A few weeks ago, a dear friend and I met for ice cream. Never mind that it was 20 degrees outside or that we hid under layers of sweaters and coats. We braved the icy temps for the best ice cream in town and sweet friendship and connection. 

For the last year, I worked alongside this woman in Mae Sot, Thailand. We laughed and cried, prayed and carried each other’s burdens. We attempted to teach English and fumbled through more than one cross-cultural interaction.

Our tried-and-true friendship stands on this history and shared experience. And now, we’re both in this strange land called transition. 

For me, it’s moving to a city I’ve been to dozens of times but have never called home. For her, it means living in the States and following the Lord to a place that holds more questions than answers. 

So that night, we told stories and shared reminders. In some ways, our conversation was a giant pep talk to the other person. 

Hang in there. 
The Father is always good. 
He’s got this. 
He’s asked us to step, so don’t give up now. 

Here’s the thing—I avoid shallow encouragement and cringe at clichés or Scripture slapped on a problem. Because worries won’t disappear with a quick answer. For me, empty responses to people’s real pain and questions and anxieties is worse than saying nothing. 

But on this chilly December evening with my dear friend and sister, these responses were the farthest thing from shallow. They were truths, and in our whirlwind, we needed them.

Bearing it Together

These days, our worries keep us up at night or wake us up too early. Our dreams are moments of trying to figure out the details—me staring at spreadsheets, her searching for a place to live. As we shared our stories that cold December night, we didn’t ignore the hard parts, the anxiety we both carry, and the giant trust fall in each day. 

But with each acknowledgement of the difficult and uncertain, we spoke truth. We reminded the other of who the Father is because no matter how challenging this season is, our God hasn’t changed. As circumstances change, He remains consistent, unfazed, constant. 

These days, faith feels like clinging to truth in the chaos and uncertainty, carrying the Father’s promises. 

During our conversation, my friend and I didn’t solve our problems. We didn’t find answers or raise the financial support we both need. Our search continues for more than one thing—a place to live, a roommate, a team, a dozen other little details. But when we said goodbye, we carried something more sacred and lasting than meeting these temporary physical needs. 

We held our dusted-off confidence in the Father. Reminding one another of His promises, we helped the other hold tight to faith. And we made the other stronger with that simple idea—don’t give up. 

Don’t give up. 
Don’t give up. 

Reminding One Another of Truth

Faith and friendship doesn’t ignore the difficult It doesn’t gloss over the very real worries and anxieties we face. It walks one another through the challenge. It bears the burden. It gets out of the house on a wintry night to remind the other she doesn’t walk alone. 

I believe with my whole heart that the Father designed the Church to be people who walk one another through what feels impossible. The Father designed us to remind each other of truth, to repeat that phrase in our words and actions—don’t give up. 

It’s so easy to lose sight of truth amidst the whirlwind in our daily lives. I’m sure I’m not the only one to focus on the surrounding swirl instead of the steady consistency of the Father. Friend, we need each other. We need to remind one another of truth. 

So do me a favor. Today, set aside your long list of to-dos. Let the whirlwind swirl around you and find someone who needs reminded of truth. With confidence, speak it into her life and let her speak truth into yours. It’s in these simple life-on-life moments that we carry the courage and faith and endurance to not give up. 

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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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