That Which the Locust Has Eaten

~A Long Road to The Beginning~
I have a confession to make: as a young girl I decided that I was too boring. More specifically, I decided that my testimony was too boring. All the people with interesting testimonies—it seemed to me—had lived very ungodly lives. But I was a “good girl” from a “good Christian family” (keep in mind that this was my perception at the time). If I ever wanted to have a worthwhile story about being saved by the Lord, I concluded I would have to change my lifestyle. So, I announced to the Most High God that I was going to go lead a horrible life for the next few years, and catch up with him later on.

Please, feel free to laugh! I chuckle at myself every time I remember that decision. It certainly seemed like a logical conclusion to my frightened, angry, self-centered eleven-year-old mind… In reality, I wanted an excuse to vent my bottled-up frustration by acting out. So I justified it with the comforting rationale of a grand scene of repentance sometime in the future—a moving story that focused on myself, at a time of my choosing.

Well, that happy little plan of mine didn’t turn out quite as I’d hoped. Less than two years later, my sweet and generous Lord “jerked a knot in my tail.” Against my will, my parents once again registered me for church camp. Some clerical error caused me, a thirteen-year-old, to be registered for the seventeen- and eighteen-year-old camp. There were no openings in the correct camps for my age division by the time this “mistake” was discovered. I fought the Lord tooth-and-nail during that week of camp. I was not going to give up control! But in the space of five, my Savior and King brought me to my knees. These blind eyes caught a glimpse of who He is, and who I am not. That was the first and only year I ever appreciated church camp. And the blessings and relationship I received from Holy Spirit during that special week have been my ongoing comfort and strength. Oh, my dear reader, what a holy, loving God we serve! What a wonderful Lord our Jesus is!

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My repentance and new-found relationship with Jesus Christ did not instantly fix my personal and familial struggles, though. The process continued to be just that—a process. In fact, I seemed to grow very little during the next five years. Then again, I could not bring myself to acknowledge many of the areas in which change needed to occur. Denial was my closest friend. Adonai Nissi generously created another “knot-jerking” opportunity. This second time, however, He chose to do it in a longer time frame.

When it came time to fill out college applications in the spring of my junior year and autumn of my senior year, I was utterly lost. For all intents and purposes, my mother was the only family member gainfully employed during the majority of my high school career. My PSAT and SAT scores were good enough that brochures inundated our mailbox; it was like receiving Christmas cards every day. (My little sister heavily promoted whichever colleges seemed to be geographically farthest away.) But there was absolutely no money. I had no funds of my own; and my mother’s earnings could not simultaneously pay the bills and college tuition. I do not recall my father voicing any opinion on the dilemma. My mom strongly suggested that I take a year off and earn some money toward college. I’m not the most perceptive critter on the face of this planet, but I understood my own patterns of behavior well enough to reject Mom’s suggestion. I was certain that I could not take a break without losing all momentum. I feared that one year off would quickly turn into five, and then twelve, and then… But did I really have an alternative?

I distinctly remember lying awake in bed one night in mid-September, frustrated, uncertain, and scared. Should I try to attend college? Where should I go? When should I go? How could I afford to get there? The questions and the darkness pressed in around my bed like a stalking panther, breathing slowly and biding its time. I muffled my sobs in a pillow to avoid disturbing the little sister sleeping nearby. But finally the weight stalking me grew overwhelming. I opened my mouth and declared to the Lord, “You have to show me. You have to tell me. I can’t decide; and I don’t know what to do. Show me!”

I felt the darkness recede. The room’s interior remained dark, except for a dim night-light; but the weight retreated, leaving…space. And into that newly-created space around my bed flooded an overwhelming peace. Assurance. I could only lie there, tear trails drying on my cheeks as I marveled at the buoyancy of this peace. And then I heard the silhouette of a voice. I’m not sure how I can better describe it. I heard-saw-felt words that were audible, yet entirely silent. For a moment, I knew beyond the tiniest doubt that I am absolutely known. In the silhouette of a voice, my Lord told me very clearly: “You are going to ______ University. And you are going next year.” That was more than enough answer for me!

I was vaguely aware of the private university to which the Lord said he would be sending me. Considering the field of study I planned to pursue, it had not been one of my top choices. But I submitted a grand total of two college applications, dear reader: one to the school I had been told, and a second to another private university where I hoped to complete graduate studies.

By Thanksgiving, I had been accepted into both colleges. Meanwhile, I endured a healthy dose of criticism for my apparent lack of initiative. My mother was rather skeptical of what I said the Lord had spoken to me. My father was downright dismissive. Even after my acceptance letters arrived, he continued insisting that I should wise up and apply to at least a couple of state schools. I continued to stand my ground. I knew what I had heard that night. I knew Who spoke to me. There were hours and days when continued faith was difficult in the face of such doubt. But the Lord gave me the strength necessary to stand firm.

Like anyone else preparing for college, I applied for any and all scholarships. The majority of my senior year seemed like one endless line of applications…and subsequent rejection letters. No financial aid was forthcoming. To make matters worse, my father herniated a disc in his neck in mid-November. He had spinal fusion surgery on Christmas Eve. Whatever small financial assistance I could have hoped to receive from my parents disappeared in medical bills. I had been accepted into the expensive university of my choice. But unless God intended to disguise me as a piece of someone’s dorm room furniture, I had no idea how he planned to get me there.

One afternoon in March, my father answered the telephone and then brought the phone to me in the kitchen. He didn’t know who the caller was. Nevertheless, any excuse to abandon homework is a good excuse. I took the receiver. The business-like woman on the other end of the line politely verified my identity. Then, she informed me that the foundation she represented had selected me as a recipient of their full-ride scholarship. After a very mature response of, “Are you serious?” (to which she replied that, yes, she was in fact serious) I uttered an equally mature statement of, “Oh, I love you! (to which she really had no reply at all). Once she gave me the few details I could handle at that point in time, we hung up. Many people can attest that I have a healthy set of lungs. But I doubt that even my younger sister, sitting in the living room at the moment, had ever heard me hit quite that decibel or hold it quite that long. God is so Good.

An eight semester full-ride scholarship, with a book stipend. God wasn’t going to disguise me as dorm room furniture. He was instead sending me as a student in my own right—a student who would graduate practically debt-free. Never forget, dear reader: the God we serve does not do half-baked jobs. When he says he will make an opening through a stone wall for you, rest assured that the opening will be perfect in shape and size. The manner in which he chooses to provide for us may differ, but it is always complete, always perfect.

My Lord is often very humorous in his manner of bestowing gifts. I did not spend years battling alcohol and drug addictions. I never joined a cult or participated in gang activity. I haven’t slept around. I cannot truthfully say that I became a believer due to the Lord miraculously healing my broken body after a nearly-fatal plunge down Niagara Falls. (That would be quite a story, though, wouldn’t it?) And yet, in spite of my lack of “exciting” history, he has fulfilled the desire of my rebellious eleven-year-old heart: the Most High God has created a powerful testimony in my life. One that is uniquely mine and His. Such a beautiful gift from the One who loves me best and protects me always!

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As we move forward, please join me in worshiping our wonderful Lord, Savior and Friend. Let’s keep pressing in toward Him as we continue our joint exploration. And thank you so very much for walking with me. This is where it all begins!