Decisions

It never fails to fascinate me how life is more of a series of Small Decisions, than moments of revelation leading to Big Decisions. In those moments that dance in front of us, masquerading as the Big, it is actually all the Small that have led us to that point. Essentially, the seemingly insignificant day-to-day choices are how we arrive to those moments that cause us to change careers, live overseas, go to graduate school, enter into relationships...

In 2003, my 17 year-old self stood in front of the biggest decision of my life: College. Night after night I counted down anxious hours of lost sleep, paralyzed in fear of making the wrong choice. The trajectory of who I would become spilled over in my mind like a picture book; I watched the friends I would meet, the person I would marry, the job I would have. In those nights when my inner world raged like chaotic drums penetrating a noiseless universe, it seemed that my life's worth hung upon this one decision. What I failed to realize in the lists of pros and cons, checklists of reasons why or why not, and persuasive arguments with my guidance counselor, was that the decision to go to Baylor was already made. It happened when I attended my high school youth group, visited a conference in Waco, and built a friendship with an unlikely friend. These decisions disguised as meaningless - the ones that did not constitute nights of endless nervousness or worry - those were the ones that led me to the Yes to living in the middle of Texas.

Baylor friends who are so dear.
(Even though you wouldn't guess it via Larry...)

The role of our episodic memory - the moments that stay within us long-term - is one of Identity. Our sense of self is created through experience; if our memory dissipates, we essentially lose the very core of who we are. This has never been highlighted more intently than in a recently viewed film  Still Alice. The story of our life tells us who we are, what we want, where we are going, and who we want to be. Each experience is just that - an experience - and we are a collection of such.

I had no idea that a little decision in our kitchen would lead to a four-year friendship
with someone who challenges, laughs, loves, and encourages like nobody else.

Since I was young, I have been drawn to writing for this reason: capturing moments. I want to remember the experience of heartache, exuberance, beauty, pain... this Human Experience that connects us to one another, and yet the one that makes my story unique. I write to remember and return to this sense of Identity, and too often I fear that I will lose sight of these memories that make me who I am. Sometimes writing pulls me away from the present as words swirl in my head on a rolodex seeking to inscribe my story, marking proof of its existence in a tangible Forever. I write to hold onto the good and make it last... though I know it cannot. In this Lenten season, I remember the Identity God has spoken over me. I remember that in Him is fullness of life and joy everlasting. Nothing else will remain except for His Kingdom. Love enduring. I cannot hold onto these moments alone, surely others will outweigh the satisfaction or contentment, but Eternal Glory cannot be overridden. The Holy Spirit living in me must be my unending source of joy. He who never leaves, never fails, always overcomes, and always sustains.

A photo of Gratitude in the middle of winter.