Act III

In the past, I have prided myself on how quickly I adapt to change. In fact, I enjoy it. I’m not the kind of person who can sit still for a long time, or continue doing the same thing over and over again. I need VARIETY.
But I’ve been discovering recently that change is something I do NOT want to deal with.
So, here’s the deal.
If I could have three catchphrases of my own, they’d probably be: “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” “This, too, shall pass,” and “Don’t cross that bridge ‘till you come to it!”
What you could take out of this is that one, I like to push myself, two, I know that if I just wait long enough, everything will fall into place, and three, I’m REALLY bad at looking ahead into the future.
In some aspects, this is a good thing. I DON’T want to try and plan out my entire life and then fall short of the standards I set and live as a depressed old lady. And I DON’T want to constantly be freaked out about what tomorrow might bring. (“Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own.” Matthew 6:34) But I DO want to be prepared! And right now, I don’t feel prepared at all!
The problem is that in two weeks (UGH!) school starts. First of all, there are a lot of things that are going to be different at my school this year. You have to understand that I go to a (relatively) small private school. It’s hard to be in high school there and not know everyone else in the high school. But more importantly, the teachers know everyone, and genuinely CARE. Sadly, it seems that many of the teachers won’t be returning this year. Since it’s my senior year, this makes me really sad. I want my last year of school there to be like my other years (in general). I want to remember the school I knew and loved when I leave; I don’t want to have to get used to the changes. Then it wouldn’t be MY school.
Also, there’s the problem of my being a senior. Yeah, I’ll have cool privileges and, yeah, people look up to the seniors, but that’s so small in comparison to the fact that at the end of next school year, I’ll be leaving!!!
I’ll have to leave my friends and the grounds that I’ve loved and been learning on for the past five years. I’m leaving the schedule I’ve lived from August till May of wake up, eat in my kitchen, drive to school, hug my friends, go to classes that have already been picked out for me, eat in the cafeteria, more classes, go ride, do something crazy, sleep. I’ll be leaving my family, my church (my other family!), my barn (my third family!). I’m building up these relationships just to leave them in a year. I will have to worry about supporting myself. I won’t come home at the end of each day and collapse into my bed in my room that I’ve lived in my entire life. I’ll miss parts of my sister’s growing up. I’m leaving the security of the education that was already mapped out for me; I’ll have to try and figure out what to map out for myself!
I don’t even know what my schedule is for this year yet!
Plus, I’m going to miss last year’s seniors who are about to leave! It’s like a little preview of the suckiness that’s going to happen once next year rolls around! School and church will NOT be the same without them. Some of my very FAVORITE people are leaving, and thinking about this actually makes me tear up.
In short, right now I just want to collapse on the ground and throw a giant temper tantrum. “I don’t WANNA grow up! You CAN’T make me!”
But that would do nothing, except possibly make me look more ridiculous than I already am.
I wish I would have prepared myself more. Counting down the days until I graduate will be torturous. I don’t want to waste ANY of my time this year.
Change and I aren’t getting along so well right now.

Act II

“It’s everywhere…the constant stream of sounds, the pounds. The waves dragging us down. The way the news anchor frowns and astounds the crowd as they hang on every word. ‘We live in a world that’s fast paced, and to stay in the race you have to keep up or be replaced.’ We’re swept around by the stream of the newest big dream but sometimes it just makes me want to scream because we’re always one step behind. But we think it’s ok because all of society’s that way and how else are we going to feel like we’re giving our say? We fake a smile and after a while we get up and put our mask back on, but we’re silently asking someone to save us from this endless pursuit of happiness, this search for a new dawn that never seems to come. We need a break so we can take some time to figure out what really matters—so we can go back to feeling awake. But no, it’s always the next big thing—look at this expensive ring and how well she can sing—oh how we cling to the things that are sucking us dry. We search for a thrill or a chill knowing what we need is something to fulfill, but until we turn to the right place we’re going to be trampled in this rat race of people just as lost as we are. If only there was something worth giving our lives to—anything so long as I don’t have to keep reliving this endless cycle. It’s seems we all have this hole inside like a part of us has died, and we don’t know how to get it back. My whole conscious is starting to feel out of whack as I realize we’re all missing out. Living for pleasure is not what life’s about; we’re meant to shout out loud to the God who made us to be with Him, but because of sin we’re not where we’re supposed to have been. Instead we’re stuck here wearing our nerves thin trying swim through what the world says is ‘in’ and finding it’s not always as good as we think it’s going to be. If we could just open our eyes and see the Savior who’s reaching out for a hand of a person broken enough to plea for help. We need to place down at the feet of Jesus our burden we try to wear as a crown—and in return, we get a gown of peace. We don’t have to try to save ourselves anymore—He tore apart that illusion and opened the door to a life with Him. And filled to the brim is that hole I never thought would be full, but I now feel whole as I give up that endless chase and the pace of someone afraid of being replaced. I fall into the embrace of the One who took my hand—something I didn’t have planned—but He had a greater call on my life than I could then understand.”

Act I

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

Oh, the words of Shakespeare. So cynical, yet so true.

Between life’s fleeting happiness, sudden tragedy, and all those in between feelings where nothing seems to be going on in your life at all, one begins to feel as if the world is toying with them. You wake up, go about your day, and fall unconscious again at the end of it all. You might have learned a lesson that day, or made a dreadful mistake, or experienced a wonderful moment, but soon it will all fade. It becomes nothing more than a memory in the distant past (oddly enough, the past is usually not quite as distant as one tends to make it out to be).

They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts.

It’s funny, I don’t even think I’ve figured out what part I’m playing yet. How can it be that I’ll play many more? I feel like I don’t even know what I’m doing in the world, and I’m a person who MUST feel like I’m doing something, or I drive myself crazy out of knowing that I’m only contributing to the carbon buildup in the atmosphere. I see a lot of things going on around me, and I see other big players, but I feel like I’m one of the extras in the background. I know I’m needed and all (extras are important, too!) but I don’t FEEL like I’m doing much!

I know that ultimately, there is Someone in control who chose my time to enter. That Someone examined the circumstances and chose the best possible moment for me to come on stage, because they can see the WHOLE stage and they know what works. I think that I have one of two problems (or possibly both): I haven’t yet followed my director completely, because I haven’t put all my trust in Him, OR I don’t understand fully what it is He wants me to do (it’s a little hard to carry out a task when you don’t even know what the task is!). I think I’m pretty good at doing what I’m doing now, and if this is where He wants me, I’m ok with that. But what if I’m just totally not listening to Him at all, and He really wants me to have a speaking part where He knows I could be more useful and enjoy it even more than what I’m doing now? So I’m either in the place I’m supposed to be and doing the right thing (unlikely), in the right place and doing something quite wrong, or in the wrong place completely because I’ve suddenly come down with a blatant case of hearing loss (or merely subjective hearing).

All I know is, when it comes time for my exit, I want to leave with the knowledge that I played my part to the fullest.

Let's see how this plot develops, shall we?

Allons-y!