To the Grads

I was one of the graduation speakers at my high school back in the day, long ago. I was also one of the graduation chapel speakers at my college, the week before we all walked across the stage in front of kith and kin and nabbed our diplomas.

I guess you could say I have things to say.

Yet in the eleven years (is that all it's been?) since my high school graduation and the seven years since my college graduation, I've lived a lifetime.

I've gotten two graduate degrees (MORE graduations!).

I've gotten engaged, gotten married, and, as of five months ago, gotten pregnant.

I've worked countless part- and full-time jobs, including one as a grocery store demo girl ("Would you like to see how the Clorox bath wand works?"), one as a medical transcriptionist (Seriously - how DO you spell trichinosis?), and several as an adjunct professor.

I've lived in five (count 'em, five) different states and on both coasts.

I've spent seasons in the Episcopal, Anglican, nondenominational, and Presbyterian churches.

I've worked three unpaid internships and one that I myself paid to undertake.

I've taken a call as a Presbyterian minister back in the Midwest, and made it through my first full year of Lent/Easter/summer/Advent/Christmas.

It's been a full few years, to be sure.

At my high school graduation, I gave a speech about writing your own life story - about how we each have blank pages to fill with whatever we can imagine and whatever we challenge ourselves to achieve.

In college, I spoke in chapel about the importance of Christian community - about how God calls us together to support, serve, and love one another, despite our culture's rampant push toward individualism and self-reliance.

Now? Now I'd speak about perseverance.

I remember sharing a cup of coffee with one of my beloved English professors the year after I'd graduated from college.

"How is it going?" he asked.

"It's so... it's just so hard," I said. "I didn't expect it to be so hard."

Freed from the embrace of a supportive university community, working three part-time jobs to pay for school, living in downtown Chicago in a not-so-good neighborhood with next-to-no parking spots, and barely scrounging enough money for a decent supper, I was exhausted. Though I was dating the man who would eventually become my husband, it was also achingly lonely. There were no more late-night chats in the hallway with whatever girlfriends happened to be around. I couldn't just wander into the school dining hall and find someone to eat lunch with.

There was also no one but my boyfriend reminding or encouraging me to go to church.

I felt lost. Adrift. Alone.

I know now that this is normal. Nearly every recent graduate I've spoken to has told me that life felt aimless for awhile, that they weren't sure which end was up, that in the months and years after graduation, they had seasons of self-doubt like they'd never felt before.

Yet the graduation speeches were all about being inspired to change the world or spread the Gospel or make a difference.

Make a difference? I just wanted enough money to pay for both rent and gasoline.

So my message to you graduates out there, and to your friends and relatives and teachers and professors, is persevere.

It will take you awhile to find your bearings.

It will take you awhile to feel at home in the world where you are now an adult.

It will take you awhile to feel settled.

And that's okay.

In the meantime, keep in touch with those who love you. Keep going to church - it will anchor you when you feel adrift. Keep listening to people who tell you true things.

Persevere.