How I am learning to emulate Indiana Jones

Or, Why you should read the Bible BEFORE praying for something.  

I have a story to tell you:  I was praying the other night, reflecting on my time here (which as been both challenging and awesome), and I had an interesting experience.  It was one of those oh-crap-what-did-I-just-ask-for moments.  Allow me to recount for you:

...Lord, help me to persevere, and to be faithful to what is in front of me now.  Give me the strength to be bold and the sensitivity to listen to the Spirit.  Lord, give me endurance.  Yea, endurance, that's it.  Give me the endurance to work here well, with discipline and with joy.  

And then I thought, Endurance.  I think the Bible has something to say about that...

And I was thinking something along the lines of the verse where Jesus says "Well done, good and faithful servant".  Thinking yea, I'll meditate on that all week, and it will totally motivate me to endure, to push through and to be motivated.  Because Jesus is awesome and I love him. 

So I took my Bible, and I opened to the back where there's a mini-concordance.  And I thought, oh, good, this will be encouraging and I will memorize these verses.  This is going to be great!  I love it when God uses the Bible to speak encouragement to me, when I have those verses that seem like they're so full of joy and sweetness that they just can't be wrung dry, and when I am overflowing in the goodness of God!  God is such a good encourager, and I love it when he answers prayers!  Yippee!

I promise, it wasn't as plastic as it sounds now.  It actually was really organic and genuine.  So I wrote down the 4 or 5 citations from the back of my Bible, and I went to go look the first one up and write it out in my journal.  [I was entirely unprepared for the smack-down that was coming my way.]  It was Hebrews 10.

"But recall those earlier days when, after you had been enlightened, you endured a hard struggle with sufferings... knowing that you yourselves possessed something better and more lasting. Do not, therefore, abandon that confidence of yours; it brings a great reward. For you need endurance, so that when you have done the will of God, you may receive what was promised." (Hebrews 10: 32-36)

Hm.  Well, ok, that's not quite what I was hoping for.  But ok.  I guess that's true.  We will receive the promised inheritance... I can dig that.  Hope in heaven produces endurance.  Ok, got it.  Next verse, Romans 5: 

"...we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope,  and hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts through the Holy Spirit that has been given to us.  For while we were still weak, at the right time Christ died for the ungodly." (Romans 5: 3-6)

Ok wait a second.  Boasting in suffering?  This is not the direction I was hoping this would go... Suffering produces endurance.  Ok, I'm kind of suffering.  So I'm kind of building endurance.  I think.  Apparently endurance is tied to overcoming difficulty? Ok, well, let's check out the next verse, maybe that will be more helpful. James 1:

"My brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of any kind, consider it nothing but joy, because you know that the testing of your faith produces endurance; and let endurance have its full effect, so that you may be mature and complete, lacking in nothing." (James 1:2-4)

Well crap.  It was at this point I closed my Bible and stopped looking up the verses.  This is not the connection I was hoping for.  Endurance and suffering are directly connected, apparently.  That sucks.  I think I'd like to retract my previous prayer.  I don't want suffering.  [At this point, I did not have any awesome Indiana Jones moments, like a cool leather-bound notebook telling me what to do via ancient hieroglyph and myth, which is sad.  I also did not have the adrenaline associated with the actual possibility of me literally falling to my death, which I'm thankful for.]

In retrospect, I'm not exactly sure what I thought I would find instead of this delightful epiphany,  because any athlete knows that endurance comes from working through the weakness, the soreness, and the pain of extending yourself to (and then beyond) your limit.  But it's definitely not what I was looking for when I opened my Bible that night.

After a few days of reflection on this, I found myself re-reading the first prayer in my journal, the one that I prayed while sitting in an airport cafe on my way to this city.  On June 30th, I explicitly asked for limitations, for difficulties, and for hardship for a two-fold purpose; one, to drive me to God's feet in prayer, humility, and adoration, and two, that God's name might make his own name known, and not mine.  [I am 100% positive that I simultaneously did not know what I was praying for when I asked that, and I believed I did know]. 




