I might look back and laugh, maybe.

No matter how optimistic you pride yourself in being, there are just some days that classify as nothing short of “bad.”  Today was one of those “special” days.  My goal for today was to be productive, efficient, and cross off items on my currently overwhelming to-do list.  In an attempt to get some straight-up answers as to how I get my Washington teaching license, I decided to hit the BIG city of Bellingham and visit Western Washington University.  You may not think much of Western, as it is not UW, USC, or another ghastly large state school, but coming from Corban, which is essentially a couple buildings on the side of a hill, I was on a big-time campus. 

As I turned onto the road that was supposedly going to lead me where I needed to go, I ran across the “visitors” building.  This seemed like the logical place for someone like me who doesn’t have a clue to go first.  Turns out, I was right.  Apparently you have pay to park by the hour at this place!  Clue number one that I am no longer on Corban campus.  So I decided to pay for one hour parking, thinking I was having a particularly successful and efficient day and keeping this mission to under an hour would be effortless.  Upon asking for a map, which the lady so nicely traced all over in red pen to show me exactly how I was to find my way to lot 17G, I walked back to my car doing that typical dig-through-your-purse-causally-so-no-one-see-you-panic thing to find my key.  But as I reached my car with still no key in hand, I’m sure my panic was now evident on my face.  I dug for another 2 minutes before I took that humiliating squat to the ground where you can really get a good digging in your purse.  I emptied out all the contents, nothing.  I patted all my pockets, nothing. 

Shamefully, I walked back to the visitors (or as it should be called, “Navigating College Campuses for Idiots”) building.  I informed them I must have left my keys here.  Nothing.  So they directed me to the campus police officer where my key would be located if someone found it and turned it in.  I rounded the corner of this building and asked the police man if he had my key.  He asked me to wait while he went and looked (as I thought to myself, “if it had been turned in, it would probably still be sitting on that desk of yours…”).  He came back and asked when I lost my key.  “About 5 minutes ago.”  With a patronizing chuckle, he told me that no, my key had not been found. 

Back to the parking lot I went; I dug around a few more times.  Back into the Idiots office I went.  Surprisingly, that front desk that didn’t have my key on it two minutes ago still didn’t have my key!  So back to the car again.  I dumped everything out of the purse and contemplated the most mature way to call mom and ask if she could bring me my spare key.  It was at this moment I found my key.  In my purse. 

With a newfound sense of success (and wasting a good 15 minutes of that hour of parking I paid for), I set off to find lot 17G.  I repeated the lines the lady told me, “right out of the lot, right at the light.”  But after one of those rights, I got a little distracted by the sweat accumulating under my arms after having survived that stressful event of losing and finding keys.  During this effort to remove my cardigan, I realized I had not been looking for lot 17G.  So I pulled into the nearest lot and rolled the window down to get some help from a rather official looking, older lady.  After having to explain my situation to her about 3 times, I realized I had not chosen well in looking for someone to help streamline my campus navigation process. 

I tried my best to nicely tell her I’d figure it out on my own, when I saw the sign notifying me this was, in fact, lot 17G.  Hallelujah.  I parked, hopped out of the car (with campus map in hand) and said a prayer that I could make my way to Miller Hall, find this answer-filled genie, and make it back to 17G in under the now 40 minutes I had remaining on this parking permit.  It was at this moment the aforementioned “helper” decides she wants to discuss what year my Jetta is.  I DON’T KNOW, and I did not pay for this hour-long parking to talk about my car. 

 I’m sure I looked really cool to all the students getting out of class as I sped walked through campus covering my face with this map.  The map showed that Miller Hall was by the “Red Square,” building 23, and parking lot 10G.  That would be really helpful if I new what or where any of those things were.  By the grace of God alone, I somehow ran into Miller Hall.  You might think my problems are over at this point.  Think again. 

I walk in, feeling all “successful” again.  From the outside, this building looks like any other campus building: square, brick, students walking in and out, the typical. But on the inside, it’s like some sort of cruel maze created to confuse campus idiots like me.  There were four floors, with a few “sub-floors” mixed in there, too.  As I’m walking through what appears to be some sort of café, the hallway all of a sudden turns into outside.  “What?  Why is there no roof here?  What if it were raining?” Another sign (probably the seventh sign by now) that this is not Corban.  We always have roofs.  They might leak, but we have roofs. 

I find a map on a wall and stare at it for a good 4 or 5 minutes in an attempt to find a room that looks like it might have that genie with the information I need to know.  I pick room 250.  This also happens to be on one of the mysterious sub-floors.  After a few more circles around this ridiculous maze, I find it: room 250.  The lady was nice enough, but informs me I will actually be finding that genie in room 150.  I find my way to the stairs again and take, what I am sure is, the longest route.  This secretary is much less helpful and friendly.  In fact, she never got off the phone.  Thankfully, someone else came out, seeing my bewildered and I’m sure slightly haggard-looking self at this point.  She invites me in and then informs me of the process to obtain a Washington teaching license.  Turns out the test I got passing scores back from today, won’t work.  She tells me I have to take the tests that say “Washington” at the top of them.  I don’t know if this was an attempt to be humorous, but I wasn’t finding it all too funny. 

