A Season of Trust
- priscillawrites
- Apr 30, 2015
- 2 min read
I’ve sat in business classes for the past four years, which means I’ve heard endless lectures about “polishing your perfect resume” and can tell you the difference between business casual and professional dress in a heartbeat. I guess that’s why a part of me expected that the season after my college graduation would look like interviews and high heels and browsing job descriptions on the internet. I mean, isn’t that what it’s supposed to look like?
Yet here I am, two weeks from graduation, and I’m only editing my linked-in profile “for fun.” I’m seeing classmates and colleagues post about their perfect new job, or the task of studying for graduate exams, and yet I don’t have to worry about either since I’m staying at the job I’m at now even if it’s not “professional” or closely related to my future career path.
On the one hand, it’s immensely freeing not to have to worry about those things. It’s a breath of fresh air to get these months of rest, months where my work will not have to come home with me and I will have time to do the things I enjoy like write a novel and spend time outside.
But on the other hand, it’s also so daunting. I feel like I’m one of those crazy people abandoning the expected, the guideline of how-you’re-supposed-to-do-life-and-your-career-after-college. I guess part of what makes it so scary is that there’s no foreseeable end. The plan is to spend a year and a half or so fundraising for the World Race, but that’s dependent on how my fundraising actually goes, and so many other things. So I feel like I’m just floating in mid-air, following a plan that feels more like a leap of faith off a cliff I can’t see the bottom to.
But I know that this strange season will be good for me. I know I need it. Because as much as I say I’m an adventurer and a dreamer, there is a worrier and planner inside of me, who was brought to life by my years among overachieving high school students and ambitious business classes. And the worst part of it is, the worrier in me likes to believe the lie that I can do all this on my own, that trusting God is something best saved for emergency situations.
I don’t want to live that way. I’d rather my life be a giant question mark that requires blindy following and listening and obeying, than a perfectly-planned illusion that will eventually fall apart in my hands. This is a season of trust. And I’m so looking forward to it because of that.
