Seasons

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The unseasonably warm weather we’ve been having this winter has been making me think about seasons.  Seasons of life, to be exact.

Seasons change.  They don’t last forever.  They always come back around.  And so it is with seasons of life – seasons of difficulty, change, loss, grief, love, joy, peace…

And what’s sometimes frustrating is that we never seem to be in the same season at the same time as those around us.

When our world is falling apart, theirs is perfect.  When our lives are in flux, theirs are stable.  When they are rejoicing, we are grieving.

One grieving an unexpected miscarriage, while three are happily pregnant.

Three married and building families, while one is single and alone.

One struggling financially after having lost their job, while one is in line for a promotion and two are happily stay-at-home moms.

It’s hard to be the odd one out.  The one who really wants to be happy for everyone else, but is silently suffering in our own grief or sickness or pain.

But maybe the reason that we’re not all happy or all grieving or all rejoicing or all going through change at the same time is to remind us that seasons change but God remains the same.

When we can see others around us in different seasons of life, we are reminded that although seasons come and seasons go, while grief lasts for the night, joy comes in the morning.  We are reminded that God does not change when the ground beneath our feet is shaking.  Our Rock does not fail.  Our God does not change.

That doesn’t mean it isn’t still hard to be the only one in a group who is grieving the loss of a child, a friend, a parent.  That doesn’t mean that there won’t be seasons of grief, pain, loss, or hardship.

What it means is that God has given us people who can help share the load.  When others are happy and we are grieving, we are called to share with them our burdens.  Rejoice with them in their triumphs, and they to weep with you in your grief.  As seasons change, your roles will be reversed.  You will be the comforter to the hurting, while you are rejoicing.

So take heart, if you are in a difficult season.  Share your season with those around you, and rejoice with them in their joy.  Your season will change.

If you are in a good season, and someone around you is not, grieve with them, love them, pray with them, be a shoulder for them to cry on.  Your season will change, too.

You both serve a God who will never change.  Take heart, for He has overcome the world.

Faith over Fear

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By Kristen Entwistle

We’re all afraid of something.

The dark.  Water.   Falling.  Public speaking.  Looking like a fool.  Spiders.

Disappointing our friends or family.  Fear of what others will think.  Fear of loss.  Fear of failure.

Fear can be a powerful motivator – one that keeps us trapped in awful situations with no escape.  One that keeps us from doing something outside our comfort zone.

Fear can keep us from living life to the fullest.

Fear can keep us from following the will of God.

Fear is a natural human emotion.  “Do not fear”  or “Do not be afraid” appear not once, not twice, but 365 times in Scripture.  It’s something that we need to hear, apparently.  And we need to hear it a lot.

It’s scary to step out of your comfort zone.  It’s scary to move away from everything you know for school or a job.  It’s terrifying to be the only one who will stand up for Who they believe in.  Stepping out in faith usually starts with fear.

Fear can enslave us, keep us from ever moving forward.  Fear can paralyze us, keeping us from spreading God’s love and Truth.  Fear can root itself in our lives and keep us trapped in abusive relationships, dead end jobs, and bad situations.

But faith is bigger than fear.

Our God is bigger than any fear that stands in our way.  Our God is stronger than any wave that threatens to knock us down.

Abram was certainly afraid when God called him to leave everything he knew and pick up and move.  Noah was certainly afraid when God told him to build a boat.  Moses was afraid when God called him to deliver the Israelites from Egypt.  The prophets feared for their lives as they spread the words of the Lord.  Mary was afraid when the angel told her that she would give birth to the Christ.  Paul was certainly afraid on many occasions during his ministry.  John must have been terrified when he received the vision of Revelation.

If these men and women could place their faith in God, a God many of them had never seen, how much more should we, who have seen death defeated by Christ, the curtain torn in two, and Christ raised, put our faith in Him?

He has called us His children, His people, His chosen, His beloved.  He has called us to be free.  We are no longer slaves to fear.  It doesn’t rule our lives.  It doesn’t trap us, consume us, or dictate our actions.  If we place our faith in the One who has conquered death, we have no reason to fear.  He will not let us fall.  He will not fail us.

Fear will always be a part of our lives.  But we are not slave to it anymore.  Praise God.

They Were The First

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By Kristen Entwistle

Thirteen weeks ago I taught my first college class.  “Dr. E” they called me – a name I grew up hearing, but it didn’t refer to me.  It was my dad.

Thirteen weeks ago I stood in front of 31 students and told them that we were going to make it through this semester of organic chemistry together.  “Yeah, right,” they told me.  “We’ll never get this.  It’s too hard.”

Thirteen weeks ago, I stood in front of 15 other students and told them that we were going to cover all of biochemistry in one semester, because that’s what the course catalog said.  “You’re kidding,” they said to me.  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

As I look out now over my class, I can see how far they’ve come.  How much more they know now than they did before.  How proud I am of them.  How grateful I am that they were my first.

My first classes, my first students.  The first ones to laugh at me and with me, the first ones to point out the carbon I was missing on the board, or that I had assigned the wrong chapter’s homework.  The first ones to cut their finger in the lab and have to go to the ER.  The first ones to break glassware and try to pick it up with their bare hands.  The first ones to tell me that the instrument is broken or that something I said I put on the course website wasn’t there.  The first ones to roll their eyes at me when I told a bad joke, the first ones to ask for points back on tests and quizzes and papers, the first ones to cry in my office, the first ones to smile when they got something right.

