You have your diploma in hand. You’ve packed up your college apartment. You’ve said goodbye (for now) to some of your closest friends. Maybe you’ve even squeezed in a fun road trip or jaunt across Europe.
Now what?
Beyond Campus
I caught myself scrunching my nose. I was chatting on the phone with a friend when I told him I needed to get back to work, and he said, half jokingly, that work is a result of the Fall.We laughed it off, but something just didn’t sit right with me. I began wondering, If that is true and if God is trying to heal the world, why do we still have to work so hard? Are we really cursed to toil all our days until we reach an eternal vacation in heaven? As someone who enjoys being a “doer,” I wanted answers.
About nine months ago, at the age of 36, with the majority of my friends married and owning houses and raising kids, I moved in with a family to rent a room from them. It’s not what I envisioned for 36, but it’s great.
There I was, almost 25 years old, hugging a toilet bowl in the middle of the day
Why am I here? I want to be on campus, ministering to my students. I want to be seeing people come to Jesus! Healing! Miracles! Life transformation!
Instead, I was scrubbing a toilet in an assisted living home.
In this crucial moment, kneeling on the bathroom floor, resentment swelled in my throat and stung like bile.
This is not what I thought I was signing up for, God!
The first years after college can be some of the hardest to navigate. Here is help for the journey.
Few things in life are as frustrating as a terrible job.
I wish someone had told me that church after college wouldn’t feel like InterVarsity.
Work gives us the chance to obey God’s command to actively love and humbly serve others, so that they, too, can encounter his love and care for every person on this earth.
This question about grad school, which ties in closely with life direction, actually deals with calling and vocation in its very core.
It is not good for us to be alone. And yet, in the hands of God, loneliness can transform.