Let me be brutally honest with you all:

I don’t quite know what is meant by the term “God’s call.”

If you’re like me, you’ve heard it your whole life. God has called me to ministry. I’ve been called to serve as a missionary. My calling is to be a doctor.

But how do they know?

I’m afraid to wonder that, sometimes, because it seems like every “good Christian” ought to know the answer. Things seemed to be a bit easier in the Bible stories, when Moses talked to a burning bush and Mary was visited by an angel. I rather doubt that these are the sorts of “callings” people experience nowadays.

And if that’s not it, what is?

It’s a question that seems to grow more relevant in this new stage of life. It’s easy to make plans for college and activities after highschool; harder to identify where God would have me be. I have hopes and ambitions and dreams and desires. Do I chase them down and follow them through, or is now a time for waiting? A time for discovering which ambitions are purely mine, and which are planted by God?

Honestly? Caller ID would be most beneficial.

It’s over. And at long last, I’m getting around to writing about it.

What is there to say? It’s difficult to really sum up the past three years I’ve spent in the NCFCA. (Well, the first year is easy to sum up: tears and agony. The end.) God has used a seemingly simple extracurricular activity to change me radically—to shape me into the person I will be for the rest of my life.

Ironically, I don’t think most of that radical change came through learning how to speak. Sure, cultivating my ability to command the platform has boosted my confidence and allowed me to share important messages and think through deep issues. But most of my training in communication happened on a much more personal level—and I have a feeling that that’s what will stick with me.

NCFCA was long car trips poring over unmemorized scripts and unread evidence.

NCFCA was ice cream socials on Thursday nights, running around the auditorium to find the friends you hadn’t seen in weeks.

NCFCA was waking up at terrible hours of the morning and putting on a suit.

NCFCA was getting together as a club every day, cheering each other on.

NCFCA was Mountain Dew, Starbucks frappuccinos, and Jamba Juice.

NCFCA was walking into that first Apologetics round and drawing the topic for which God had already given you words.

NCFCA was high heels and blisters.

NCFCA was whispering in the hall–but not really.

NCFCA was being asked, “Can I pray with you before your round?”

NCFCA was walking across the gym floor to accept a shiny trophy.

NCFCA was setting that same shiny trophy on a shelf back home, where no one really sees it.

NCFCA was awkward moments in Original Oratory, but beautiful ballots expressing thanks for speaking the truth.

NCFCA was that second of sheer insanity when you register for an unwritten speech.

NCFCA was watching outrounds with friends–”flowing” more than just the debate round.

NCFCA was coming out of a competition room and crying.

NCFCA was stressful days before the tournament, hastily constructing boards for Illustrated Oratory.

NCFCA was ballots parties late Saturday night, when everyone’s a little crazy from exhaustion but wonderfully happy in spite of it.

NCFCA was bittersweet break announcements.

NCFCA was lessons about pride and humility.

NCFCA was talking, laughing, smiling.

NCFCA was people.

People. They are incredible. Used as vessels of God’s perfect plan, they are truly awesome.

That’s what I got out of NCFCA.

And that’s what I’ll miss.

In this time of life, sandwiched between highschool and college, I find myself rather swamped with Important Questions.

What will you study in college? What do you want to do for a career? Wait…you don’t want a career? How on earth will you make enough money to pay for all these expenses? What is there to do now that speech and debate is over? What if you never meet a Cool Guy and live happily ever after? What if the world is just plain out of Cool Guys? What about your writing? What happened to all your dreams of being published one day?

Do you even know what you’re doing, anyway?

When it’s a well-meaning friend asking the questions, it’s easy to smile and brush it off—I’m sure I’ll figure it all out as I go, right? There’s plenty of time to change college majors…pick a cool-looking career field…meet Prince Charming. Sure.

When I ask those questions of myself, it’s a little harder.

Because really, I don’t know.