I've already been stretched to the limits of my comfort in the last 3 months here.  I've reached the end of myself, and I now have to make a decision to jump into the abyss, knowing that God is sufficient, sovereign, and good, or I have to shy away in fear.   I cannot walk the edge of the canyon.  There is no middle ground, no grey area or loophole where God can be great and I can be comfortable.   I do not fancy myself a fearful or timid person, and (ridiculously enough, partly because of my pride), I steadfastly refuse to turn away.  But for the last few days I have also steadfastly refused to move forward, to step out over that canyon like Indiana Jones (yes, I just Jesus juked Indiana Jones, and yes, I know the analogy breaks down), knowing that I will not be comfortable, but that it will be good.


When it comes down to it and I have to choose, I would rather regularly be at the end of myself and uncomfortable than be comfortable and not know my God.  So my new prayer is that I would learn to love it here, at the end of myself.  I don't just want to camp at the edge of this cliff.  I want to homestead the land here.  I want to dwell here for the rest of my life.  I want to be the vessel through which God does mighty and wonderful things - not because I am spectacular, but simply because I have positioned myself here and refused to move.  I want to love God more than I love my comfort.

So bring it on, invisible-bridge-across-the-abyss-that-may-or-may-not-be-there.  And even if you aren't there, my God is still good.  I will choose to "[know] that you yourselves possessed something better and more lasting", that "hope does not disappoint us, because God’s love has been poured into our hearts".   I'm enduring beyond the edge of my own strength - because God's is enough.  So bring it on.  I'm coming for you, sans hat and lasso (because I'm not quite that cool). 

Lessons on Idolatry: Peace

Peace has become a recurring theme in my life for the last 6 weeks.  In fact, 4 of my 6 classes deal with peace, violence, justice, conflict, reconciliation, and divided societies in some capacity or another.  It's a hard semester - there's a lot of trying not to cry, trying not to throw my hands up and just walk away in frustration, trying not to become so cynical as to be completely ineffective, trying to avoid my tendency to over-simplify while simultaneously balance said tendency against a paralysis of any analysis at all.  Between essays and classes, I'm examining theoretical approaches, four different regions/case studies, practical workshops, simulations, and expert interviews.

Amidst all this craziness, reading, and work, I'm trying to be "peaceful" myself.  It's a tad overwhelming.

And I'm finding that it's far too easy to find myself trapped in a world where peace is the highest good.  Where peace is the ultimate thing that I'm working for.  Where my soul and my heart breaks for violence and anger because of the hurt that it causes, because of the people that it affects, and because of the stories it leaves in its wake.

But that's not the only reason violence and conflict should break me.   I'm loosing my eternal, Kingdom perspective.  It's an easy thing to do in this city, but that doesn't make it any more excusable, or any less devastating when you realize it's happening to you.  I've turned peace into an idol - something that I hold as better than the goodness of God himself, something better than the presence of Christ in my life, than the indwelling of the Spirit in my soul, than the hope I have in heaven - not a hope of peace but a hope of God Almighty, perfect and holy.

This new kingdom includes peace, yes.  Revelation 21:4 offers the promise of a new world, in which the "former things" have passed away.  Isaiah, in chapter 9, tells us that Jesus is the "Prince of Peace", among other things.  The character of Christ radiates peace, rules over peace, is manifest in peace, and advances peace.  The Bible talks about peace a LOT - in fact, all of the New Testament epistles except one (1 John) mention peace and call the believers to it.  Clearly it's important. 

