Other than being a full-time mom, Kandy is a graduate of Liberty University with a Bachelor of Science in Religion, a Bachelor of Science in Education, Master of Arts in History, and a Master of Arts in Human Services: Christian Ministries. She is currently working on her Masters of Arts in Professional Writing. She enjoyes writing and has been published in Liberty's Academic Catalog.
Stacks of books litter the desk, the tables, the floor – anywhere there was previously empty space. I’ve checked, read, and re-read aloud the final copy at least five times. My voice is hoarse. My throat is scratchy. I take a sip of water from the bottle next to me.
I click the “submit” button. A burst of adrenaline bungee jumping could never rival courses through my body. I exhale the breath I’ve been holding. I should read it once more to feel what my professor will feel when (s)he opens it. Well, perhaps I should wait until morning. View it with fresh eyes – if they, in their bloodshot glory, can be considered fresh. I can’t sleep anyway. I’ll read it once more now and then again in the morning, too.
After almost five degrees, I should be past the worrying, the wondering, the constant re-reading; but I never seem to reach that magical point of believing I am enough, I did enough, I worked hard enough. In many ways, college fulfills my need for perfectionism – that deep-seated emotion I have struggled with, conquered, and overcome only to experience again. Just when I think I have moved that mountain, I see a small hill in the distance. When I feel I have finally exorcised the giant, a wisp of doubt slips in through the cracks.
With every doubt, with every self-criticism, I admonish myself that God says I am enough. Psalm 139 reminds me God created me according to His plan. He knows my far-off thoughts, my self-doubt, my psychological self-scourging; yet He encourages me to remember full well I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Philippians 1:6 promises me He who has begun a good work in me will see it through to completion. He will see it through. I can only do my human best. His grace, after all, is sufficient. I recall II Corinthians 12:9. It is not my strength I need. It is okay that my strength is not perfect. His is. I smile as I think about the fact that David and Paul, the writers of these verses of Scripture – God’s chosen – must have struggled with the same types of uncertainty I experience.
I close my eyes. Sleep can come not just to tired eyes, but to a weary mind. God’s promises and compassion bring rest and refreshment. I’ll make it through. He will see to it. I can press on.