Our theme for the month of March is “Part Two.” Writers were challenged to choose a piece they’ve previously contributed to the post calvin and revisit it, perhaps writing a sequel or reflecting on how things have changed.
Meg writes, “It strikes me that many of the essays that we write for the post calvin are really unlabeled prayers.”
Lord, my lord,
God of all unanswered questions,
God of whatever is ahead,
Be with the twenty-somethings.
Be with us in our changing, in our movement from the world that came before, to the world we now make for ourselves.
Towards that making, be with every late night job-searcher, every too-old-for-internships-er, all of us just looking for a step in the door. Be with the waiters who aren’t scientists yet, the sales clerks who aren’t published yet. Be with the ones of us still waiting. We have songs to sing you, Lord, if only you gave us instruments to use. Don’t let us wait too long.
Be with the twenty-somethings.
Be with us on our first days lord. Those butterfly-stomach days. Those “what the hell do I wear” days. Even more, be with us in the later days of beginning, the days when friends stop asking us how it all went. Don’t let us get tired. Give us big challenges to grow in, Lord, and interesting tasks to excel in. Give us days to be proud of, and sleep that is well earned.
Be with us in the mistakes we’ll make—for we know we’ll make them. We’ll say things in anger, say things in pride. We’re beyond our teachers, past the voices telling us that there are consequences for our action and advising us gently how to improve. We can be so sure of ourselves, Lord, like your Israelites before they began to wander. Teach us, again and again and again, to listen. To remember your laws, and recognize them for what they are: paths to a life well-lived.
Lord, there can be loneliness in the twenty-somethings. Be with us in our losses. Losses, we must know, are not your abandonment, but you saying something we simply don’t want to hear. Stay close as the communities we secured ourselves to during our younger years begin to disband, as surely they must. We’re moving forward lord, and (try as we might) we can’t take everyone with us as we find new homes, step through new doorways, wait uncomfortably as the unfamiliar becomes—slowly—the familiar.
Lord, we can feel like strangers in a strange land, but remind us that all lands are yours.
At the end of the long days, don’t let us fold into ourselves. Don’t let us be quiet. Turn off our distractions lord. Let us move in the world, want to be out in the world, even on the cold days. Help our homes to be churches. We will be a light welling up lord, where there has been no light before.
Remember your promises to us.
Remember that you have saved us.
Remember that you love us, Lord.
God of whatever is ahead.
Meg Schmidt (’16) graduated after studying writing and art history. Her interests include attempting to cook paleo, reading through McBrien’s Lives of the Popes, and landing the wittiest joke in a conversation. She currently works with Eerdmans Publishing as a Graphic and Production assistant.
