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I’m going to start off by saying I have no idea where this is going to end up. I have been jumbling around in Florida and wished I could write a blog for every warm day I was there. But meetings kept us busy all day and the swimming pool was calling our names at night and there was just no time to be alone. Plus I didn’t bring my laptop, and I really didn’t want to write out a heartfelt blog on my iPhone. Sorry, Siri.

For those of you who don’t know, I was at a leadership conference in Orlando. And that was basically all the information I received beforehand. But I love spontaneity and the unexpected, so I somehow packed my four days into two carry-ons and set my alarm for 5:35 am.

I was ready for something, and I figured I’d come back with helpful tools and hints to lead the campus that I love. I was expecting good leadership advice and some Bible verses on great leaders. I expected to come back with strategy and a smile on my tanned face.

I expected this

And this

And this

And I got all of that. But I so wish that I could have taken pictures of what God was doing to my heart. If I could, it would probably look something like this:

Or this

I’m going to start off with a story (I know what you’re thinking. “She hasn’t even STARTED yet?” Sorry, guys. You may want to get comfortable. Grab some popcorn.)

It was our first day there and we decided to go for a walk since the conference didn’t start until the next day. We walked along in the warm breeze and my heart was a bit hesitant. Hesitant but determined. Our dean of women, Marilyn, was determined to find Florida oranges. So we walked a good mile and a half to the nearest grocery store and bought our oranges.

We walked out and it was raining. And I'm like, oh yeah, this is going to be fun!

A light sprinkle. Oh, we can make it back. We are tough Nebraskans! We trudge through feet of snow and we will watch a Husker football game during a tornado if it’s on. I tied my scarf over my head (I always wear scarves; I knew it would come in handy someday) and we started walking.

Five minutes later it was not sprinkling anymore.

It wasn’t even like this.

 

Or this.

It was more like this.

We started sprinting. I threw my sweater in my purse because I was supposed to wear it the next day, and I threw my phone in my purse, begging God to keep it miraculously dry because my parents just got me that thing for Christmas…

So we sprinted. I was disoriented and soaked. I honestly think I was wet in places I’ve never been wet before, if that is even possible. For a mile we sprinted back to the hotel as the rain blew down on us like this

One of my friends wanted to take shelter in IHOP but there was no point. There is no staying dry. So I took my sopping scarf off and sprinted harder towards those beacons of Palm Trees outside the Double Tree. To say we were wet when we returned is more of an understatement than saying that people died during World War 2. We shamefully walked through the Double Tree. Only three of us; we didn’t know what happened to the other three, if they were even still alive.

And all the rich, snotty vacationers and businessmen just glared at us and our puddles.

Gosh, who invited Grace University to this conference?

Sorry, suckers. Our president’s on the board. Now fetch us a towel.

So that’s my story. I’d love to tell you others so call me up and we’ll talk.

That story was God foreshadowing to me (literary devices!) what He was going to do. I asked Him to show me His love, I asked Him to change me. And this is what I got

Drenched. Every single part of me. I found myself sitting on the toilet between each session staring blankly at the stall door, confused and overwhelmed.  I asked Him to stop because it was too much, but it just kept raining. And it got to a point where there was no point trying to protect myself anymore. I just let it come down. I stopped asking, “Holy crap, God. What are You DOING?” and just let Him do it. I let my criticisms crumble and asked an especially charismatic girl to pray over me. I cried during worship. And I took lots of notes.

There were wars fought. Some things came up right at the beginning of the trip that thrust me into whirlwinds that would have been hard enough to deal with if I were in Omaha with friends and time to myself. But I was far away from friends. And I was NEVER by myself. Except in the bathroom. In the bathroom was where I figured out things. In the bathroom, I started to pray furiously. I became sick of frilly and lofty prayers and I got real. Okay, God. Here’s the deal.  My pants are down and I’m on the toilet and I have no idea what You want, but this is what I want. This is where my heart is and where my passions lie. This is what I desire to see happening for You and Your glory. In my life, on my campus, and in the world. God, do Your worst on Grace and in this world like You did Your worst to me this weekend.

Bathroom meltdowns, 15-minute poolside recuperations, attempts at texting friends back home that didn’t coincide well with my phone’s reception. And yet, I wasn’t ready to come home. Florida was hard. So hard. I have things to work through and I’m still praying furiously. But coming home symbolized other things for me, too. Vacations that always have to end. And the plane rides back are always so hard. They are bumpy and I dread the cold weather that awaits me when I step off the plane. That realization that I cannot stay there. I’m dreading that phrase, “I’m sorry, Whitney. It’s time to move on. Get on the plane. Go home.” But I’ve already started packing. It’s hard packing to go home because I have so much more to bring home than I came with. So I’m stuffing things in random pockets and trying to fit it all in now even though my metaphoric life plane won’t take off for a few more months.

But this weekend I stopped packing my metaphoric bags. I have gone home plenty of times. I have seen His power in the bumpy rides home and I have felt His sovereignty as the plane takes me far away from the place I wanted to stay. I’ve felt His warmth when I step off the plane into the cold February night. I have let Him drive my plane; I’m not scared of rides home anymore. But I do want to see something different. I’ve seen His victories over broken hearts many times, but I dared God (I literally dared Him…can I do that? I can’t believe I did that) to do something different this time. I dared Him to show me His power and sovereignty in a new way. I dared Him NOT to take me home.

I have been praying furiously and fervently, so we will see. I sometimes still get scared, but I remember His faithfulness.

Did I ever tell you the best part of my rain story?

My phone didn’t drown. My sweater remained dry. I borrowed my roommate’s purse for the weekend and somehow it kept it all dry.

I smile when I think about that. I’ve actually asked God to keep the storm pouring, to keep pulverizing my heart. Because I realize that even in the midst of monsoons, those precious things of our hearts that we are afraid will be ruined are in His ever-protecting hand.

And even if they are ruined, what’s the big deal.

I hear the iPhone 5S is coming out soon anyways…sorry, Siri.