But (at the risk of sounding too "new-age-y"), the Bible is more concerned with "inner" peace than with worldly peace.  When the Bible talks about peace, more often than not, it's referring to a peace with God.  This is the most important kind of peace.  This is a peace only achieved through the death and resurrection of Christ!  Apart from Him, peace is impossible.  And in Him is a peace that "surpasses all understanding" (Phil 4:7).  Without Him, external peace is useless.  This is the mantra (one of many) that I have been preaching to myself as of late.  I have found myself more often than not puling out my Bible in class to examine what Scripture tells me about the world, and about my place in it.  And what is clear is that my mission is to love people well.  Nothing else.  It is not my job to resolve the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, or to be some great negotiator.  It's not even my job to be able to name the head of every nation in the world, or explain how globalized business dynamics are going to dominate the evolution of state relations for the next twenty years.

My job is two-fold:  Love God.  Love people.  That's it.

I can only spread peace by firmly being grounded on my own peace with God, a bridge that was accomplished only through the cross and empty tomb.   Even our sermon on Sunday highlighted this (in a sense) by discussing the supremacy and sufficiency of Christ.  The resurrection is beautiful not because it brings an end to conflict between people, but because it brings people into right communion with the one, true, living God, and only then does it transform people from the inside out!  This is the most beautiful realization - the burden of peacemaking does not fall to me, but it falls to God himself, and it is a burden he has already taken up and carried! 

Peacemaking is so much easier when I realize that it is something that has already been accomplished, and is being made manifest entirely apart from my broken heart or my feeble effort.  I must rest in God, and allow Him to do the heavy lifting. 

Which He does with gladness.

If only...

If only it were easier.  

Some days, I want to step into my home and for life to be easy.  I want a dog to play with and cuddle with and a large bookshelf set up in the corner, I want a cabinet full of tea and coffee, and roommates who never irk one another with their silly habits - or perhaps, a husband as a roomate.  One who is tall and broad, a powerful and commanding man of God, but who is sensitive and enjoys my chick flicks and thinks my Ben & Jerry's addiction is "cute" or "sweet".  I want perfect weather all year, and to be able to go hiking whenever I want.  I want to have the kind of time that allows me to have two or three hours in the Word every day, and then hours more pouring into those around me.  I want big windows, and only one job. I want to have the motivation I need, to be joyfully immersed in what I do, to be able to pour into children and young men and women, to instill the Gospel in them.  I want to be able to throw dinner parties with dear friends, and to do spontaneous things like take a glass-blowing class or decide that it's a great day for outdoor portraiture on the mall, because I can.

And I wonder when my life will look like this.  After school?  After I get settled in a "real" job?  After I am retired? 

*****

And then I step back and I realize - never.  Never will my life look like that.  My life will probably always be fraying around the edges.   There will probably always be laundry on the floor, kitchens to be swept, and work to be done.  There will always be moments of frustration, of exhaustion, and of sadness.  I will never have an apartment that is big "enough" (at least not in this city), and I will never be put together. I will never have that much free time, I will probably never not have a job, and I will probably always be a little bit tired.

I am a mess. I will probably always be a mess. 

But I am, and will be, a holy mess.  It is the moments when I stay up all night working on a paper, and then look out the window to see the glorious sunrise, painted by my Creator.  It is the moments when, although I am exhausted, someone still asks me about Jesus, and I am renewed.  When I get to carry a tired, frightened little girl up the stairs when I, too, am tired and frightened and she whispers in my ear, "don't put me down!" and I snuggle her closer and we are both reassured.  When that same little girl says to prayer requests, "I'll pray.  I want to pray for that!" with an enthusiasm that makes my heart leap with joy, and restores in me the sense of peace I lacked.  When I get to watch my dearest friends and sisters have victories, both small and large.  When I can set aside my pain to celebrate with them, when they reciprocate, and when we can celebrate together, each of our victories.  The moment when I am crushed in humility by a sister's teaching, and restored by their fellowship and undying love.

Those moments are all the more precious because of my chaos.

In the midst of my chaos, I want it to disappear.  The stormy seas, I want them to go away, to magically be smooth and simple.  Because life would be so much easier if it were smooth sailing the whole way.  And easy equals happy, right?