Surprisingly, I made it back to lot 17G, and found my car, with 7 minutes to spare. 

I felt like crying.  Why can’t there be a universal teaching license?  Why can’t all the states’ names be at the top of those tests?  Why are there endless hoops to jump through in order to get a license?  Why can’t I seem to figure out how to use maps?  This past hour had been one for the record books.  Could anything else have gone wrong?!  (Which it did… the freeway entrance ramp I needed to use was closed, and as you can probably guess, my navigating skills took me a very round-about way to find another entrance to the freeway.)

Now, 4 hours after this afternoon debacle, I can laugh at what happened.  The fact that I spent 15 minutes looking for the lost key located in my purse, the fact that I just so happened to run into the one lady on campus with no sense of urgency or parking lot knowledge, the fact that Miller Hall is a crazed, cruel, and occasionally roofless maze, is actually pretty hilarious.  All of these issues were just minor obstacles in my way of getting to the answer genie.  And, looking back, they make for a pretty good story.  Not to mention, I managed to navigate and get answers in my allotted hour of parking.

All this nonsense about re-taking tests and filling out copious amounts of paperwork are just obstacles in my way of getting a teaching license.  But I’ll get around them eventually.  Who knows, I might even laugh some day when I think about the summer I tried to get my Washington license.  The summer I re-took essentially the same test I took (and passed) mere months prior.  Maybe.  Not yet. 

I am reminded of my favorite verse, “Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer” (Romans 12:12).  This is all in God’s hands.  I don’t need to worry.  I just need to stay joyful, have a little patience, and trust in God’s bigger plan.  So I might run into a few metaphorical “lost” keys, unhelpful “helpers,” and Miller mazes.  But I’m sure it will make the end (successful) result that much sweeter.  

Just passing through

I am a recent college graduate… 8 days ago, to be exact.  During these past 4 years, I have been in a constant state of not really living in any one place.  Anyone else who has been through college or may currently be getting their college degree probably has a pretty good idea what I am talking about.  For those of us who choose a college farther than a city or two away from home, we don’t really live at home anymore.  But we also don’t really live in this oversized building filled with ridiculous numbers of other crazed 20-somethings called a dorm.  Over the weekends, we can end up anywhere: the beach, a friend’s house, Grandma’s, the occasional trip home for food and laundry, or maybe someone else’s dorm room.  You’re in a constant state of movement.

At some point during these 4 years, I mastered what it means to live in such a way that

 (hopefully) makes moving to wherever that next location may be a little easier.  For example, keeping things rarely used in their boxes is always a good idea.  In fact, this past year, I moved at least two boxes home that had never been opened during the course of the school year.  But it always made me feel better knowing I had those boxes of seeming “essentials,” just in case.  I also learned that moving clothes from one closet to another is best done by keeping the clothes on the hangers.  Quicker out, quicker in.  And for those of us who live far enough away that two trips to take things home is unacceptable, I have learned the utmost importance of using that trip home during Spring Break to your best advantage (bring home those boxes you never used for the past 8 months… you won’t use any of it during that last month, I promise). 

As tempting as it may be to bring more “essentials” back to your undersized dorm or apartment while being home for Thanksgiving, Christmas, or other breaks long enough to make the trip home, you should be very selective.  That car that was a little over-packed on the way to your school back in August won’t suddenly have more room in May for that extra bookshelf, box of VHS tapes you swore you’d watch during finals week, or that tennis racket you promised to use on every sunny weekend. 

All this to say, I think I know the ropes of “living on the go” (and I have an awesome mother who does things like take carloads and U-haul loads back for me in May).  I haven’t really felt settled for these past 4 years.  Over the summers, I left boxes in the garage (or even worse, in my car!), stuffed closets full of clothes that should really be donated or at least re-evaluated before taking up precious space in my less than spacious closet, and contemplated the need to actually keep those ridiculously pricey textbooks about managerial accounting, the history of the Baptist church, and how to “figure out foreigners.”  I couldn’t help but feel like no matter where I ended up for the current segment of months, that place was not really my home. 

Do you ever feel like that here on Earth?  Like you’re not really at home yet?  Like you haven’t reached all you’re hoping to accomplish?  Like you can’t quite feel at ease with your current lot in life?  If you answered “yes” to any of these questions, rest assured you’re not alone.  In fact, you’re probably right where you should be.

“For here we do not have a lasting city, but we are seeking the city which is to come” (Hebrews 13:14).  We really are just passing through.  This world is just a pit stop for us to be used by God for his glory while we are really on our way to where we are supposed to be.  That feeling of being under satisfied and uncomfortable is a natural part of life here on Earth. 

So for the time being, figure out what makes this “passing through” life a little easier… keep your hanging clothes on their hangers, pack your boxes wisely, and don’t stuff your car too full.  Let God have his way with your life and remember you’re just passing through a couple temporary cities.