Proof.

The story of Jesus sounds silly, doesn’t it? It doesn’t seem logical that a Middle Eastern carpenter—quite literally born in a barn—could be king of the universe. Honestly, I don’t blame people who say, “You really believe that?” By the world’s standards, my faith doesn’t make sense. I also don’t blame people who want proof. Our party line as Christians seems to be, “Christian beliefs are based on faith, not proof.” And we like to quote Hebrews 11:1: “Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see” (NLT). That works for us (presumably), but many want something more concrete. No scientific experiment exists that I can perform to definitively prove my beliefs, but there is something I consider my own personal proof: wisdom. This is a miracle, this is proof to me: when I consider all of the major decisions I’ve made in my life, I have yet to make a bad one. That has absolutely not one iota to do with me; I’m no wiser than anyone else. In fact, I’m comparatively less wise than many people on the planet. But every time I’ve had to make a life-altering decision, my heart has sought wisdom from God, and as a result, I haven’t regretted a single step I’ve taken.

The first such step I consider to be transferring high schools. That may not sound like an especially big deal to you, but it certainly was to me. The county high school was brimming with people I’d known since I was five years old; the city high school boasted a whole three people I knew: my next-door neighbor and two church friends. When you’re a profoundly introverted person like I am, the thought of going to school with 2,000 people you don’t know isn’t exhilarating; it’s terrifying. However, the city high school was more academically rigorous and fostered a much stronger drama program, so I made the switch in January of my sophomore year. God was with me in my new school: it was there I met the woman who’s been my best friend for over a decade, plus other wonderful people with whom I keep in contact. It was a difficult decision but undoubtedly a wise one, which is obvious when I look back. That’s something I can say for so many other decisions I’ve made that seemed irrational at the time: getting a teaching certificate instead of going to grad school when I finished college, etc. There’s been a reason every time, and God hasn’t let me make a bad decision yet. I don’t regret a thing.

There’s one decision for which I’m still waiting to see the wisdom. I double-majored in French and English in my undergrad: two supremely unmarketable degrees. Choosing those fields is counterintuitive on all accounts, but nothing else felt like the right fit. I just trusted God that he had put those talents and desires in my heart for some reason. Currently, I’m trying to earn a master’s in French, which doesn’t really solve the marketability problem…especially since French majors nationwide are being outsourced to France. The job market for French professors is decreasing, and, even though I knew that, I still felt that familiar pull that this was the right place for me. On top of all that, I perform much more agilely with English-language literature than I do with French. And yet somehow, despite all of that, I really feel as though this is where I belong. It’s that tiny little beam, like the faint green light Nick Carraway saw across the water’s surface, that I hang onto.

Yet, non-academic reasons for why I’m here are already revealing themselves. The University of Virginia provides state-of-the-art medical care, and for the first time, I’ve gotten answers about things going on in my body—answers I wasn’t even charged for. Also, living away from my hometown has been a bittersweet blessing: though it’s been unspeakably difficult to be hours from my family and friends, I’ve learned that I can thrive somewhere other than that one environment. Jeff and I have found a welcoming church home, a place we truly look forward to visiting on Thursday nights and Sunday mornings. Our church talks a lot about being genuine, compassionate, and full of grace—all qualities we have found in abundance in our small group. Even if I never saw any other returns on investment than the ones I listed above, the move to Virginia would’ve been worth it. Nonetheless, I still expect God to gloriously use my academic pursuits here in the future, even though I am blind to the possibilities right now. The convergence of what I know and what I hope for is my faith and my proof all at the same time.

I’m starting to feel that after the master’s it will be time to move on, and I just have to hope that God will be with me for the next step, too. He’s never let me down, never left me alone, never left my questions unanswered when it was time to reveal the reasons. I have no idea why I’m here, no idea why I majored in literature and language, no idea what the next step will be. For a planner like I am, that is exceptionally uncomfortable. But the never-failing love and grace of Christ is the safety net I cling to. That’s proof enough to me that my faith, my Jesus, is real. I’m not worried. It’s like one of my favorite moments in Charlotte’s Web. Wilbur, having been informed by the sheep of the fate of pigs on a farm, says to Charlotte, “Should I be worried?” She responds calmly, “Of course not. What good would that do?”