But it would be too easy.  It would be worthless.  And un-holy.  Without having to wrestle, what is life purposed for?  Comfort?  God does not call us to comfort.  God calls us to HIM.

And after the storm is over, I have always - ALWAYS - been able to look back, and say that I am thankful for it.  God has always been faithful.  And he will always be faithful.  And I will always be dependent.

I can trust in my God.  Some days I know this with all my heart.  Some days I know this in my head.  Some days I question.

I pray that I have the faith of Paul, that someday I will look around in the midst of a storm and say,

"Take heart, for the God to whom I belong and whom I worship has promised his protection! He has promised his never-ending grace!  Take heart, friend." 

For it will be exactly as it was told.  (Acts 27:22-25, my paraphrase).

My God, the creator of the universe.  He is worthy of trust. 

What a beautiful thing, that I am not dependent on myself, but on Him who can do all things, and in whom all things hold together.

Haiti: Jaqueline

As people are asking me to tell stories of Haiti, this is the one I keep coming back to.  Not because it is my favorite, but because it summarizes everything that happened on this trip - the highs and the lows.   The people, and the mightiness of God. 

Ascribe to the LORD, O families of the peoples. ascribe to the LORD glory and strength.  Ascribe to the LORD the glory due his name; bring an offering ad come into his courts.  Worship the LORD in holy speldor; tremble before him, all the earth.   (Ps. 96:7-9)

We stepped into Jaqueline's home, and I noticed the clutter.  Hardly 5 of us fit inside. She seemed hesitant, reserved.  We were there to pray with her - her husband had passed away a few years ago, and she was trying to raise her son on her own, without a job.  She said she was Catholic, that she went to church, and that she needed prayer. We prayed with her, and left.

Later that day we came back, and she was sitting on her porch.  We had come back to invite her to a Bible study for women that we were going to do the next day.  She was excited - so excited that she asked B. to take a picture of her, so that we would remember to pray for her.  Filled with hope and excitement at her enthusiasm, we did.

But then she didn't show up for the Bible study.  I ran back from the church we were meeting in to her home, which was right across the street. I found her, and told her as best I could without a translator that we were going to start, and asked her again to join us.  She nodded, and held up her finger to indicate that she'd be over in just one moment. 

She never showed up. 

So B., our translator and I, upon finishing the training, march ourselves right on over to her doorstep, and find her there, just hanging out with her friends. 

We missed you at the Bible study, I say.

Yea, I had things to do, she replies. 

Right. Lots of things.  Like hanging out with your friends. 

Do you know why B. and I are here? I ask. 

I go on to explain the Gospel to her - that humans are sinful, and we deserve God's punishment because of that.  But that God graciously took it upon himself to make a different way.  That Jesus took the wrath of God and was died and buried and then rose again that we might live in His righteousness, to His glory, with Him, forever.  We do not have to be captive to sin any longer. 

She says, I'll believe you when you bring me something.  She insists she's heard this story, that she's a Christian because she goes to church.  I want to cry.  I want to show her that's not true.

I try to reason with her, to explain that God's character is good, that He loves her and wants a relationship with her, and Jesus is the only way.  But it goes nowhere.  Pray for rain, she says.  We need rain.

So we say we will.  And we leave. 

And on the way back, I do my due diligence.

So God, that woman said they need rain.  And I said I'd pray, so I guess maybe you could bring some rain, if that's cool?  mmkay, thanks. 

That was my prayer.   Unexpectant.  Unloving. 

We go back to the house, change clothes, and head to the beach to bathe for the first time in 5 days (Yes, I know how gross that is.  You don't have to remind me.  I washed my hair 3 (yes, three) times in the ocean that day.).  Walking to the beach, I look up.  Along the horizon are storm clouds - a storm strong enough to bring the rain cloud down with it when it comes, like a bedsheet or something.  The kind where the sky looks all dark purple-y and blue, even though its only 4pm, and you can't tell the sky from the land. 

