Last Saturday, I walked across a stage, was handed a piece of paper, and took some pictures with family and friends after moving a tassel to the left side my awkward-looking cap. The graduation march has been stuck in my head ever since which seems like a form of cruel and unusual punishment. It’s been a bitter-sweet sort of time.

This past week, though, has felt like a gift in the midst of a pile of mess. I’ve been given the chance to reflect, to think about the past three years and marvel at the growth and change. I sat in a coffee shop with a dear friend and mentor on Thursday as she asked me to name specific meaningful or spiritual moments that happened during these Taylor years. In that moment, a million snapshots came to my mind because these years have been one giant beautiful mess of a gift and saying goodbye has been more difficult than I would have imagined. So this week I’ve found myself remembering and writing and reflecting. And also thanking because it seems like an army of people helped me walk across that stage.

And in the midst of this “looking back,” I’m looking forward. It’s a strange combination, and it’s making my brain a little tired. On Friday I head out on a new adventure. I’m not nervous yet, and that makes me sort of nervous. In fact, I’m finding that with each box I repack, each shirt I fold, my heart races with anticipation. This adventure is unlike anything I’ve done before, but it’s also as common to college students as 8 am classes. This summer I will be joining about 15 other interns at HOPE International in Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Officially, my title is “Executive Intern to the President of HOPE.” I’m not going to act like I understand what this really means, but I know it will include some kind of writing and lots of big picture planning.

All I really know is that it’s been a wild ride getting here, and that seems to be the theme in all of this. As I look back at these Taylor years, I see the wild fingerprints of God, the way everything seemed so chaotic but in reality, God was orchestrating things that I couldn’t see. And as I look back at my journey to HOPE, it already seems a bit wild, a story that only can be written by God and one that I am confident he will continue to write.

But for now, I find myself thankful for the journey, the steps he has walked with me, the faithfulness he has shown. And I have to believe that just as he has orchestrated the seemingly impossible in the past, he will continue to do so in the future. So I will continue to look back and look forward and pack another box.

Here’s to today, the journey it’s been and the gift it will bring tomorrow.

The post Looking Back, Looking Forward appeared first on Kate Berkey.

I’m trying to wake up each morning with this at the front of my mind. That might sound depressing, waking up remembering that my time at Taylor is slowly coming to a close. But I’m trying not to think of it in a depressing way. Sure those goodbyes will be tough. I don’t enjoy thinking about the weeks following, either. I will need to find a job because banks tend to get upset if you don’t pay your loan payment each month.

I wake up with this number on my mind because I don’t want to reach May 23, 2015 and wonder where the time went. When did January become March? When did March become May? When did my first day of freshman classes become my final day of senior classes? Why did I not pay attention to the calendar? Why did I wish for the semester to go by faster?

Echoing in my mind is the simple verse in Ephesians. “Make the most of every opportunity.” In a time where my focus is less on classes, less on the people I’m around and more on what’s to come at the end of May, I’m finding that it is easy to skim the moments I’m in. Seconds pass, minutes pass, hours pass. I’m always looking to what’s ahead.

But I am here. I will never be with these people, at this university, in these moments ever again.

128 days.

That’s not that many. I have 128 marbles in my jar labeled: Undergraduate Education: Taylor University. Each day, a marble will be taken out and added to the pile of yesterdays, the pile of memories that I’ll talk about over coffee with friends. And so I’ve decided to document these days, to buy a jar and some marbles. I’ve decided to take out a marble a day, a tangible reminder that these days are coming to a close.

And that’s what this is: a reminder. A reminder to make the most of each day, each moment. A reminder to celebrate, to engage in the lives of those around me. A reminder to thank those who have invested in me. A reminder to take more pictures. A reminder to take less pictures.

Because I’m human, and I need reminders. I need marble jars. I need to remember that these days, although some might seem like torture, are numbered. Because I’m tired of reaching the end of something and wondering where the time went. I’m tired of wishing I would have realized how little time I had in those moments.

And because I don’t want to miss these days.

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But then we meet someone who cherishes those moments, those details, and our mind-set has a chance to change.

I met Ashley Rudd two years ago. I’d like to think that I would have gotten to know her even if she wasn’t the PA on my floor, but as an unsure freshman, I guess I thought I needed an excuse to talk to someone new. Anyone who spends time with Ashley knows what friendship looks like. That person walks away cared for and loved because Ashley cares about the little things.

