2018 is not starting off the way I imagined.
Let me explain. This whole school year has been pretty rough for me. My sister and a lot of my friends graduated last year—I still have friends, and some very good ones at that, but my circle has grown exponentially smaller. I haven’t been in a good mental or spiritual place—it’s been a long time since my depression was this out of hand, and it got so bad that I was in counseling for it all of last semester. All in all, I haven’t been doing incredibly well. Junior year hit me like a truck and then backed over me a few times, and I wasn’t exactly eager for round two.
But inevitably, round two came for me. The day I left home, I cried. A lot. There was nothing I wanted less than to come back to school, and piled on top of all of my emotional baggage was the fact that neither my roommates nor my best friend would be returning. I’ve never been less excited about a semester of school.
I’m not going to lie. My attitude at the start of the semester was awful. I was angry. I didn’t see any reason that I had to be here, and yet, here I was. I was quite the little black raincloud when I arrived on campus.
But through the messages that I’ve heard in chapel, the sermons that I’ve heard at church, and even the lectures I’ve heard in class, my faithful God has encouraged my rebellious heart. He has reminded me that He is sovereign, and He knows what’s best for me. Most of all, He’s shown me that this is where I need to be. It may not be where I want to be, but it’s not ultimately up to me. I’m still coming to terms with a lot of things, but I’m where I’m supposed to be, and the rest is up to Him.