on turning 25: embracing my quarter-life crisis

My name is Paige. Today, I am 25. 

Two things I know to be true, in the midst of an existential, quarter-life crisis (wish I were kidding). 

Deconstruction and reconstruction. 

I 

was 

not 

prepared 

for 

this 

depth 

of 

unnerving 

freedom. 

And yet, somehow I feel more alive then ever. 

Don’t worry. I haven’t gone off the deep end… yet. 

But I’m definitely peering over the edge. 

Because what if, what if, in the endless mass of mystery... resides faith, hope, and love.

Yes. 

I know God and His revealed will through the Hebrew Scriptures and coming of Jesus Christ 

(to the extent of my education and interpretation of the Bible and experience of the Church). 

I know that my experience (thus far) is a mere morsel of the radical life Jesus intended for His wild bride. 

I know He meant what He said in the Gospels: 

sell everything, 

feed the hungry, 

clothe the naked, 

visit the imprisoned, 

care for the sick, 

MAKE DISCIPLES. 

I don’t think He meant “write a check” to the people who are doing that. 

Sure, support their work if you have the means to, but what are YOU doing to 

love your neighbor as yourself? 

So, maybe I do know some things. 

But the more I know, the more I know that I actually don’t know much at all. 

The 

never

ending 

cycle 

of 

frustration.  

A slap in the face of the Western mindset that equates knowledge and diligence with understanding. UNDERSTANDING?

I’m finding that knowledge and diligence equals more questions. 

But I guess that’s why faith, hope, and love are so beautiful. Miraculous, even.

Those essences, which can only be revealed through belief and reflected in action, have transformative power. 

I can philosophize for years, but without faith, hope, and love, everything I conjecture still remains lacking. 

Dare I say, meaningless. 

Some things cannot be rationalized. 

I refuse to maintain a dichotomy that separates conviction and responsibility. There’s too much at stake. On judgement day, I will be held responsible for what I did with what I knew. That rattles me. 

It’s hard to see the light sometimes. 

So how do I stay afloat? 

or better yet…
what

if 

I’m 

already 

drowning?

And what is that’s a really good thing?

A god I could figure out and wrap my mind around, wouldn’t be that big or impressive or powerful.
So I guess that means I have to embrace the mystery. 

This year (and hopefully the years to come), I will welcome the questions.
I will wrestle with pain and anguish and the fear of messing things up.

I will take radical risks to know this Jesus of the Gospels and follow what He says. 
And I will choose to embrace

faith, 

hope, 

and love.

Because somewhere along the way, there is peace for my soul.