March madness

March was a whirlwind. It started with vertigo and a haircut. Then I spent a weekend with two of my beautiful best friends in Columbus, eating Indian food and finding the holes in a time travel movie.

I spent a weekend at a conference with my favorite high schoolers and learned a ton myself. Then I closed the month out in Boston, serving with my family from The Bridge.

Oddly enough, this was one of my big takeaways from Boston: I didn’t know how much I missed hearing those old friends laugh. One morning I sat on my air mattress smiling like a goon, just listening to my friends in the next room preparing breakfast. They were just laughing about French toast or coffee, but it was one of those moments where I actually felt something like joy swell in my heart.

One evening we drove out to the beach, even though it was cold and windy. We all stood at the water’s edge in winter coats while sand whipped around us in cyclones. Afterward in the van, we all talked about a day when the world is perfect again. Anticipating a blemish-free kingdom where sand doesn’t get in your mouth on a windy day.

In Boston I had the opportunity to catch up with a lot of people one by one. As I updated each of them on my jobs, school, ministry, friendships and plans, I began to realize that this season of life is so much better than I give it credit for. A lot of times, I tell myself that this is an in-between stage — an impasse between undergrad adventures and the rest of my life. I assume that my failures and refusals have landed me here. And that I’m somehow squandering potential or living in a holding pattern. But as I shared about the ins and outs of my daily life, I realized how purpose-filled my circumstances are. I’m not a transient bum. My roots can sink into something rich and beautiful here over these next few years.

To borrow and tweak some words from a guy named Felipe: I don’t have the luxury of wallowing or floating by. Life has too much potential and God has too much goodness for me to ignore where I’m placed.




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