Letting Go and Finding Peace

I went to a school called Patrick Henry College. We went to chapel every week day, and during spring semester, seniors could speak. I didn't get to speak because I was working part-time, so at the time (three years ago!?) I posted it on Facebook. I'm revisiting it today because it was encouraging to me to re-read it. I hope the same is true for you. 


I've edited it significantly from the original Facebook note because I'm a type A personality and a perfectionist, and refining is, well, it's what we do.


The one thing I have to say is that God is love. 

I’ve always thought I could do anything if I just tried hard enough. Last semester, I took physics and found that “trying hard enough” did not automatically entail success.I did everything—everything in my power to pass. I'd have solitary five-hour study sessions where I would look over notes, cry some, try to do a few problems, and cry some more. I asked classmates for help. I asked my professor for help. No matter what I did, I couldn't succeed. 

 Never in my life had I tried so hard and failed. It was an absolute nightmare.

But God is love. He took my prayers more seriously than I thought He would. 

We started a new unit about relativity. I sat through that class breathless--it made sense. I fought back tears, hoping that I understood it and fearing that I was just fooling myself. I went back to my room, cried some more, and spazzed a very long spazz at God about how I didn’t understand and I was tired of trying. 


In the middle of my anguish, God spoke. “Andrea, go do your homework. It’s okay.” So I thought incredulously about that for a little while, blew my nose, then completed and aced my homework. I passed physics. 

God is love. 

Truth almost always hurts, but it never only hurts. The truth of the situation with physics hurt. The truth was that I was depending on my strength. It took pain and failure for me to allow Him to step in. 


And sometimes, I think that He wants us to experience pain. Pain, if it will make us depend on him. Pain, if it will make us forget ourselves. Pain, so that we can drink deeper of love. 

So often we think that we need to grit our teeth, to tighten our masks, to not let anyone see our pain, our suffering, our anguish, our failure. We know we’re not enough on the inside, so we tape paper on the walls of our glass houses and hope that when the wind blows, now one will catch a glimpse of what’s inside. 

But the wind does blow; you know this. We have financial crises, friends who let us down, a past that haunts us. Something reveals we are not enough and we are shattered. We fall down, and we are left with nothing but our broken selves and the God who put us there. On purpose. By grace. 

Because God is love. And he has not left us without recourse. 

Paul tells us to commit everything to prayer. I’m not sure that means we always have to be all peaceful and nice when we pray. I think the kind of prayer Paul is talking about occasionally entails tears and anger because He’s big enough to handle it. 

When every emotion is in rebellion, when every wormy sinful thought has had its way with you, when your heart doubts His existence, when you are overwhelmed with pain, He longs to hear you pray.  
Because God is love. 

"Peace I leave with you; my peace I give to you. Not as the world gives do I give to you. Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid." John 14:27