I will always remember these students, the ones who taught me more about myself than I think I taught them.  I may forget their names, and definitely their grades.  But I will never forget them, because they were my first.

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These students have taught me how to laugh at my own mistakes, and to move on with grace, humility and laughter.  They have taught me how to be a better teacher, a better mentor, a better friend.  They have taught me what it means to be vulnerable and honest, even when it seems impossible and impractical.  They have encouraged me and challenged me every day – and they’ve likely given me a few gray hairs, too.

There will be other classes, more students.  But there will never be another first.  And I wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.

There’s A First Time For Everything

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By Kristen Entwistle

Growing up, I always had a thought in the back of my mind that I might not live long enough to do what I envisioned myself doing.  I always wondered if I’d be able to do what everyone told me I could do.

Tomorrow, I get to do just that for the first time.

Tomorrow, I get to walk into that classroom not as student, but as professor.  With as much responsibility as that comes with, I am so excited, and also so grateful.  I can’t imagine a better place to be starting my teaching career, alongside some pretty incredible men and women of God.

I don’t think I ever really let myself imagine that this could be possible, even after I signed the paperwork that said I really was a professor of chemistry.  It didn’t really become real until now – 12 hours before I teach my first class for the first time.

I am so incredibly blessed to be this healthy, to have this job, to be doing and teaching what I love.  I have been given more than I ever could have asked or imagined, just as He has promised.  How amazing that He could use me, a broken, imperfect child of God in His perfect plan, His infinite wisdom.

When I walk into that classroom tomorrow, it will be with an attitude of thankfulness, excitement, and a little bit of apprehension.  Somehow, by the grace of God, I will make it through my first day as a professor, and so will my students.  And I will continue to be ever thankful that God has brought me here, to a place where I never really thought I’d come.

Thanks be to God.

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I Am Not An Olympian

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By Kristen Entwistle

Watching the Olympics this week has been a lot of fun.  I love watching Michael Phelps swim butterfly – it’s just so beautiful.  Watching Katie Ledecky absolutely crush the competition and prove that she is the best distance swimmer in the world.  Watching April Ross and Kerri Walsh-Jennings dominate in the sand.  Watching the American women’s gymnastics team make history.  Watching Usain Bolt run – he makes it look so easy.

It’s amazing what these athletes are able to accomplish.  How good they are at what they do.  It makes me want to better – watching them.  It makes me want to swim faster, run faster, train harder, be stronger.  And it also makes me feel a bit disappointed with myself – that I’m not that good.  That I don’t swim that fast, run that fast, or can even do a handstand.

But as I keep watching this year’s Olympic games, I’m remembering that it’s not about how good I am compared to everyone else – whether in sports or in life.  It’s not about how fast I am compared to Katie Ledecky, or how much money I make compared to my former grad school colleagues, or how my children behave compared to others, or how many books I sell or how many Facebook followers I have.  It’s not about that.  At all.

I may not be an Olympian, but I am still loved by the God of the Universe.

I may not make the most money possible, but God provides.

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I may not sell many books or have 300,000 Facebook followers, but I do what I do for the glory of God, not for the recognition of people.

God has given me unique talents and gifts, and those gifts don’t make me an Olympian or a best-selling author, or the richest person. It makes me…well, me.  And I am a child of God, loved beyond measure, forgiven and free.

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Headlights

Live Like Jesus, Patience, Prayer, Waiting

By Kristen Entwistle

I was driving home late last night, down one of those two lane country roads in Indiana.  Turns out, there’s a lot of those roads, and I’m pretty unfamiliar with them right now.  You see, I just moved here, and I’m still learning my way around.  I don’t know which roads twist and turn or which ones are likely to have horses and buggies on them.  I don’t know which ones have stop signs every half mile, and which ones go on forever.

Most of these roads have a ditch on either side of them and people who drive like maniacs.  Oh, and people who blind you with their high beams.

As I was driving down that two lane road last night, it was a little scary – not being able to see more than a hundred feet in front of you and not knowing what’s up ahead.

It’s kind of like life, isn’t it?  God gives us these glimpses of what He is calling us to do, these rare moments of certainty where we can see a hundred feet in front of us.  But we can’t see what’s coming.  We can’t see that there’s a sharp turn or a stop sign up ahead.  That cancer is going to hit us seemingly out of nowhere or that a close friend is going to die unexpectedly.  But we can’t see the good things too – the new baby, the extra money that just showed up in the budget – all we can see is what God illuminates before us.

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Occasionally we get a glimpse of what’s coming when there’s a house light on, or a gas station.  But not very often.  Most of the time we’re still in the dark, with only our headlights.

Walking in faith isn’t easy, and it’s certainly not without its difficulties.  But we’ve got a God who can see all the twists and turns and stop signs because He built the road.  He knows what lies ahead for us and He guides us through it.

We may end up in the ditch sometimes, or make a wrong turn, but still He shows us the way, one step at a time.