That anyone at all needed me.
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Even tutoring, which was the one thing I was going to stubbornly hold on to, ends next week. I was under the impression it lasted until the end of the school year in June. But next Wednesday is our last day together.
Through that, God has made Himself quite clear.
Anna, you will rest. Come. Let's be done for a while.
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Saturday I turn 23. I remember being in elementary school and watching the people in their twenties, thinking they were old. They were adults. They had it all together. I remember thinking that I would "arrive" when I turned 23. Surely it would be the best year of my life. For whatever reason.
That remains to be seen. Perhaps 23 will be a spectacular year.
But Saturday will mark the beginning of a resting season for me.
A furlough.
A sabbatical.
A season of filling up. Of renewing.
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When I decided not to go on the World Race, I felt God was calling me to pour out in one place. Invest was the word He laid on my heart. I didn't hear wrong.
But you can only pour out when you have something to give.
And I am empty.
Exhausted. Stretched too thin.
God's been whispering in my ear for quite some time. About how thirsty I am. About how much I need Him to be more than I'm letting Him be. About how I need to slow down.
Had I listened earlier, I might not need such a dramatic break. Such a long one.
But I've been running on empty.
And He is calling me to come and lie in between His shoulders for a while.
He's not calling me to a season of sleep. Or a season of laziness.
But a season of abiding. He's been pruning. Pulling weeds. Raining down. And it's time to grow in Him for a while... so that through me He can continue to bear fruit. (John 15)
He is the great Gardener.
And I am His garden.
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God is good, my friends.
He knows me well enough to know that I need a good timeline. Chronologically I need things to line up. He's calling me to lay it all down. To surrender. To recognize that He doesn't need to use me. He wants to use me. But He doesn't depend on me.
So He called me to finish well. To wrap things up nice and neatly. To lay it down in a safe place.
As I've said before, I have a feeling, perhaps in a different capacity, He will lead me back to it.
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So we're almost done.
I have no idea what to do with myself.
Empty-handed I walking with heavy, tired feet to where I see my Father waiting for me.
He's extended His hand.
And He's singing something over me I can't yet understand.
“Let the beloved of the LORD rest secure in him, for he shields him all day long, and the one the LORD loves rests between his shoulders.” (Deut 33:12)
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