 | |
| "I would send you a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils if I knew your name and address." Tom Hanks in You've Got Mail |
As of last Tuesday, a new semester has officially begun. Aside from giving up reading for pleasure, free time, and sleeping in, I really love going back to school. I love the structure of it. I love buying new books with hopes of mastering their contents. I love reading syllabuses and planning assignments. And I've always secretly wanted to receive a bouquet of newly sharpened pencils during the back to school season
Actually, I've loved learning for as long as I can remember. I recall sitting in the backseat of our Toyota hatchback on long drives and asking my mom to quiz me with math problems and spelling words. When I'm learning, it's like I can actually feeling my brain neurons firing and making connections. Learning, growing, expanding. I love that feeling. Challenging my intellect is one of the things that makes me feel alive.
This feeling simmered in my heart as I moved back home in 2010 to finish my undergrad. I began taking classes, writing papers, and giving presentations, all to my heart's delight. But there was something more beneath the surface than my pure love of learning... I had a record to keep. You see, I've never gotten a B. School has always been defined by one letter for me: A. Luckily, academics came easy and I excelled. But as middle school, high school, and my first couple years of college scrolled by with straight A's, it became more than nice fact or accomplishment. It became my identity.
Isn't it funny how we, as humans, love to keep track of perfect records? No cavities, no speeding tickets, no B's. There's something in people that desperately wants to earn approval based on good behavior - me being chief among them. I was so terrified of breaking my record and getting anything less than an A, that I would sacrifice relationships, sleep, and ultimately sanity to focus on my studies. (Bursting into tears over 20 page term papers as if my world was crumbling can not be deemed sane in my opinion.)
The breaking point came last spring semester. I was taking 18 credits at school, a Hebrew class on top of that, working 25 hours a week, and volunteering for a non-profit. People would look at me in amazement when I described my schedule. I was often asked, "How do you do it?" Or boosted with the occasional, "Well, if anyone can do it, it's you Chelsea." I would always respond with a light hearted laugh, shrug my shoulders, and say "Oh, you know" with a sparkling smile, as if it didn't phase me. But in reality, I had stretched myself so thin that I was snapping in every direction. The end of the semester found me with straight A's, but little else. I was exhausted, burn out, and hadn't read my Bible in a month.
One night I finally asked the question, why am I so terrified of not getting an A? Almost immediately I recognized that "4.0 Chelsea" had become my identity. Over the years, I knew that I wasn't the funniest girl or the prettiest, but I was smart - I knew I was smart. I had built my world around that one fact. And if I got a B (a grade I felt would brand me of average intelligence),then who was I? What made me special? It was that fear drove me to over work, over extend, and over achieve.
But then Abba came and whispered,
Be a Daughter.
Being a daughter doesn't require anything of you.
You do not earn the title based on your own virtue, rather it is bestowed on you simply because I am your Father.
Daughters are at rest.
The Father's sweet words gave me freedom and purpose. He continued on, I've sent you back to school for more than straight A's. You are to bring my Light to your campus. Chelsea, I'd rather you get B's because you were spending your time sharing the gospel and praying for the sick, than get A's because all you did was study.
I was completely overwhelmed. He blew my box wide open and faces of the 60,000 students on my campus flashed through my mind. I began to weep as compassion overtook me and all I wanted was for each of them to know the glorious love that eclipsed my heart.
Now, at the beginning of a new year and new semester, I smile in light of all the Lord has done. I am more passionate about the gospel and evangelism than I have ever been in my entire life. And while I still want to fulfill my coursework with excellence, peace - not fear - defines me.
Actually, I've loved learning for as long as I can remember. I recall sitting in the backseat of our Toyota hatchback on long drives and asking my mom to quiz me with math problems and spelling words. When I'm learning, it's like I can actually feeling my brain neurons firing and making connections. Learning, growing, expanding. I love that feeling. Challenging my intellect is one of the things that makes me feel alive.
This feeling simmered in my heart as I moved back home in 2010 to finish my undergrad. I began taking classes, writing papers, and giving presentations, all to my heart's delight. But there was something more beneath the surface than my pure love of learning... I had a record to keep. You see, I've never gotten a B. School has always been defined by one letter for me: A. Luckily, academics came easy and I excelled. But as middle school, high school, and my first couple years of college scrolled by with straight A's, it became more than nice fact or accomplishment. It became my identity.
Isn't it funny how we, as humans, love to keep track of perfect records? No cavities, no speeding tickets, no B's. There's something in people that desperately wants to earn approval based on good behavior - me being chief among them. I was so terrified of breaking my record and getting anything less than an A, that I would sacrifice relationships, sleep, and ultimately sanity to focus on my studies. (Bursting into tears over 20 page term papers as if my world was crumbling can not be deemed sane in my opinion.)
The breaking point came last spring semester. I was taking 18 credits at school, a Hebrew class on top of that, working 25 hours a week, and volunteering for a non-profit. People would look at me in amazement when I described my schedule. I was often asked, "How do you do it?" Or boosted with the occasional, "Well, if anyone can do it, it's you Chelsea." I would always respond with a light hearted laugh, shrug my shoulders, and say "Oh, you know" with a sparkling smile, as if it didn't phase me. But in reality, I had stretched myself so thin that I was snapping in every direction. The end of the semester found me with straight A's, but little else. I was exhausted, burn out, and hadn't read my Bible in a month.
One night I finally asked the question, why am I so terrified of not getting an A? Almost immediately I recognized that "4.0 Chelsea" had become my identity. Over the years, I knew that I wasn't the funniest girl or the prettiest, but I was smart - I knew I was smart. I had built my world around that one fact. And if I got a B (a grade I felt would brand me of average intelligence),then who was I? What made me special? It was that fear drove me to over work, over extend, and over achieve.
But then Abba came and whispered,
Be a Daughter.
Being a daughter doesn't require anything of you.
You do not earn the title based on your own virtue, rather it is bestowed on you simply because I am your Father.
Daughters are at rest.
The Father's sweet words gave me freedom and purpose. He continued on, I've sent you back to school for more than straight A's. You are to bring my Light to your campus. Chelsea, I'd rather you get B's because you were spending your time sharing the gospel and praying for the sick, than get A's because all you did was study.
I was completely overwhelmed. He blew my box wide open and faces of the 60,000 students on my campus flashed through my mind. I began to weep as compassion overtook me and all I wanted was for each of them to know the glorious love that eclipsed my heart.
Now, at the beginning of a new year and new semester, I smile in light of all the Lord has done. I am more passionate about the gospel and evangelism than I have ever been in my entire life. And while I still want to fulfill my coursework with excellence, peace - not fear - defines me.
"In the place where it was said to them, ‘You are not my people,’ they will be called ‘children of the living God.'" Hosea 1:10
0 comments:
Post a Comment