Sorry. It’s not that I don’t have more to say about education, more that I just don’t feel like saying it now. This blog is not really the place for self-discipline. Self-discipline is for the paper I finished yesterday and, more particularly,  one I’m starting tomorrow. Tonight I have no plans, and simply felt like writing to you. Yes, you. Hello!

Today is Friday. This morning I slept through my eight-o-clock, put on cute clothes, met with my advisor about my term paper, turned in a paper, took a big test at one, took a not-quite-so-big test at two, talked to Karen (Hi, Karen!), went on part of an adventure, had dinner at a house with a family, and watched a favorite movie. I am so successful. Hehe. Well, not really, I’m behind on reading Paradise Lost, which is a terrible predicament in which to find oneself. But I am undeniably thankful.

I have been thinking a lot about suffering lately, partly because I’m working on a paper about it, and partly because…I don’t have any. Monday night I went to the chapel with friends and cried and prayed and was angry with God. I was angry because everything I have ever had has been good. I was jealous of those who only have Jesus. I told God I wanted only him. The fact that I have gotten everything I ever really wanted in life was a distraction, and the gifts made me forget the Giver. If Christ was the only good thing I had, I would truly be looking to Him every moment of everyday. I demanded to know why God had not given me that opportunity.

I was answered. Several times over. First, of course, God reminded me that I am only eighteen. I will live longer, and there will be suffering. Not to worry. Also, especially after a conversation with Liesel, I began to remember that “to whom much is given, from him much will be required,” and that “it is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter the kingdom of God.” So, as dumb as it is sounds, maybe, for the moment, my prosperity is my cross to bear. And not only to carry along on my back aimlessly, but to make proper use of. I am to use it to fend off darkness, I am to plaster it with messages of Hope, and I am to give it away splinter by precious splinter till “nothing in my hand I bring,” my cross is quite gone, all that is left is His, shining before me on Calvary.

So I will spend the next week reading my Herbert and reading my Donne and revelling in their “theology of suffering.” I will be thankful for every hug and class and laugh and book. And each night I will write out my blessings till my hand hurts and ask not “Your will be done,” because, as Laura and I know, passive tense is a tool of the devil, but “Lord, may I do Your will.” Pray for me.