Thirty-six percent humidity.

Thirty-six percent humidity: the first signs of Fall.
September 20, 2016, Seoul, South Korea.

Fall in Korea makes me long for home: Oregon. After spending three long years in Texas among the rolling “hills “and brutal, humid summers, I moved to South Korea in July 2015 only to be hit with more humidity.

But come late-September, the humidity subsides and bows its head to cooler temperatures. The fresh crisp air brings with it a million memories of childhoods long past; times and seasons long forgotten and tucked away in the crevices of my mind. Memories of open windows at night, freezing football games huddled under blankets, playing in piles of fresh fallen leaves and watching the miracle of the changing of seasons.

Change and movement in life are the heart of all things beautiful.
Beauty is a thing of wonder to behold yet mysteriously veiled.
The changing of seasons ushers in this reminder.

We grieve and mourn for the past with any change, yet look forward in hopeful expectation, knowing the simple truth: we are not alone.
As we journey on this road of life woven with tears of joy and sorrow, we know we are not aimless wanderers. We journey alongside a Love that will one day make all things new.

Fall reminds the heart that things will not always stay as they are now, Love is making all things new.

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So… what do you want to do with that?

What do you want to do with that degree?
Is this [job] what you were hoping to do as a career?
How long are you planning to stay?

The questions we ask people about life, whether it be careers, marriage, children, hobbies, etc… often are the wrong questions to ask.  During day one of orientation for my Master’s degree at Dallas Theological Seminary I was asked numerous times, “What degree program are you in?” closely followed by the question, “Oh, great, so what do you hope to do with that?”  Or, “What kind of ministry are you planning to serve in after you finish?”

So many of our questions are leading questions.  We intend to lead people to a specific type of answer.  An answer that belongs in a neatly organized box.  And not only that, but these questions do not focus on the heart of who the person we are conversing with, rather, we are forcing people to answer in a particular way so that we can categorize them.

Since my move here to Seoul, I have been asked too many times, “Oh, so is this job what you were wanting to do when you attended seminary?”

Um, no.  It isn’t.  Wasn’t.

I had no clue I would be here.
I have no clue how long I will be here.
I have no clue where I will go next.

God only knows.

And that’s the thing about all our grand plans: they aren’t ours.  We can plan all day until our faces are blue and our fingers are bleeding with callouses: we cannot know the future.

Proverbs rightly reminds us: “A person plans his course, but the Lord directs his steps.” (Proverbs 16:9, NET)