Sorry for my lack of communicativeness (which, apparently, is actually a word, at least according to Spell Check) over the past few weeks. The past few weeks have been, if not hellish, then at least purgatory-esque, and I am rapidly re-discovering why I didn’t actually want to go back to graduate school in the first place. Things came to a head this past week (Thursday, to be precise), when I had a term paper due, a history midterm, applications for financial aid for next year (which I did not find out about until Wednesday, and did not get in on time), in addition to the 300-odd pages of weekly reading, class time, small group meetings, house obligations, choir rehearsal, etc, of regular to-dos. By the time I got done with the midterm on Thursday morning, I was done. I skipped class for the first time this year, went home, and slept for four hours. The good news is that now things should (fingers crossed knock on wood) get easier for the rest of the year.

I have nothing to complain about; I’ve got a roof over my head, great people to live with, a healthy body, a reasonably sound mind, a beautiful city to live in (especially when the sun comes out); I’ve never gone hungry because I couldn’t afford to buy food, I’ve never gone sick because I couldn’t afford a doctor, I’ve never gone to jail for my faith; by pretty much any standard, my life is pretty dang good.

I guess that the main things that make life difficult right now are also the most important things: those extra-curricular lessons in character that, given the choice, most of us would skip. Unfortunately, we have a Headmaster who fastidiously monitors attendance. For me, it’s been a lot about humility. I started this semester confident that I’d be able to finish all course work in less than 35 hours a week, and have time to learn Hebrew and study Latin on the side. I’ve been frustrated: frustrated when my brain will not do the things I ask of it; frustrated when, despite my best efforts, I cannot get my life organized enough to get done what I want to; frustrated when I feel that my academic abilities are slighted.

On the Monday before Ash Wednesday and the start of Lent, I was thinking about what if anything I should give up. At this point, I’d say it takes more spiritual discipline to make sure I get ENOUGH calories, so fasting from foods didn’t really seem like the best option; I don’t watch TV, drink coffee with any regularity, or drink alcohol. (Note, this is due to my miserliness, not any particular virtue or self-discipline on my part). But thinking it over, I felt like I should give up extra-curricular learning. Now, to most people (and actually, to me too) the idea of giving up trying to teach myself Hebrew doesn’t sound like all that much of a sacrifice. But I realized later that the sacrifice wasn’t the thing itself; it was giving up my pride and admitting that I couldn’t.

For much of this past year (ironically enough for those of you who followed my Mexico correspondence) I’ve really been missing Mexico, and the immediacy of God’s Presence that I encountered there, even with everything else that happened. Now I realize that I am again in a similar place: not entirely sure what I’m doing, or what this is leading to; frustrated by some of my circumstances; being confronted with flaws in my character. And yet, perhaps that’s the point. Just re-reading through II Corinthians today, I was struck by how Paul saw his various trials, not as incidental to, but as necessary for both his work and personal formation: “My grace is sufficient to you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” It’s actually amazing how much more sense the Bible makes when I’m not comfortable.