Hey, that looks like some serious rain over there, I remark. 

I don't make the connection.  

Graciously, God allowed us just enough time to bathe before the lightning started.  Then we high-tailed it home. 

Not 30 seconds after we walk in the door of the home that God graciously provided for us (another story, coming later), the deluge starts.  Caked with salty-ocean goodness, but feeling cleaner than I've ever felt, I think, gosh, that's some serious rain! I'm glad we got out when we did...

Wait, rain!  Rain!! Jaqueline... and she said... and then I prayed... but I didn't really mean it!  Well, I guess that doesn't matter now... apparently God decided to bring rain whether I meant it or not.  God is good like that. 

We come to find out only moments later that this storm is the first time that it has rained a single drop in over 6 months.  The wells are dry.  The dust has blown over everything.  The village needs water.

God is abundantly good.  

We have to go find that woman! I think.  B. voices those exact thoughts moments later.   But it's now dark, windy, muddy, and still raining.  It's actually chilly.  Tomorrow, we agree.  Tomorrow before we leave. 

After breakfast, we venture out.  We're still not sure the truck is going to make it all the way down the dirt road (now mud road) to pick us up, but we haven't gotten a phone call yet.  I take Johnson (a translator), and B. and I go to her house.  The door is locked.  There is nobody home.

Seriously, God?! After all that, now you won't let us talk to her?? I rant.

We go back, dejected.  The truck is here.  Time is limited.  But I must see her, I must speak to her, to ask if she believes, to see her face! 

Noah and I venture out again, right before the truck leaves.  Her door is still locked.  We stand there, almost willing her to just walk around the corner.  But she doesn't.  We begin the walk home, and I pray desperately that she would not be unmoved by this. 

Mid-prayer and me almost in tears, she walks around the corner.  I'm so taken aback it leaves me speechless.  Luckily Noah jumps in. 

Hi!  It's good to see you again.  Did you notice it rained last night?  We ask.

Oh, yea.  She blows off the question as if we asked her if the sky was blue. 

You look nice, Noah offers.  Are you going to the city?

She gives a half smirk, and replies that she's going to Cap-Haitien today.  All dressed up in her heels and her skinny jeans and her leopard-print top, hair freshly done.

Do you think differently about God?  Noah probes.

She avoids the question by reminding us to pray for her.

There is nothing more to be said.  She is unmoved. 

I want to shake her, to sit on her porch and be equally unmoving and ask her, so Jaqueline, do you think differently about God today?  Do you believe in Jesus today? until she says yes, yes today I understand.  Today I believe. 

I cry out to God, wondering how this woman could not believe amidst such mighty works.  Lamenting her unbelief, her hardened heart, and the state of her soul without the presence of God. 

But then God whispers, remember, you were her, too.  You were the one who refused to see, refused to hear.  You were stubborn.  Amidst my greatness, my mercy, my redemption.  You were hardened, too.  For 8 years.  You refused to believe.  And yet I still claimed you as my own.  


Trust me.


Trust that I will claim my people - I will have them, no matter what.  I will have my people for myself. 

Trust me.

But the steadfast love of the LORD is from everlasting to everlasting on those who fear him and his righteousness to children's children to those who keep his covenant and remember to do his commandments.  The LORD has established his throne in the heavens, and his kingdom rules over all!  (Ps. 103:17-19)

The Finals Week from Hell: Fall Semester in Retrospect

So here we are, on the brink of a new semester, and all the blogging I had planned for christmas break didn't get done at all.  Oops.  I guess I was too busy having fun.  :)

There are lots of things I had planned on blogging about.  Tim Tebow and the Broncos.  Skiing.  Fun times with the family.  The meaning of Christmas.  Sin.  Joy.  Beautiful baby boys and girls who giggle and make me (momentarily) rethink my "plan" that I don't want children.  But the one thing that I can't shake, the one thing that I think I just HAVE to share, is finals.  Not because it was glorious, but because it was extraordinarily ugly.  And so, so magnificent. 

