My Plans

My plans, more like my idols. Good things gone and grown into gods. My focus, bent and centered, on reaching curtain goals, and I knew the outcome would be that I would end up closer to God then I could ever imagine; if only I could pull through my plans. With each step forward I shut God off and turned my plans up, they were my religion. I shake my head writing this because it is so obvious here on the other side of things.

I was probably in sixth grade when I met Paige Patterson, the president of Southeastern at the time, his passion for the college students and the ministry they would enter was like finding a kindred spirit. It all looked so perfect, and my plans were made, in sixth grade with a passionate heart for the Lord I made the first carvings in sculpting my future idol. Those plans were always there, anytime someone asked me "What do you want to do after school?" my plans were clearly laid for them as fluidly as quoting scripture. And so through middle school and high school no matter how bad or hard things looked I had my plans to bring me comfort, I would imagine myself walking across the beautiful green lawns of Southeastern and know that everything was just a struggle until that time. In my desire to serve God I forgot Him, not even aware that I was missing the point.

High school was almost impossible to "escape" being so close to graduation yet seemingly so far felt like being stuck in a trap a foot from safety. My heart was breaking that my plans were already falling apart, but I held on refusing to let go of my goals. I am such a fool. Focused on this life so much that I refused to believe God could have any other way for me to live and so I just kept fighting forward to achievement. As soon as I made it to Southeastern I felt like nothing could slow me down, I was on my path to righteousness, and delighted with my cleverness. My parents and church were so proud, and so was I. It didn't take long for my happy unrealistic goals to self destruct in a cloud of truth. I couldn't live up to my idealistic Amy, perfect that she was in my head just couldn't translate to real world Amy. The pressure I put on myself could have made the Hoover Dam burst. I expected nothing less then perfection from myself, ended up hating my failings. Soon anxiety was my constant companion. But I looked at it like it was a test, if I worked hard enough I could overcome these things and continue on in my goals.

For a whole year I wrestled anxiety and fear of admitting not being strong enough, and fear of disappointing the people back home. It's sad to think about, and every time I came home people would tell me how tired and worn I looked. I looked sick, because in truth I was. Forcing myself to fit in where I didn't, and trying to be something I wasn't, then angry at myself for the failures. All the while I refused to turn to God, instead I felt ashamed that I couldn't live up to the plans I had made, confused with which god to serve and surrender to.