My freshman year of college God to me was uncomfortable church
chairs on Sunday mornings and sermons that went way over my head. He was like
this far away friend that I kind of thought I had but never hung out with. We
didn’t even catch up over coffee dates...and He, of all people, should have
known that I loved coffee. He was sort of just this blurry picture of a man
that I knew wanted to protect me, but I hadn’t the slightest clue how to look
at him straight on. I think God was a lot like a recess parent to me. The
person who stands outside during recess and directs kids to where they should
be and scolds them a little when they aren’t there. Everyone knows the recess
parent and appreciates them when they need something, but the rest of the time
they are little bit of killjoy. That’s who God was to me; a slightly
distracted rule follower who watched all of us at a distance and told us what
to do. I wore a uniform nametag that read “Christian” from the time I was 7 to
senior year of high school. I kept my ducks in a row in, my shorts the
“appropriate” length, and followed all the rules like it was my day job. I said
John 3:16 so many times the words kind of died in my mouth. They tasted like
stale chips. Everything about my faith was learned, rehearsed and then
performed, not one bit of it conformed to my own understanding or gave me a
more clear understanding of grace. Not one spec intimate or unique or quirky or
stuffed with character- all of which are exactly what God is. My parents are people of
beautiful, truthful faith. They have taught me grace and given it to me many
more times than I’ve ever deserved, but their faith was theirs and I was just
hanging out in its shadow- which I grew to despise. I wanted something
that was authentic, and life-giving, and my own. I was sick of people grinning
ear to ear and telling me that God loved me. I was like, “Yeah, okay I get it,
this guy in heaven loves me and has good plans for me. I hear you, but WHO IS HE?”
I was so frustrated by these encounters not because I doubted their truth, but
because I was too afraid to admit that I wasn’t there (whatever “there” was)
and I that I truly had no idea how to know God like these people appeared to.
So in typical rule-follower fashion, I drug myself to chapel every
Monday and Wednesday and sat through what felt like the longest 30-40min of the
day. Following my life-sucking chapel experience I would often have the most
generic, Baylor girl, Common Grounds coffee dates with people I had just met.
Often we sat for over an hour as they talked to me, and sometimes at me, about
what God was doing in their lives. Truly, it usually brought me joy to hear
about what the Lord was teaching them and all the progress they had made, but I
never felt like I had any God stories of my own to share in return….at least
none that seemed “that significant.” It felt so surface level and skin deep,
all of it. I’d just smile and nod and tell some corny joke because that’s
what I do when I’m uncomfortable and go on with my life. Somewhere between the
hours at practice, the corny jokes, the long nights studying, and the
conclusion of two long semesters of chapel I found myself at the end of
freshman year. I was exceptionally happier
than I’d been before this whole college adventure began. I was wearing my skin
a little bit more comfortably and I was sinking into new friendships, the real
kind, the kind I’d always prayed that I would find.
To my surprise and delight, these friendships withstood the
summer heat and separation. Throughout sophomore year our friendship grew and
our time spent apart grew sparse. I again found myself at the end of a school
year and was sitting in IHOP having
breakfast with five girls who I really knew now. My real friends. And I was
different. I was softer and kinder and I understood grace a lot more than I
ever had. I had experienced it. I was lighter.
Now, as we enter into the last season of our college experience,
these girls are still my “real friends” and we’ve been through an entire life in
just a few short years. We have held each others hands through the deaths of
friends, through breakups and heartbreak and failed classes. We’ve cried over
life, surgeries, victories, and spilled milk. We’ve laughed about assholes and danced
on the coffee table in our living room until 4 am. Those generic Common Grounds
coffee dates are generic no more and have become precious moments and memories.
We have cheered each other on and apologized for the moments when we tore each
other down. And somewhere along the way, somewhere in between late night
conversations and dumb inside jokes, somewhere squeezed into stealing each
others clothes and yelling at each other only to start ugly crying mid hug
twenty minutes later. Somewhere amidst the truth and the advice and the hands
to hold, I found the God I had been looking for. I found that unique God that
freshman year Alexa was so desperately searching for. Rather, He found me.
I didn’t find God in chapel or coffee dates with random
strangers, I found Him in the people that loved me without ulterior motive. I
found Him in people that took me in and showed me the world through a lens that
was so much less legalistic and bitter. I found Him in people who let me into
their lives and wanted to be a part of mine. I never had it force-fed to me or
slyly snuck into my morning coffee- It just unfolded in front of me and I felt
it tangibly as it changed me, as He changed me. I watched as everything in my
life became more genuine and full of love, real love.
Just the other morning I sipped my coffee with a real smirk and
it hit me, we were having that coffee date. Me and Jesus. We are friends. We
have coffee dates. I knew we would.
In high school I saw Jesus in pictures and quoted after bible
verses. In college I saw him in people who picked me up off the ground, over
and over again and dusted off my jeans without asking for a thank you card. I
saw Jesus in acceptance. I saw Jesus in the smirks of people who asked how I
was, and meant it. I saw him as I caught accidental glimpses of the hearts of His
people. In pure and genuine ugly squeaky laughter and nights spent talking
until our voices forgot how. I found Jesus in people who didn’t even have a
clue that their love was so deeply, and drastically, changing my life.
