It was this time last year that the lights started closing in on me.
All manners of darkness swam into my heart, and, folks, to be frank, my very life is a miracle.
I was delivered via airplane into the arms of my parents and friends, who were unnerved by the damage a few months had wrought on me.
My first semester papers scored poorly, but I am shocked they were even brought into existence.
My memories of those 40 days at home are few. The depression I fought so terribly hard against while away consumed me when it realized I was back in safety (literally).
But Belfast was where God had sent me.
And he hadn't unsent me. I just needed fuel.
February first had me back and miracles happened. Four months of miracles followed four months (plus one) of nightmares.
I was resurrected but I wasn't the same.
Since December, I haven't been able to complete a single book, not in full.
My second semester papers were written, but it was with difficulty.
Writing that thesis was one of the most challenging academic experiences of my life. Culture shock, a new job, facing old realities with new perspective, a new relationship, finding friends, just...struggle.
But sentence by sentence, God pulled those paragraphs out of me, and I turned it in.
Now, three months later, I am so humbled to announce that I have passed, with flying colors and every synonym for the word "eccentric" written on my paper's critiques.
I am proud not because I accomplished anything.
Last December gives every indication that when I rely on my own strength, I run out, to the point of near death or permanent destruction.
This work, friends, was the Lord's.
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