There's some basic background you need to this story:  I'm not great at school.  I'm about average on intelligence, but my stubborn level (and thus, when I want it to be, my work ethic) is probably in the 99th percentile.  (Seriously, ask my mom.  She'll tell you the same thing).  I don't get great grades, I really struggle with testing, but high school taught me how to B.S. just about anything, so I manage. I'm not outstandingly organized - I only color-code things because I like for things to look like rainbows, not because it's actually something helpful.  I know where all my crap is, but it's chaos to anyone else.  I know how to plan ahead, but just because I know how, doesn't mean I always do it.

In high school (before I was a Christian), I found my justification, my purpose, and my identity to a large degree in my grades.  Not entirely, some of it was found in my athletic ability, my rebellious phase, my "cool factor", my friendships, and other things.  But a lot of it, probably the majority of it, was in my performance at school, and how much I can be involved in.  Since I've become a Christian, I recognize that this is neither healthy or productive, and I've sought to define my identity in one thing only - Christ.  But this has not always been an easy transition.  And I have come a long way, but there is still a long road in front of me. 

And then, this semester, finals came back to bite me, in a big way.  A really big way.  Ask a couple of the girls from my church, they'll tell you what a mess I was.  I think they probably thought someone kidnapped me and replaced me with a crazed, schitzo, manic-depressive clone who was about to burst into tears and/or throw something through a window at any moment.  I feel bad I imposed my very presence on them, that's how much of a nut-job I was. 

In thinking about it in retrospect (always 20/20, right?), I never really got myself together after Haiti.  I jumped straight into traveling and working and family reunions and new bosses and graduations and friends and family... phew!  And then I moved back to DC, and jumped into classes and reading and new work stuff, and friends and a new living situation, and getting behind in classes through something that truly wasn't any fault of my own.  And then 18 credit-hours (mostly upper-level) and church and working 20 hours and crazy professors.... goodness!  So I'm already 6 months exhausted. 

And then finals hit. I'm not sure when this became acceptable, but I took 6 classes.  And I had 9 finals.  Yes, you read that correctly, it's not a type-o.  9 finals.  In one class in particular, I earned 70% of my grade, through 3 COMPLETELY DIFFERENT assignments in the last WEEK (singular) of classes.... (Ridiculous!)  My finals accumulated to 3 comprehensive exams plus 6 research papers which ended up totaling somewhere between 85-100 pages of papers on 6 completely different topics.  And in 3 of those classes, I needed good (B or higher) grades on the finals, or I'd lose my scholarship.  2 of those tests came from crazy-psycho professor who expected way too much out of us (and that's coming from someone who never says that).  Talk about the finals week from hell.

And to top it all off - AU cut off my internet with 2 1/2 weeks left in the semester, for no apparent reason.  And the nearest 24-hour place with internet to me is a 1 mile walk and then a 3 mile bus ride.  What a delightful icing on an already intimidating cake.  *Thank you, AU OIT, you have no idea how much I appreciate you...*  I spent about 12 hours being mad.  And then I realized my being mad wasn't going to fix it.  So I just had to dive in and figure it out.   And nearly all of figuring it out involved relying on the Lord.  In a way I've never done before. 

***Disclaimer:  I'm not saying this for your sympathy, or to point out how much I can juggle successfully.  I'm pointing this out first so that you understand the obstacles I had in my way to remaining faithful to the Lord's plan.  Because He has made it abundantly clear that I am to remain in school right now.  And that plan, unless God provides a giant bag of money from the sky, is going to require my scholarship.  And second, in order that you might understand how desperate I was for any help from the Lord.  Through circumstances almost entirely out of my control, I ended up in this situation, and I had to fight through the victimization mentality, and through the stubborn "I'm a big girl and I can handle anything" mentality and really, really humble myself.***

I hit a point about a week and a half into it, writing papers, where all I could muster was 10 minutes of writing.  Then I'd go read the Bible and pray for 5.  Then write for ten.  Pray for five.  Repeat.  Over and over.  All.  Night.  Long.  And I just kept saying, "Lord, this is all I've got left.  This is it.  I'm giving it everything, and this is just going to have to be enough.  Because even though it's not much, I really truly don't have anything more than this."  I'm sure the other people at the 24-hour Starbucks thought I was completely crazy looking, frantically writing for ten minutes, spread out over 2 chairs and an entire coffee table, and then pulling out my Bible and my journal at various intervals, fighting off tears.

