Several years ago, I had the privilege of leading a group of high schoolers on a mission trip to Italy.

We spent a couple of weeks learning about Italian culture, a little about the church in Italy (only 1% of Italians consider themselves evangelical Christians), and getting to know an amazing group of high school kids.

Our time in Italy culminated at a movie theater where, on a Sunday morning, several churches from the area came together for a worship service. Much like many American churches, a worship band stood in front and led us in singing. Unlike American worship, the songs were sung in Italian. I didn’t know all the songs, but I did know a few, so I sang along in English.

I have a confession to make: I wasn’t the girl who always wanted to be a mom. I know lots of women who have dreamed of being a mother since they were little girls, who always cuddled and nurtured their baby dolls, and who played house for hours on end with anyone who would join them.

When I was a little girl, I lined up chairs, made worksheets, and played school. My poor baby dolls and stuffed animals sat in a classroom all day rather than getting cuddled! I always wanted to be a teacher; unfortunately, being a mom was not exactly on my radar.

So when I had kids, I found myself in waaaaay over my head.

Anyone attempting to read the Bible through in a year has probably, by now, hit a wall. You're probably in Leviticus or Numbers and you're thinking, "Oh my word, this is boring!" So you give yourself some grace--a few days off or a skim over the really monotonous parts--and before you know it you're way off track. 

How do I know this? I've been there.

Here we are at the end of January. I’m reading blog post after blog post about people choosing their One Word for the year. And that’s great—it really is. I’ve even written about my own words several times in the past.

Except this year, I can’t seem to come up with a new word. I just keep coming up blank.

And I finally figured out why.

A student came by to see me in my office yesterday. She poked her head inside and said, “You said I could come talk to you about anything, right?”

“Sure. Come on in.”

She sat in the empty chair next to the round table and poured her heart out about how she wasn’t sure she should be here. She talked about how she went home this weekend and had such a good time with her friends, just listening to music and dancing the way they used to. She told me she thinks about leaving school and just going home to be with her friends.

But then she said, “I know God wants me here.” And we talked about that. We talked about how she has a lot to contribute to this campus and how He has clearly led her here. We talked about how things at home wouldn’t be the same, even if she did leave and head back to her old neighborhood.

Things are just different now.

All of a sudden I realized her problem.

I live near Chicago and, thus, Lake Michigan. Our lakeshore is one of the most beautiful in the world, according to me. It extends for miles and miles and boasts beautiful parks and beaches juxtaposed against one of the greatest city skylines in the world.

If you’ve ever flown into Chicago, you’ve probably flown over Lake Michigan and thought it looked lovely, almost serene—it is, after all, a lake, not an ocean. And at times it is serene.

But at other times, standing next to the shore, Lake Michigan can feel very much like the ocean, its waves cresting well above your head, sometimes crashing so violently that the spray covers Lake Shore Drive several feet away.

I’ve seen those violent waves and they are no joke. One after one they come, relentless, pounding, hammering, threatening. You sure wouldn’t want to be caught out on the water with waves like that. All you can do is wait for the weather to calm and return to normal.

This past year, the past six months especially, has felt like I’ve been rooted on the shore of Lake Michigan, unable to move, while enormous waves came crashing over me, one after one.

Relentless. Pounding. Hammering. Threatening.

She stood by the door as I entered the grocery store: tanned, blue-eyed, hair pulled into a tangled ponytail. She wore a gray t-shirt with an American flag in the shape of a heart on it. She could have been a mom, and maybe she was, but her expression revealed something else.

Dear Daughters,

From the day each of you was born, I felt a deep responsibility to prepare you for the world in which you will live. I’ve tried to model for you what I believed to be best for your life, but, on occasion (OK, many occasions), I have failed. Oh boy, have I failed. If you were to rely on me as your sole model and guide for your lives, you would be in a sad place indeed.

I know my failings, and yet, I also know God. I know that God, who loves you more than I ever could, who sacrificed His only son so that he could have a relationship with us, has given us the best guide for our lives: his word.

The day after Easter leaves me wondering: How did Mary (either one) and the disciples handle all of the emotion of the week prior? One day, Jesus is being welcomed into Jerusalem as a hero, yet only a few days later he is being crucified, handed over by those same people as a criminal.

Mary and the others had witnessed the cheers of Palm Sunday, then watched, horrified, as Jesus died a gruesome death the following Friday. They buried him with their tears, and then they walked away from his tomb, devastated, on Saturday.

But on Easter morning, Christ’s followers encountered an empty tomb and experienced yet another range of emotions that Scripture tells us moved them from total devastation, to fear and confusion, and finally to immense joy.

Sometimes you wait for something for such a long time that you think it may never happen.

Sometimes you hope and dream for so long that you almost decide to give up.

Sometimes you wonder if your dreams are just crazy or that you’re not up to the dream after all or that you’re getting too old to actually accomplish it.

Sometimes you doubt. A lot.

But then God does something so entirely unexpected that you just have to believe He was in it all along, just waiting to gift you with your dream when the timing was just right.

That’s my story these days.