“Patience is a virtue!” Rachel Weisz tensely mutters as she fiddles with some ancient mummy artifact.
“Not right now, it isn’t!” Brendan Fraser rejoins, having seen an army of mummies break through the door.
Is it sacrilegious to tell God I think he sounds a lot like Eve and I’m Rick O’Connell in The Mummy? It seems while everyone around me is mourning the end of their undergraduate studies, I’m praying that God will
end this year of patience-training.
|And yet I've felt like this a couple times today.|
This year’s theme?
Wait. Wait. Wait, and—oh wait—wait some more.
In case you couldn’t tell, I’m not much of a fan.
And yet God does enable his people to wade—and wait—through it all with an inexplicable form of joy. For some reason, I’m happy. It’s not because:
· My novio is coming home this weekend (he’s not)
· I don’t have homework to be doing (3 tests, 2 papers by next Monday, whoo)
|And like this, sometimes!|
· I have a summer job (I don’t)
· I have a fall job (I don’t)
· My friendships are stable (The girl I’ve slept next to, cried with, hugged, punched, and skinny-dipped with and who drew Calvin and Hobbes on the inside of our door and the gateway into Moria on the outside freshman year—Elvish script and all—is moving across the country the day after graduation and I’m leaving the rest of my friends behind in three months.)
But I’m happy. Content, even. Even as my being aches for some sense of stability it rejoices (about something) in the fluidity of things.
|And this is my favorite feeling.|
Not having a job is not fun, but knowing God will provide the best situation for me is a pretty good second best, I suppose.