I was desperate.  For anything.  For any sense of relief.  The enemy sent so many discouraging thoughts, discouraging people, and discouraging emotions my way, I could hardly bat them off before the next one hit me.   One of my friends, M., kept encouraging me (so well, so wonderfully - what a blessing she was!!).  She kept saying, "You're going to make it!  I promise!" And on a rational level, I knew that was true.  I knew that even an entire week with not a single second of sleep would not actually kill me.  That I was not in any way in danger.  But so often, I didn't believe it - really.  I didn't know if I was going to make it through without being institutionalized.  I thought "Oh, Lord, I'm not sure!  I'm not sure I can! I don't have it in me!"  I didn't see people, I skipped meals and nights of sleep, the only thing I did was work on school.  Without reprieve.  I was so, so very tired.  All I wanted to do was just sit and cry.  But I knew if I let myself do that I wouldn't be able to pick myself up again, and keep going, so I just fought it.  I knew if one tear fell, it would be over.  And so I read the Psalms.  Over and over.  Especially Psalm 25 and Psalm 103.  I just prayed through them over and over, and over and over.  Never have I ever read one chapter of the Bible so many times in such a short span of time.

I honestly can't recall ever being that desperate for the hand and presence of God.  And you know what? That saying that says, "God won't ever give you more than you can handle"?  I'm here to tell you that's CRAP.  Blarney.  Hogwash.  Hooey.  Absolute bullshit.  God OFTEN gives us more than we can handle.  But you know what?  He NEVER gives us more than HE can handle (I mean, He is the God of the Universe.  There's nothing He can't handle!).  And that was where I was.  I could not do what I needed to do alone.  I needed God.  Truly needed Him.  For me and for my grades.  Not for my glory, for His.

I had to fight through the pride that wanted to ask for good grades so that I could build myself up.  But I fought through, to a place where I could honestly say, "Lord, I don't care what grades I get.  I really don't.  But if you want me to stay in school, you're going to have to get me through this, because I don't see a way out.  I can't do this.  Any of it.  If this is where you want me, you're going to have to do the heavy lifting.  And I'll give you the credit you deserve.  But this is ALL you."

And you know what?  God was GOOD!  SO, ABUNDANTLY GOOD TO ME!!!!!!! I ended up with MUCH better grades than I expected, and I hung on to my scholarship by more than the skin of my teeth like I was expecting.  I saw the grace and provision of God in his Body (oh, praise the Lord for His community!!!), in his protection of me, in his great and abiding peace.  In his sovereign provision of internet when I really needed it, and closing time when what I really needed was sleep.  With friends who helped me, both in class and out of it, with coffee that actually helped me, with professors who were graciously understanding of my situation.  Grace beyond my wildest imagination. 

It wasn't at all pretty.  Or fun.  Or an experience I would want to repeat.  Ever.  But the Lord taught me so much - I had to cling so desperately to Him, I had to not just lean on Him, but throw myself at His feet and beg for him to carry me, and through it, I saw and experienced the sanctification of the Spirit in new ways, the continued destruction of idols, the faithfulness of the Father, treasured the propitiation, justification, and redemption of the Son in new and more meaningful ways,  and experienced the rest and peace of the Lord.  And I learned that sometimes the best, most wonderful moments are experienced when there is absolutely nothing else left. 

And there's nobody I'd rather walk through that week with than my Abba.