1 Corinthians 2:9

"What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him." 

During college, this was my theme verse. I even had it made into a vinyl quote for my wall. These words speak to the unknown, the new, the unfolding that is college. This verse thrilled me. NO TELLING what God was going to do next. I was sure it would be good.

One evening, I was visiting with a friend at Starbucks and we were discussing this very verse. A man (who happened to be a pastor) overheard our conversation.

"Do you know the next verse, though?" He asked us. "It completes verse 9."

Surprised anyone was listening, we stammered out some response. It was a long time ago and unfortunately I don't really remember what was said. But He smiled kindly and left soon after that.

Fast forward several years to today and I now have a teensy bit more understanding how verses 9 and 10 work together.

“What no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man imagined, what God has prepared for those who love him”— these things God has revealed to us through the Spirit. For the Spirit searches everything, even the depths of God.

See, the unknown and the unfolding are a little less thrilling than they were 5 years ago, because now I realize even more that tragedies can be the next thing around a corner, rather than a triumph. Sometimes what unfolds isn't in our plans. The "not knowing" has lost a little appeal.

But in verse 10, God is promising that he can bring understanding to our spirits through His spirit. Understanding that I need and crave at every twist and turn in the path.

While I still haven't opened my Bible to find a 5-year, or even a 1-year plan yet (I'll let you know if I do), I understand a bit more than a few years ago the beauty of when God reveals things to our spirits.

So to the eavesdropping pastor out there somewhere: you were right. Verses 9 and 10 go hand-in-hand.

A Huge Gaping Abyss

Here is another devo from the vault! I wrote this Aug/Sept of my freshman year in college. I have grown a lot in the area of trusting God with my future since then, but thought it would be cool to post this before my LAST WEEK of regular classes (maybe ever?) starts up. 

Enjoy!

I recently attended a leadership orientation for my scholarship group.  As is typical with these types of orientations, we got to partake in a variety of icebreakers.  One such task, though relatively simple, proved amazingly hard for me. 

Picture this: you and your partner. Small balls on the ground.  Your partner directs you to the balls and you throw the balls to try to tag the other people out by listening to your partner’s instructions. 

Oh yeah, and you are blindfolded, as are the other people you are trying to tag. 

Since I went first, my partner actually had to lead me out of the room where we were meeting to the playing space outside.  Here is where I ran into my problem. 

I couldn’t see. 

I didn’t know what to expect next. 

Any step could be my last (okay, not really but just play along).  The next step could plunge me into a huge gaping abyss. 

Even with my partner leading me by the elbow and reassuring me I was on solid ground, I literally could not tell my legs to take bigger steps out to the yard.  I was taking little baby steps.  My partner eventually dragged me the rest of the way down the path.

Why would I be telling you this?

This is a message the Lord has been teaching me through a variety of circumstances.  Even if we can’t see or think one moment ahead, He has already been there and back again.  

Proverbs 20:24 says, “A man’s steps are directed by the Lord. How then can anyone understand his own way?” 

Why is it so hard to just let go and trust?  I was slightly appalled at how even though someone was telling me,”Hey, it’s okay, take bigger steps,” I absolutely refused to take bigger steps for fear of plummeting to the ground and making a fool of myself.

Can’t you just hear the Lord saying, “Hey, it’s okay. I am right here. Take bigger steps”?

Isaiah 43:1-2, Psalm 139:16, Proverbs 3:5-6

This is my second post.

So my first post was my last editorial of the summer. And this post contains my very first one. It ran in The Vista the second week of June under the headline of "Redefining the Bad Day." Where it mentions summer school, just think "fall semester," and it has the same effect. 

After much mental denial, yes, the summer semester of 2011 is finally here in all its glory.

Ah, summer school.

Maybe you’re jazzed about it…or not. From snippets of students’ conversations, tweets or Facebook statuses, the dreaded biology class or some other such helpless course get bad reps.  In fact, a surprising portion of casual banter and social media fodder is…complaining.

But consider with me, if you will, for a moment.

It could be so much worse.

Since the May 24 tornadoes, I can’t help but think how absurdly lucky and utterly blessed so many of us are and we don’t even take stock of it all.

I dare complain about a little 8-week class, when there are fellow Oklahomans who now have nothing?

When that alarm clock goes off summoning us to our day’s work, do we curse the clock, or choose to be grateful that we still have a bed in house that hasn’t been swept away by Mother Nature’s latest EF-5 special?

It could be worse.

I think about the parents in Piedmont who in one day lost two kids, their home and their way of life until now.

I think about the high school graduate in Joplin, who at the dawn of his next chapter life, never got the chance to turn the page.

That my friends, is truly a bad day.

I propose that we cannot afford the exorbitant price of complaining.

At the risk of sounding flaky or cliché, remember as you drag yourself out of bed for that 8:00 class or toss your books into your 450-degree car at the end of the day, that it could be worse. Before you take a breath to complain about the science class, take another breath and realize that it could always be worse. In fact, take another breath and be glad you could.