It’s that time again, the 50-hour work weeks and never-ending to-do lists that go on until March. And my body, my nervous system, remembers it—and I don’t want to do it again. There are other factors playing into my memory of this season last year: moving twice in the fall, missing the sweet, goofy camaraderie of working shifts at Greyhouse, transitioning into full-time work (and a few subsequent transitions in responsibilities), trying to find a place to belong at Campus House, simultaneously my church community and place of work. I know that. I keep reminding myself that this is not the same as last year, but the deepest part of me doesn’t quite believe that.

Over the summer, God’s been reminding me of His larger story. My place in it, including my paid work, matters, but He’s doing more than I could ever comprehend—at Campus House, in the world, and even in me. I’ve needed that reminder, and I’ve been desperately trying to hold onto it as we enter the busy season.

And perhaps that’s part of the problem, that I’m so desperately trying (usually in my own strength) to hold onto this sense of the presence of God, when He invites me to walk with Him in the present. I want to walk with Him in the present. I won’t do it perfectly, or maybe even well, but He’s also been reminding me that His mercy will be there when I fail.

I want to live in confidence of God’s mercy, that it is always for the undeserving—that it’s for me when I place my worth in my work or isolate myself from community or allow myself to numb my anger in podcasts and documentaries, when I fail to live in the wholeness that He’s offered to me in Christ. And I know that His mercy will find me, even when I don’t expect it.