Is My Life A Blank Slate?

I visited my college alma mater recently. For two weeks I walked the gorgeous campus of Indiana University, wandering miles of red brick pathways, pulling open heavy doors of cool, quiet limestone buildings, hoping to hear the echo of memories rush past me.

One morning I paused in the heart of campus by the “Jordan River,” a shady stream trickling through meadows, arboretums and under the wooden bridge that stretches from Woodburn to Ballantine halls. These two buildings held my favorite classes: composition, philosophy, Greek/Latin medical terms, literature, professional writing—the subjects I loved, the rooms where I flourished. My chosen major had me treading water with pre-med students, in classes that were often over my head. I did love science, but something else was calling.

I was operating as if my life were a blank slate and it was incumbent upon me to write something on that slate that made sense to everyone else. (And, certainly avoid writing something ridiculous like, I think I’m a writer.) I did think I was a writer. I did not believe, however, that being myself was going to be enough. Surely I’d need to contrive something else.

The years I spent dreaming up ways to create my life were years I was not acknowledging my Creator. He has written upon my heart the way I should go. I need to humble myself, consult my heart and hear Him. My life is Christ’s. I enter through the doors He opens. It is His paths I delight in and explore.

I have been crucified with Christ and I no longer live, but Christ lives in me. The life I now live in the body, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me.  Galatians 2:20