Breathing

Last year, when I was studying for some of the horrendous tests that you have to take to get into grad school, I stressed out to a boy.
"I don't know how I'm going to pass this."
"You'll pass it."
"But what if I don't??"
"You'll pass it."
"But what if I DON'T?"
"Do you believe God wants you to be a teacher?"
"Yes."
"Then don't worry about it. He'll make you a teacher."

I thought my would-be advisor was awfully patronizing at the time, but the more I think about those words, the more reassuring I find them to be.

I have been stressing out ALL DAY LONG about getting a job for next year. I know of at least three districts in Seattle that are in hiring freezes-- in fact, I don't know if I know of a district that is NOT in a hiring freeze. MY school is being shut down, so all of the teachers are scrambling like rats on a sinking ship. Everyone's losing their jobs. Everyone's panicked. Everyone is freaked out.

I woke up feeling terrible, so I called in sick and just worked on my resume all day long. I've been to two resume workshops in the last couple weeks. Each one has said things like, "You need to do THIS, but you CANNOT do this, and you should definitely feature this, but by no means do THIS!" And so I've been working on my resume, but each little thing feels like a wire connected to a bomb-- it's taken on THAT much dire significance. Finally I called SPU and asked someone at the career center to take a look at what I had. They sent it back-- the version that I'd been working on all day-- with tons of suggestions for how to improve it.

Then I called my mom and cried.

Anxiety is not a new experience. Starting last year, on the morning that I took the GRE, anxiety has batted me around every once in a while like a cat toying with a mouse. Earlier this year, at one of my counseling appointments, I talked about how frustrating it was to feel so imprisoned by WORRY. We discussed a couple sides of it, and finally we just prayed and decided to see if God had anything to say.

I got a picture in my head, of me, barefoot, in a field that was dotted with wildflowers and bordered by some trees in the distance. There was a breeze, but it was warm. My hair was down, and I had on a linen dress with a skirt that was full enough to catch the wind and move around my legs. There was a full length mirror in front of me, situated in the long grass-- one of those old fashioned oval ones, that stands up on big wooden legs. I looked at my reflection in the mirror. Wind-blown. Barefoot. Open. Light.

I heard: "THIS is you. You're meant for freedom."

Big deep breath in. But then came a flood of questions and doubts and worries, and "What if's???" and I asked the speaker in my dream, "But whatif, whatif, whatif??"

And I heard: "None of those matter in deciding where you go next. I am the one who chooses where you go next. And I have a good next step for you."

Then, something in that girl in the field rose up and floated like a kite over the trees, bobbing and dancing in the wind.

I heard, "THIS is you. You're meant for freedom. That's the sort of spirit I've given you."

... So now, after a day of stressing out, and feeling panicked, and feeling insecure, and feeling unsure, and feeling terrified by this economy, I come back to the simplicity of that question:

"Do you believe God wants you to be a teacher?"
"Yes."
"Then don't worry about it. He'll make you a teacher."

Resting in that this evening.