“I’m passionate about talking to people and getting to know them deeper,” she told me once.

It’s not world hunger. It’s not poverty. And that’s OK because she’s passionate about connection, about knowing and helping those whose passions lead them to far off places. Her favorite moments in a day are the little interactions with people, the ones that go to a deeper level, the ones that grow an acquaintance into a dear friend.

She also loves waking up.

She might be the only college student who would say something like that. But when the day is brand new, everything is fresh. It’s a chance for her to refocus, to think about the day ahead and to face it with a new attitude. She walks throughout the day with this on the forefront of her mind. That’s not to say that she’s a perfect human being, that she’s got life all figured out.

She just has a different perspective than most. While many people skip the details, she dives into them. I once asked her what she would do on a Saturday if she had no obligations. She described it all. She told me what she would do in the morning, in the afternoon, in the evening. In case you wondered, it included traveling to Italy and somehow making it back to the US in time for sunset walk.

She amazes me.

Because she doesn’t have it all together. She doesn’t have life figured out, and she feels that the most misunderstood part of her goes back to this.

“Most people see me as happy or really friendly all the time, but in reality, I’m self-critical and over analyzing everything. Most people think I have it all together, but they don’t see all the crap going on,” she said.

I live with sixty girls who could probably resonate with that statement. Yet, in the midst of it, Ashley lives courageously. She dives deep with others. She’s trying to figure out how to live vulnerably with those closest to her, how to invite them into the mess that is her life.

And that’s what I love about her.

She doesn’t pretend to have everything together. She doesn’t act like her life is perfect. She’s great at inviting people into the parts of her life that need a little cleaning up, and she’s great at being with me in the middle of my messes.

So here’s to Ashley, the girl of details. The one who is afraid of making the wrong decision, yet constantly makes the most courageous ones. The one who loves to communicate with others, loves to dive deep with them. The one with beautiful messes.

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On one of my drives back to Taylor after a weekend at home, I found myself in tears. This was not uncommon, but the hopelessness in my heart was new. I was done. I was tired of doing something hard. I just wanted something easy.

And then a song came on my iPod, one that I skipped before because I didn’t know the words. At this particular moment, though, I didn’t have the energy to drive and find a song that I wanted to listen to. So it played, and it made the tears come harder.

The song was “Called Me Higher,” by All Sons and Daughters. Its powerful lyrics rocked my world that day on County Road 46 in New Paris, Indiana.

And I could hold on
I could hold on to who I am and never let You
Change me from the inside
And I could be safe
I could be safe here in Your arms and never leave home
Never let these walls down

But You have called me higher
You have called me deeper
And I’ll go where You will lead me Lord
You have called me higher
You have called me deeper
And I’ll go where You lead me Lord
Where You lead me
Where You lead me Lord

Before college, I wanted to do great and hard things for God. I prayed tough prayers. I asked him to send the challenges my way. I was ready.

In reality, I wasn’t. I wasn’t ready for the change, for the uncomfortable situations, for the new friendships that I needed to form. I wanted nothing more than to stay at home where I was comfortable.

Thankfully, I didn’t drop out of school and move back home. That would have been a huge mistake. Last night I was reminded of this at an All Sons and Daughters Concert. As they played “Called me Higher,” I was reminded of God’s incredible faithfulness. Two years ago I could not have imagined the place I am now. I could not have imagined the person I am now. I could not have imagined all of the blessings God was going to bring. I am surrounded by friends, by mentors, by a supportive community. I still find it hard to leave home, but home has become interchangeable between the home I have in Nappanee and the home I have in Upland.

And now as college winds down, I’m holding onto this story. The story of a nineteen year old girl crying as she drove back to school. The story of that song, of the days, the weeks, the months that followed. The story that drips with hope, hardships, and home. The story that brought friends who feel more like brothers and sisters. I know that the next chapter of this story will include a new level of uncomfortable. It’s unknown and it’s risky. It makes my heart beat faster. It tends to keep me up at night.

It’s not what I would choose. But even still:

And I could be safe
I could be safe here in Your arms and never leave home
Never let these walls down

But you have called me higher.

God has planned a life for me greater than I could ever imagine. Even when I cannot see His plan, I will remember that He has called me higher.

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