Pilgrimage

Two questions you get asked a lot as a student are "What are you studying?" and "Why?"

"I'm Kate! I'm in my second year of Arts, extended major in International Relations - minor in writing, which is my passion. I went with I.R. because.... because... um. I took way too many different subjects in first year and liked that one best? I'm passionate about human rights? I want to be a writer and need something to write about? Er... I don't know? Oh look, an ant!"

The asker, now convinced that you lack direction as well as conversation skills, will politely smile, and leave you to muse over your raison d'être:

"Who the actual $%#@ am I?"

Eventually you might come up with a formulaic answer to avoid the self-doubt that chills your blood every time you have this conversation. You'll repeat it to yourself - that neatly summarisable self-description -  until it sounds convincing; partly for their benefit, partly for yours.

And like a little tree repeating to itself, "I'm made of wood. I'm made of wood," you'll keep up your forresty existence, largely unaware that this carbon-based mantra doesn't really solve the identity crisis.

A Tree's Identity Crisis:

Not so much losing sight of the fact that it is a tree

as losing sight of the heavens that its branches were reaching towards.

I crave a clear understanding of why I exist. I want to know who I am, not just in a what-I'm-made-of but in a what-my-branches-are-reaching-towards kind of way.

In our faith study this morning, we were asked "What happens to someone who has lost his/her identity?" One girl replied, "They lose sight of who they are, who they want to be."

I think it's important to distinguish between these two things: who we are and who we want to be.

Self-definition (I am a Harry Potter fan who wears pretty skirts and likes to climb trees) only gets us so far. Even earthly goals (I'm going to be a long-form creative non-fiction writer focusing on stories that matter in regions of poverty) still don't satisfy the yearning question written on the depths of my heart: who do I want to be? Who can I be?

Are my branches reaching towards heaven, or are they frantically trying to define what kind of wood they're made of?

Every so often, I forget about God. Particularly when I'm caught up in music and sunshine and feeling like I'm pretty dang good at existing; or when I get mad at the bureaucracy and stagnancy within the Church; or when I am sitting next to someone in class who suggests "I reckon the character we're creating should be a racist and a homophobe - ooh, let's make her Catholic!"

Or - hardest - when I look around me, and see other people's definitions of 'happily-ever-after' and begin to feel like carving an earthly home is better than the perpetual exhaustion of seeking first a heavenly homeland.

I forget the heavens my branches are reaching towards.

And then I forget who I am. I forget why I am.

I can't answer the "Why" without Him. There's no self-defining version of my existence that satisfies my restless heart. There's no 'my kingdom come' that brings me the same peace as 'thy kingdom come.'

Blessed are those who find their strength in you

Whose hearts are set on the pilgrimage...

Better is one day in your courts than a thousand at my own devices.

Psalm 84

What do I exist for? 

Pilgrimage. 

To keep reaching for eternity - yes, with my hands holding others; yes, with my feet in the mud - but with my eyes fixed on Him.

A day spent in His definition of who I am and who I could be is better than a thousand at my own devices.

AMDG