10 different kinds of soup. 5 gluten and dairy-free cakes. 4 different spiralized vegetables. 1 Christmas dinner. 2 carol services. 2 formals. 2 attempts to hit the town. 2 trips to Newcastle. 1 trip to York. 4 essays. 40 lectures. 2 dissertation meetings. 5 Shakespeare plays. 6 Greek dramas. 1410 pages of Dickens novel. 48 books taken out of the University Library. 5 Bible studies in Romans lead. 6 trips to Cafedral alone to chat about Jesus.
4 panic attacks. Lots of days where I couldn't get out of bed. Many more where I cried without much explanation. 5 doctors' appointments. 1 hospital appointment. Lots of pills. 8 unwanted side effects (and counting). At least a week of sleepless nights.
It's been the toughest term yet. Birthday parties were difficult. The loud chatter after church was suffocating and nauseating. Meeting anyone new went from an exciting event to an energy-sucking vortex of panic. Motivation was sapped, plans couldn't be made, and more were cancelled than kept if I dared to make them. Shaking hands and legs sometimes meant walking, writing, and eating were hard.
But without number are the truths I've been learning about about my Maker and King, and therefore myself, in the last 12 weeks. They're truths I'm pretty keen on taking through to the rest of third year - and that I pray will be shaping my thinking and transforming my life from day to day until that glorious day when I see my Lord face to face. Here are just 10.
He is God; I am dust.
There has been nothing more liberating this term than to see my human body, and mind, in the way that God sees it - I am dust, to dust I will return, and I'm not as strong as I look (even if I was working out over summer). I am indeed as frail as grass, my days are numbered - I might be young, but each day I breathe is another day where God is deliberately breathing life into my body. Psalm 90 was a huge rebuke; our days can be swept away at the command of God, like a dream, or a flood.
Because I am dust, I need sleep (even when the essay is due the next day, and the day before I spent crying in bed), I need sabbath rest (even when I feel like I've had enough 'time out' throughout the week and want to work), I need friends, and I need inward renewal (ie things that help me rest, mainly cooking). God doesn't need those things - but he has given me them to enable me to live and serve well, or in this case, recover well. It is pride to deny myself those things in order to 'get on with life'. Being dust means you can't always cope, but God is always competent.
His love is steadfast, so my attempts to win it are futile and unnecessary.
I didn't even realise that I was attempting to win it - deep (deep) down, perhaps I believed that because some of my friends had turned to Jesus, because I got an unexpectedly good mark at the end of second year, because I was a Focus leader, and much more, that only if I kept up this standard would the Father be pleased with me. What total rubbish. I bring nothing to the table where God's unconditional love is concerned apart from my weakness, ungodliness, and sin (Romans 5:6-8). So, days in bed didn't need to be full of guilt and shame and lack of assurance about my worth in God's eyes. His grace is sufficient, and his grace abounds where sin increases (Romans 5:20b).
His gifts are greater than my achievement.
Last year, I planned every hour of my week between the hours of 8-6 (at least). Every essay was planned in and handed in early, targets were made, and there was never need for an extension. I did well. This term, I handed in work that I didn't feel was done, I had to take whole days off and disrupt my own plans to allow my mind to take a break. Concentration was illusive. I wasn't going to achieve what I wanted (and had made an idol). So, I learnt to receive, to be served by Jesus rather than thinking I need to be the one serving Him (Mark 10:45). I reminded myself again and again that Christ qualifies me (Colossians 1:12), and that this is more important that the qualification given to me by Durham University in June 2017. And how can you lead Bible studies on Romans 3-5 without being amazed at the language of 'gift' again and again referring to God's righteousness and grace?
He is in control, even when I'm battling for the reigns.
Who told me I could run my day? Who told me I was in control of my life? Culture. But when I became a Christian I surrendered my life to His control, to recognising his sovereignty in all things. So I preached that these things were for my good (though not my transient experience of happiness) and more importantly, for his glory (Romans 8:28). He works all this for that end - and his glory won't be achieved by me microplanning mine and others' lives, but in humble dependence on the Father. On bad days, it didn't feel like God was getting the glory. But as He refined my attitude towards trial, I saw that he is glorified not only in outward things, but in my inner sanctification by the Spirit. Less obviously 'holy', and yet so very necessarily humbling.
Suffering is kind - so I can rejoice.