In some ways, that terrifies me. I’m not a fan of uncertainty—particularly when it involves my life. I’d rather have at least a little heads-up about this whole “growing up” thing.

But the reality is that I don’t.

Thought: If I did know, would I need to learn to trust?

Coming to that point of uncertainty might just be a crucial moment in the life of a Christ-follower, because it’s here that we really become followers—walking by faith and not by sight. It’s easy to toss around that “trust” word; more difficult to understand what it entails. Trust isn’t a fluffy feeling you get when you think about God. It’s an action you take based on your knowledge of who God is.

So next time I’m asked one of those unanswerable questions? It’s okay to not know, because God does.

Only when I feel uncertain will I ever truly learn to rest in his certainty.

Honestly, I still haven’t quite collected all my post-Nationals thoughts, but I’m sure they’ll show up on here at some point. In the meantime, here’s a five-minute video blog/slideshow to recap last week:

Boston [in the spring] is fabulous. After an early morning and a long day in the air (and in the Baltimore airport), we’ve arrived at Gordon University and are gearing up for an exciting week.

More pictures would probably be here…except I’m tired. Sorry. But with this fancy new Mac of mine, I’m having huge amounts of fun playing around with iMovie…so y’all can probably expect a wonderfully long video blog at the end of this trip. (Good enough?)

So I celebrated by playing with the webcam.

It’s a sleek and shiny Macbook Pro, which I’ve justified as an educational necessity. Hey, it could be, right?? All it lacks is a super cool name. I’ll have to think on that for awhile…

This is me, in 36 by 48 inches.  Somehow, that doesn’t seem like enough.

I hope it’s normal to feel as clueless about life as I do right about now. Sure, I can get a job and plan for college and pick a major…but there’s not much beyond that, in this short-sighted vision of mine.

Next week, I’ll be packing up and heading to Boston for my last highschool speech and debate tournament. Ever. Almost feels like a huge part of who I am is just…ending. (But Boston? It’ll be awesome.)

I’ll also be seeing quite a few fabulous people from out of state. Best part of Nationals, hands down.

I washed my car today. (And Hayden and Ruth washed me. Not sure they get that whole car-washing process.)

McDonalds frozen lemonades should be ordered without that nasty strawberry syrup stuff. (God gives us best friends to tell us these things.)

My reading list for the summer includes The Hunger Games trilogy (because who can turn down good sci-fi), My Utmost For His Highest (because Oswald Chambers has good thoughts), and Uncompromising (because it’s awesome). And okay, I’ll go ahead and add Do Hard Things. I admit it: I’ve never actually read the whole thing.

A few hours ago, I found The Perfect Affirmative Evidence. (You non-debaters aren’t expected to understand.) I squealed. I raved to Katy. I went and found my mom to tell her the good news. I read it to Jonathan over the phone. I stared at it happily. I was content.

Honestly? I would really like to do something like this someday.

So, this is me.

A bit clueless.

But…I think God can work with that.

Some days, I am weighted down by the sheer knowledge of my own filth.

I live and breathe and laugh. Sometimes I even teach, and others listen. There are days that some call me “wise” or “mature.” Once or twice, I believe them. More often, I feel guilty. Dirty. Fake.

Is what they see real? Or do I live to hide the abomination of my own being?

Perhaps we are all abominations, in our own right. And yet perhaps, it is this that gives us a beginning. You can’t have an ending without a beginning. Can’t have an after without a before.

Can’t have salvation without abomination.

What drags at my conscience is the in-between. The now. The sanctification not yet complete. The work in progress.

The life of a Christ-follower places us at the fulcrum point: behind us, the filth. We see it still, and it nags at us, taunts us. Before us, the plunge. There is no memory of the abominations there–the dirt that clings to the bits and pieces of a former life.

But we are in the now. Not yet perfected. Clinging only to the sight ahead.

The past is forgiven, but not erased. We are all of us abominable.

