A lot happens in 3 1/2 years. You don’t even realize it’s happening. Then college is over, and you’re sitting on a couch at 3 am wondering what in the world just happened. I’m not sure how I feel about it yet. Some people get sad. Some get really, really happy. For me, I’m in neutral territory. It’s easy to predict that I’m completely ready to be done with research papers.  The thought of never having to take a Dr. Sellers test ever again in my life is incredibly appealing. It’ll be GREAT to not get ticketed by campus safety for parking in a visitor parking spot. Still bitter about that. I could go on for a while. There are a lot of wonderful things about graduating. But with graduation, there is also the knowledge that I am getting closer to leaving a few select things that I can’t remember how I ever lived without, particularly those friends that hear every thought I ever have whether they want to or not. They’re my human journals. I think a lot of us have people like that who we don’t ever want to leave. Good thing we only graduate from schools and not from people.

College didn’t teach me anything profound. It taught me pretty basic things that seem like they should be just innately understood. Looking back at who I was in high school compared to who I am at the tail end of college, I barely recognize myself.

#1: The first fatal flaw of my high school self: I found my identity in athletics. Joke’s on me because once college hit, that little shindig ended and really no one could care less that I played a sport at a small school in a town no one knows about. I live with a bunch of freaking collegiate athletes, and I’m sitting here like “I’ll go grab my mini van, practicing to be a soccer mom.”

#2: In high school I viewed my peers in categories. The party people just partied because they didn’t know how to have fun without alcohol.The emos were just depressing and didn’t want anything to do with anyone. The girls who got all the guys and somehow got away with wearing shorts to school, well, I could never be friends with them because we had nothing in common. And so on and so on. If I could go back and change one thing about how I handled high school, I would take myself out of the stupid little isolated world I was in. College forces relatability. And that is such a good thing.

#3: So then freshman year of college comes around, and I just think I’m so freaking cool because I’m in COLLEGE. I’ve really made it now. I’m in my prime, rollin’ high, doin’ big things. And then I realize, oh wow there are literally 2,500 other girls here who look and act exactly like me and who all are way nicer than me and make significantly funnier jokes. So then the crisis of confidence comes into play, and I desperately try to figure out where I’m going to place my identity because people have to know me for something. I have to stand out somehow!

Spoiler alert: going straight to the end because who really cares what happened in the middle. Made it to last semester of my senior year after flailing around for 3 years, and I finally figured it out. God lets us flail sometimes. Most of the time in some cases (ex: my case), but He lets us flail because He’s sitting back like, “Yeah…she’ll definitely get tired eventually.”And I got tired so many times. And every time I stopped running around desperately pulling at stupid things to make myself feel purposeful and worthy, God would show up and be like, “Hey, um, you know you don’t have to do that right? It’s actually kind of a complete waste of your time.” *rough translation* I flailed around this last year trying to find worth in my career goals. For a while I thought I’d found it. False alarm. I tried to find it in good grades, in making my teachers like me, in working out. I pushed some boundaries a few times to see what I was missing out on, thought maybe that’d make me feel fulfilled. Everything came up short.

And then, during a Sunday morning church service, Pastor Chris solved my identity crises in a matter of seconds. That man knows Jesus. He said, “God owes us nothing. He will use us like clay. Take yourself off the throne.” Take yourself off the throne. Ok. Yep. I’ve been running around for 3 1/2 years trying to figure out how to stay on that throne. The throne isn’t a thing. All the worth I’d been trying to manufacture for myself, IS NOT A THING. God’s throne is real, but ours isn’t. Our worth exists only because Christ decides it does. He doesn’t owe us worth, but He tells us we can find it in Him. If we take ourselves off the throne, and acknowledge that we are at the foot of God’s throne, the weight of every ounce of worth and purpose we’ve ever tried to gather and hold onto is lifted in an instant. We don’t need to chase after worth. We need to slow down and realize that we already have it.

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PC: Rachel Kehlee Photography