No more was this solidified when I lead (not too well, but He gets the glory!) a Bible study on Romans 5. I could lead it with confidence knowing that even days where I had been involuntary shaking through lectures, or struggled to walk home, that I had indeed been rejoicing in the promises of God, enduring through it, that my faith had been refined, and my hope was much, much greater (Romans 5:3-5). How loving of the Lord to put me through pain so my faith grows!
The Father listens to my prayers.
At Christchurch this term, we had 3 sermons on the Lord's prayer, of which the final two were both incredibly striking. Even though some of the content was familiar from a first year sermon serie, it had more resonance than ever. The element of the prayer not to be lead into temptation radically changed the way I viewed my sin, and along with convictions in Romans 3, encouraged me to bring my excuses for sin in the trial to the Lord in repentance and pray for protection against stumbling into them again. Sins such as self-pity, frustration, lack of love for others, and clinging onto my idols of busyness and activity in my degree and in church were not excused, but battled.
He must increase, I must decrease.
Again, a reflection on a sermon from John 3, one which I had to leave at the end of because I felt nauseous but which consolidated my reading of Obadiah that week - my pride was being slowly crushed as term became tougher and harder to cope with. It encouraged me to do all things, especially Focus leading and one-to-one discipleship, in a way which pointed people away from me and onto Jesus, when inwardly I wanted people to see that I was 'doing fine' and praise me for my good works. Depression didn't excuse me from speaking the truth in love, pointing people to Jesus, speaking words of Life to the body of Christ that I've been given in Durham. It certainly didn't mean making life about me. That wasn't the way of John the Baptist, nor the way of Christ. As David Cook said in a sermon I listened to on Obadiah: 'anything that humbles me is good for me'. Despite how difficult this term has been, it was good for me, and good for God's glory.
Not seeing fruit isn't the same as no fruit.
I was particularly struck when I was dwelling on Psalm 90, a psalm dwelling on our human frailties and dustiness, at the ending, where Moses prays (twice) that God might establish the work of his hands. In 'Zeal Without Burnout' this was followed by a suggestion for prayer which stuck in my mind, and that is to pray that something, anything, that we do might have eternal significance, bear eternal fruit. In church, in academia, in relationships, we look at, and fixate too often, on the now. Although now, I am not able to go all out on mission as I would like, I am not able to concentrate on God's word for as long as I would like, I am not able to disciple as many girls as I would like, I am praying that in my life, there might be something of eternal value, that God by his grace might dare to use this weak jar of clay to demonstrate the gospel. It is very kind of him that I am unaware of how he might do that, and much better for my ego, that I might only boast in his work now and in eternity. I was also encouraged by revisiting some of the parables in Mark, particularly the parable of the growing seed in Mark 4:26-29 - so small, and yet so encouraging that God is growing his kingdom, even if we don't understand how!
I am expendable.
A phrase I first met through reading 'Through Gates of Splendour', and one which has been recalled to life in my mind this term. Even though I've 'failed' in many ways in serving at church, serving my non-Christian friends, and had to give up things I was passionate about in order to recover, the kingdom hasn't fallen apart. God has still brought people from death to life, he has still been working by His Spirit through his Word and his people to grow the scattered seed, and to produce fruit on the trees. This term, he didn't need me to achieve that.
His power is made perfect in weakness.
I've had little to no power of my own - so he gets the glory when I get through a day, when I get an essay back and the mark is actually decent, when I write a focus study, when I catch up with a friend through shaking hands, when I counsel another who is suicidal when battling myself. He gets the glory when I get out of bed, when I turn to him in my tears. In my 'clay-jar' moments (2 Corinthians 4), the gospel is underlined as I hold fast to that, and not myself.
Most of this can be summed up by the simple words: grace, grace, grace. One of the most thought-changing things I read this article from Desiring God which outlined what living in God's grace looked like in practise, as well as Christopher Ash's 'Zeal without Burnout', dispersing God's truth to ground sound practical advice to avoid burnout for those in Christian ministry, but equally relevant for the exhausted student who longs to spend every minute pouring herself out but is inhibited by mental health.
I don't really know who I'm writing this for or why I'm writing it. But I hope it's not 'look how godly I am' and more like 'look how amazing God's truth is'. Otherwise I clearly haven't learnt as much as I thought.
Here's to another year of not blogging but occasionally using it as a vehicle to get thoughts off my chest. Here's to another year of clinging to Jesus more and more, and being painfully humbled in the process.
Goodbye 2016. You haven't been pleasant but you have been necessary for God's glory and part of his sovereign plan. And so I rejoice in you, 2016, and thank God for all you've taught me.
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