Which is why we must cease to be ‘us.’

The days full of guilt and shame and grief belong to another life, and must be left there. When my mind tries to revive them, I must simply remember.

Remember how I died.

Life has a rather high-speed feel to it lately–like watching a VHS on fast-forward. The slow way, where you can still see the picture moving. (Does that make any sense? Okay. We’ll move on.)

Graduation

I’m in desperate need of something profound to say on Saturday afternoon, while I stand behind a mic in a ridiculous-looking cap and gown. Nope, mental images do not help my level of confidence.

School

(This category shouldn’t exist.) In every way that really counts, I’m done. Except for the rest of that Rosetta Stone course that I’ve been putting off for…well, way too long.

Speech and Debate

Our end-of-the-year banquet is this Friday. Lots of last-minute preparations going on, but I’m excited about the whole thing. Banquets mean dressing up, and when is dressing up not fun??

Work

Waitressing is an interesting profession. My co-workers are really what makes a shift good or not-so-good–customers are easy to handle, but the people behind the scenes can make life difficult. I guess I’m learning to deal with difficult people?

General Life Happenings

Music performances, shopping trips, babysitting, sisters coming home and leaving home, awkward conversations with The Guy at the bank. These are the random odds and ends that don’t fit anywhere, and yet somehow come together to fill in all the empty places in my life. (There aren’t many.)

Profound Thought

“Trust” is a verb as well as a noun. To “trust” God with my future means much, much more than saying the words or thinking the thoughts. And really, it’s the action that seals the deal.

I probably need to take more action.

“Do you party?”

I stopped with a forkful of salad halfway to my mouth. “What?”

“You know…party. Do you?”

“Um, no.”

Andrew, standing across the counter in the kitchen, looked surprised. “Why not?”

Before my impromptu skills could kick in, another co-worker pointed to the purity ring I wear on my left hand. “Do you think she does anything??” she asked, a little sarcastically.

At the sight of the ring, Andrew let loose a string of cuss words and expletives. I was more than slightly surprised–people don’t usually respond to purity rings so strongly. When I tried to ask what was wrong, his answer was simple:

“I used to wear one of those, but I got f*****. Promise rings don’t work.”

* * *

I didn’t have time today to keep talking to Andrew–both of us had to do other things. But hearing the words “promise rings don’t work” hit me. I’ve heard others with similar stories. Heather wore one, but the “peer pressure was too hard.” Savanna used to have one, too, but she gave up. None of them understand the heart of the issue.

Purity rings can’t “work” or “not work,” simply because purity isn’t a piece of metal or an article of clothing. It’s a paradigm.

par·a·digm: an example serving as a model; pattern.

Synonyms: mold, standard.

Purity, both physical and emotional, has never been (and will never be) something controlled by anything outside of yourself. It’s not attained by being raised in a Christian home, going to church on Sunday, or wearing a ring on your left middle finger. It is a conscious choice: one that requires continual affirmation in the way that you live and the thoughts you entertain.

Purity is a standard.

I used to wonder why that standard matters on an emotional level. For most of us, accepting the idea of physical purity is a given. But why make things even more stringent by trying to avoid “crushes” and attachments as well?

Only recently has it really become apparent to me that emotional purity matters simply because our emotions so heavily influence our actions. A commitment to purity on an emotional level isn’t a condemnation of love, or “feelings,” but rather a clear statement that you aren’t willing to make yourself unnecessarily vulnerable. Emotions become actions much faster than we sometimes realize.

My “purity paradigm” runs much deeper than the little ring I wear on my finger. Really, that stands as nothing more than an outward symbol of an inward commitment. When we make it out to be more than that, we, like Andrew, have missed the real point. His purity ring never failed him. His commitment did.

Andrew has become a statistic–one of approximately 75% of young people who engage in pre-marital sex before the age of 20.

Purity is the minority. And to be there is a choice.

{photo by Toni Maisano}