If you have, did you reach the same conclusion as I did... that every-single-thing-happens-for-a-reason-according-to-God's-plan-and-God's-timetable-? That's right. Now, before you scoff and pssshhh this post, or raise your eyebrow and say nah-uh! or contradict me with your coincidence-and-slash-or-serendipity-theories, finish reading this first. I challenge you.
A couple of years ago, I was one of those people who easily believed in coincidence and serendipity. I thought that minor, insignificant things were a coincidence; I thought that really unexpected yet fortunate instances were awesome cases of serendipity. And if events fall neither of the two category, pop-culture taught me that it was karma. Easy as 123, ABC. Lately, however, I've come to believe that every single thing we have going on in life--here on Earth--happens for a reason because of what God has intended, in God's time. And I admit that it isn't just a beginner's belief. So what, you ask? It's become such a strong conviction, taking root inside me and overwhelming every fiber of my being, that I feel I must testify to the rest of you and share how it has changed me thus far.
I was born to a young, converted born-again Christian married couple who had lost their first-born child only eight minutes after her birth, seven months into their marriage. I know about dear Sarah Louise's eight-minute existence, but we hardly ever discuss her. I can count the number of times my mother acknowledged her birth with the use of only one hand, while I cannot recall--and I have an exemplary memory--a single memory when my dad had talked about her at all. And though my parents barely mention her name, simple inference rules that her death rocked their strong and steady faith with God, particularly my Dad's. Hence, the three-times-a-year-random-Sunday-at-church. Hence, the uncomfortable feeling I used to always have whenever it came to that Sunday, when I found myself in a church environment. I didn't know what to do, what to expect. I didn't know anyone apart from my parents and two brothers. It was hot and cramped. And the pastors my family have had were completely disengaging, church services were excruciatingly uninviting and boring. The only (and honest) entertainment I had while at church back then was Mark, the bassist, who was on the platform area for approximately 30 minutes in a two-hour-long church service. Seriously disinteresting.
However, that whole thought process about, and prejudice against, attending church services changed when my family moved to Avondale, Arizona... and started going to Valley International Christian Church (V.I.C.C.) in Peoria. And the things that I've learned through V.I.C.C. is just so BAM! It's truly beautiful and amazing. If you need a church, and want to start an/continue your intimate walk with God, visit us at 9000 W Olive Ave. Peoria, AZ 85345, Sundays @ 11AM. I 100% guarantee you that the things you will learn from Pastor Allan G's sunday messages are both enlightening, entertaining, and daily-life applicable. If you still doubt me, the more that you have to visit us and check out what being a Christian means and see what V.I.C.C. is all about. There's nothing wrong in trying. And there's definitely nothing to lose, but everything to gain.
But back to what I was saying... I just had another enlightenment a few minutes ago while I was typing the previous paragraph:
Arizona --> Sun --> Light --> God.
See what I mean? It seems like there's just an endless flow of enlightenment from God, and this statement are evident throughout my last couple of years of high school, about the same time I moved to AZ, about the same time I had been attending V.I.C.C., and about the same time I had been really wanting a positive relationship with Him.
I was fifteen, and completely MLW... probably as miserable, lost, and wretched, as someone could get at fifteen. I openly defied my parents. I purposefully ditched school until my mum suggested that I should stop, 'cause I was just wasting gas money, which I immediately agreed to. I stopped around mid-April, which meant I had a lot of extra time on my hands 'till sophomore year of HS. Cohabitation with my parents, two little brothers, and two family friends, in that cramped 610 Merrill St. apartment space was awkward, violent, and maddening in an I-wonder-who-will-kill-who-first-? kind of way. Then, I couldn't take the pretentious civility anymore because living it was even more frightening, so I worked on being positive again, hoping that my dad wouldn't kill me or kick me out of the house (literally speaking). By June, everything was going well in the Morgadez household--more jokes and less verbal outbursts. My dad and I were finally seeing eye-to-eye, and I was determined to make amends, get my act together, and sort of just ease into a I'm-going-to-fix-my-life kind of phase... which I did.
I took remedial summer classes to take care of my freshmen English and math credits. In retrospect, it would have probably taken me about two years to get this objective done if it wasn't for the sweet, kindhearted Mrs. Pingree who had passed me in her English class despite the lack of attendance, and the independent study option at Cypress Charter HS, where I took the second half of my Algebra 1 class. I passed my two remedial classes: B+ for Algebra 1, A+ for English. And with receiving those marks at remedial summer classes, I learned a valuable lesson. As long as you put your mind and heart to something, and as long as you persevere to obtain a goal, you will get there.
Naturally, I was ecstatic. Like you wouldn't believe. I had accomplished something. And that B+ and A+ pushed me even more to breeze my way through the field of education. Numbers were in plain-speak again. My summer English teacher had told me I was an excellent writer--a compliment I hadn't received since 8th grade. The feeling was just overwhelmingly positive, that it became hard to contain my excitement.
July came. My mum and I started talking about school again. I had two options: either I go to Harbor High where most of my friends from middle school are going, or to Cypress Charter, where it was small and cozy and just a block away. At the time, the latter was more of a realistic option in a no-duh! kind of way. And it was also, in the back of my mind, ideal. I had realized that I wanted to get away from a big high school setting. A change, if you will. And I've really been going back and forth with the two school options because even though CCHS was more realistic and more ideal for me, CCHS meant some serious environmental change and adaptation. The most bewildering thing, in retrospect, is how I debated for weeks between the two schools despite knowing straight off that CCHS is where I needed to be. With that settled, I told my mum about my decision. And we soon drove to CCHS, like a two-minute drive, to talk to Mr. Forester.
Uncontainable excitement. I had realized that whatever the change at CCHS, I was going to be OK about it, that I would adapt well. My mum and I were finally at the office door. My left hand was on the door handle, I was facing my mum, elated and anxious. She told me something, and my world, at that point, disintegrated into oblivion.
No comments:
Post a Comment