The plans He has for me

For I know well the plans I have in mind for you, says the LORD, plans for your welfare and not for woe, plans to give you a future full of hope.

Jeremiah 29:11

It's Easter Monday, and I have the day off. Actually, I have most of the week off. It's been awhile since I've had an extended amount of time to think, reflect, and pray about my life. The direction that it is heading.

I am nearing the end of my job at the nature reserve. This saddens me, because I love my job. I really do. I love working with kids, and I love being outside in nature. It figures that I would love combining the two. But, alas, this job is a seasonal one, and so, I will be finishing up my time there at the end of May. I've been applying to jobs for weeks now, with a few interviews, but with no definite results. And so, I continue to search. But also to dream. And wonder where the next step will lead me.

I love great conversations. You know, the ones where you think, "Wow. This is great. I need to write this down!" I just had one of these mini-revelations with a good friend. In this particular conversation, we were discussing the infinite possibilities, and I told her that I feel God calling me in a new direction.

My strengths are very inward: I am inquisitive, meditative, detail-oriented, focused, and deep. These are excellent strengths, don't get me wrong, and having these strengths has blessed me profoundly. But, in the past few months, through my work in education, I have realized that God is calling me to move outward. It's almost as if He is saying, "Alright, Marie. You have mastered one set of qualities. Now it is time to work on something else."

And as I was telling my friend this, an image popped into my head of a flower. A flower starts off as a bud, tightly closed to the outside world. A lot of work goes on inside this bud that we do not see. It is being formed, built up, prepared. And once it is ready, once it has the inside, or the inward mastered, it opens up, and what was hidden is now shared for the world to see.


In the same way, I have been formed and prepared on the inside. Now is the time for me to open up, to share this wonder and joy with the world. To remain closed, and in essence, hidden from the world, would be to reject the Creator's plan for me, and His plan for each of us--to proclaim His glory, and the marvelous beauty of His handiwork.

So that they might have life

I came that they might have life, and have it abundantly.
John 10:10

About a month ago, I donated blood for the first time. Not long before, the topic had somehow come up with a friend. I had confessed, with embarassment, that I had never done it. "Well, why not?" he asked. "Um...well, I'm not sure I could do it."

Now, I am not afraid of needles, nor does the sight of blood make me woozy. But, I do have a history of fainting. And I had never had bloodwork done at the doctor's office. So I really had no idea how the loss of blood would affect me. But my worries seemed awfully unfounded and foolish once they left my brain.

I promised that at the next opportunity, I would donate blood. I left that conversation feeling good, albeit a bit puffed up. That Sunday, an announcement in the bulletin for the next church-sponsored blood drive deflated my pride. So soon? It's amazing how quickly opportunities present themselves when a promise is made.

Time sped onward, and the big day arrived. I was petrified. But, a promise is a promise. I slowly made my way towards the entrance of the Knights of Columbus Hall where the blood drive was held. I walked in with a Red Cross representative, who grinned broadly and held the door open for me after I told him I was a first-timer. "Welcome! Welcome!"

Since it was my first time, I had to register. This basically involves a nurse asking a gazilion questions about where you've travelled and whether or not you've been exposed to HIV and other diseases. This is to make sure that you do not have infected blood, obviously. After saying "No" to all of these questions (truthfully, I might add), they pricked my finger to test my blood for iron content.

I had thought I might be anemic, so I was a little apprehensive about this. If your iron is too low, you can't give blood (because you need it!). I said a quick prayer, and good news! I passed the iron test. When asked, the nurse said that I have a good amount of iron, especially for a woman. Finally, he took my pulse and blood pressure.

I had passed the preliminaries, and now it was time for the actual donation! It turned out that I was the very last donor of the day, so I had all of the attention I could ever need. My nurse put a small ball in the palm of my hand and told me to squeeze it gently. She wrapped my arm in a blood pressure cuff, while I squeezed to get my blood circulating. Then she prepped the site where the needle would go in, and regularly checked to make sure I was feeling alright.

The actual time it takes to make the donation is less than ten minutes. As the needle entered into my vein, I felt a sharp, but localized pinch. This sensation lasted the entire ten minutes. During those few minutes of discomfort, I had the opportunity to reflect on the suffering of so many around the world. My tiny suffering would only last minutes, but what about the suffering of others? Some suffer all of their lives, some for years, months, or weeks.

All too often, we try to avoid pain and discomfort. Suffering is seen as something to be endured and escaped if possible. Even Jesus, the Suffering Servant, pleaded with the Father, "if it be possible, let this cup pass from me" (Matthew 26:39). And yet, on this Friday, that we as Christians are audacious enough to call Good, we meditate on the greatest act of Love the world has ever known. Through Christ's suffering, we are given new Life, a Life that never ends.

In our small way, we can unite our sufferings to those of Christ. In that way, our suffering becomes not an act of anguish and despair, but of joy and hope.

On this Good Friday, I urge everyone to become a blood donor. As a healthy adult, you can replenish the pint of blood you give in 24 hours. And in ten minutes, with slight discomfort, you can save up to three lives.

Give so that they may live.

Dreams Derailed, Hopes Preserved

I promise that I will write a new blog entry today. But, as I was browsing the blog entries that only made it to the draft stage, the entry below caught my eye. It was written last October, after a disappointing rejection letter from a company I was eager to work for.

Now, months and many rejection letters later (from jobs as well as grad schools), I feel much the same. So, I will let this entry exit the draft stage and enter the public stage. Voila.

God often takes a course for accomplishing His purposes directly contrary to
what our narrow views would prescribe. He brings a death upon our feelings,

wishes, and prospects when He is about to give us the desires of our hearts. --John Newton

I consider myself a big dreamer. When I think of my life thus far, I recall all of the wonderful, and amazing opportunities that I have had--pilgrimages to Medjugorie and Rome, vacations to England and Austria all before I was ten years old. And then, the opportunity to study abroad, not once but twice--first to a small village in the foothills of the Austrian Alps and then to Oxford. Living in Phoenix for six months, and visiting the Grand Canyon and Sedona. And I've been blessed with a wonderful, caring family and a supportive network of colleagues and friends.

So when I look to the future (which I can't help but do), I expect great things. And so I should. The problem, I have discovered, is not that we expect too much from this life, but that we expect far too little. We equate what we want with the best possible outcome, when this is often not the case.

That being said, I still feel crushed when things don't go as planned. This afternoon, before settling down to write, I decided to see what came in the mail.

Big mistake.

I had received one of those letters, from a company that I had applied for, months ago. I had had a phone interview with them recently that I wasn't too happy about. But I remained hopeful, sent them writing samples, and continued sitting on my laurels. As soon as I saw the letter (pitifully thin as it was), I knew what it meant.

I opened it, and scanned quickly to the end of the letter: "We will be keeping your application on file, and, should it become appropriate, may consider reviewing it again at a later date, should suitable opportunities open up" (Wow, that's a lot of qualifiers within one sentence!). My grandiose plans of getting the aforementioned job (and the nice benefits that came with it) were destroyed. Gone. Poof. The cowboy rides into the sunset...

I remember boasting after leaving six months of service in Phoenix, half-seriously, that it would be no time before I had a great job and was saving money. If "no time" meant more than two months, then I was correct.

But, I remain hopeful. Perhaps naively, I still cling to the knowledge that the great experiences of my past did not come to me as payment for anything I did. They were all gifts. And the best gifts come when you least expect them.