Somewhere between the safety of the boat and the crashing waves

Today in Circuits 2, we learned about Fourier Series Analysis. Which basically means I watched the professor derive a series formula (related to differential equations) that tell us that high level math is the answer to every phenomena in the universe, even unexplainable things like love and whipped cream.

 I laughed to myself when I looked at the equations that spread over 2 pages. If you had gone back in time and told old Alysa, who had barely passed precalculus and had no idea what physics actually was, that she would be learning and comprehending things like this, she probably would've given you that signature look that says, "I pray for you when you aren't around."

God has moved me over mountains I couldn't climb any other way. It's true. And, as a dog returns to its vomit (I know you were expecting that analogy!) I continue to approach successively higher mountains, and hit the same doubts. Different faces, same core of fear. 

I was really stressed yesterday. In my ideal world, I would be entering medical school in 3 years with a phenomenal GPA, a degree in Biology, several international medical missions under my belt, and my prerequisites looking spotless. I would already have clinical hours, I would already know where I wanted to be accepted, I would already know where the money was going to come from and I wouldn't be wondering if the desires of my heart for my life and the desires of God's heart for me line up. 

But life is neither fair nor ideal, and so I am caught in the middle. Caught in the middle actually sums up my entire existence in almost every aspect at the current time. There's no definitive ending or path. There's no thundering voice directing me a certain way. No signs. No hints. Just presence. The presence of God. And the command to live every day on grace that's new every morning and to act in the Spirit at the moment He moves. Not before, not after, no plan, no foreknowledge. 

As a control freak, it's certainly stretching me farther than I would have asked or thought I could go. I always thought the secret was in being made strong enough; in never breaking. But perhaps that is not entirely true. I was once told that the trees that withstand the strongest wind aren't necessarily the ones that cannot be moved an inch, but the ones that bend. They are assailed and harassed; they bow so much you think they will snap. But they don't. And when the storm lets up, again they rise. Maybe to be stretched is a good thing. To feel as if you are going to lose control is growth. To bend and sway and bow is not the point, they are the situation.

 To tenaciously hold on. To get back up. To rise. This is the solution to the issue, and this is the answer to the stretch.

And hey, I've always wanted to be tall anyways:)