Uncertainty

I certainly didn't expect to come to the shadow of Canterbury Cathedral and do so much blogging, but we have free time built in to our schedule where it feels weird to be doing homework, and the atmosphere itself invites reflection.  Especially at 3 degrees Celsius and rain outside; and me without waterproof shoes or a coat!  I'll go out for cream tea later and just stay there :-)  Well... if the Trappist has scones again, which they didn't yesterday :-(

Anyway, I just wanted to come out here and reflect on my own sense of anxiety as I contemplate checking my e-mail, where my notice from Teach For America awaits.  E-mails were supposed to go out at 6 EST last night, which means if I had stayed up another 20 minutes last night I would have gotten it before going to bed, but I chose to sleep instead and find out in the morning; but if my wife had been available (again, after 20 more minutes she probably would have been) I might have just checked then.

I just don't like finding out about decisions like this.  Something about the im-personable-ness of e-mail really puts me off it.  Some of you will recall how I waited for three days to get my Seminary mailing rather than log into my online application account and find out if I'd been accepted.  I just don't like the internet; finding out in a physical object that I hold in my hands feels more real.

I realized also this morning that it probably has something to do with my Advent spirituality.  I don't mind waiting, really.  And, because I wait, I don't get quite as invested in the outcome; rather, I remember that my identity does not at all rest on the decision of a seminary admissions committee or the human relations department at Teach For America.  I am still a husband and a son and a friend whether I got in or I did not.  I'm still on pilgrimage in Canterbury Cathedral.  I still have a week to look forward to in Edinburgh and London with my wife.  I'll still have moments of laughter and honest intimacy with my classmates in the coming days.  I often think that personality is as much a matter of habit as anything else, and getting into TFA or not getting in can't change my habits.  In fact, choosing to wait until at least 10:36 this morning (the time it is now) is confirming a habit that I have made uniquely mine rather than displacing it.

So, I'll leave with the following exercise:

What happens if I get into TFA?  I'll feel like I have some insurance.  I have an option for a job for next year, and one that makes financial sense.  At any rate, that is, if my wife got in as well.  I will have succeeded at something I put my mind to, been accepted for something I applied too.  I'll feel successful, accomplished, talented (don't those things make good idols?).

What happens if I don't get into TFA?  I'll feel serious rejection, possibly for the first time in my life (The honors program at my college?  Not getting into Boston College?  In hindsight, I'm grateful for both of those things.  God knew what was up, even if I was mad about it).  But with regards to the future, I will have to deal with uncertainty and doubt.  What is God's plan?  Where am I supposed to go?  What am I supposed to do?  Who am I supposed to be?

And then it dawned on me: I'm dealing with that right now.  By choosing to wait, by praying, by trying to refuse the sins of despair and fear, and accept God's offer of hope.  I do believe - help my unbelief!

Of course, all this emotional processing is less than half of the real story.  My wife has already heard, and we will make our decision together.  Nothing about whether I get in or not matters without whether or not she did.  That's maybe the hardest part - knowing that we'll process this together next week, but all we have for now is Skype (lame).  I'm so grateful that we have each other, and we'll get to move forward to whatever comes together.  I'd much rather have that be my identity than to default to my own idea of success!

Now, before you get the idea that this whole exercise means I hope I don't get in... that's not quite the case.  But it helps me not to fear it so much, even if it will hurt.