Almost seven years ago now I set out to apply to law school.
Only several months prior, my mother had a mental breakdown and wound up in a psychiatric unit.
During this time I was appointed as her guardian and thrown into a role and title I really never wanted to be.
After being tossed around by the craziness of the situation, I was introduced to an attorney who practiced family law and specialized in situations like my Mom's. This attorney took me by the hand and led me through the ins and outs of North Carolina's legal system and showed me how to go about getting my mom the help she needed.
She was a guardian angel; without her help, I am not sure my mom would be here today.
The more I got to know her, the more I thought her profession was exactly what I was meant to do. And the the more I learned about mental illness and addiction and the pitfalls of our legal system regarding both topics, I felt like I heard God's call loud and clear: "Go, help these people. This is the work I am calling you to."
Desperate to be obedient, I signed up for a LSAT prep course and started working on my law school applications. In my small mind, I was ready to wage war on addiction and mental illness. I was ready to make a dent in these issues and felt honored that God had called me to such a task. I was ready to change not only my mom's story but a generation of people who were getting hit hard by these forces. Cape and all.
So I studied, took the LSAT, sent in those applications, then I prayed for God to do what only He could do.
Long story short, I am not an attorney.
My test scores were subpar and I did not have the 4.0 GPA I needed to overcompensate for my LSAT score.
I was furious at God and heartbroken over the reality that the doors to law school were slammed in my face.
Being an attorney was my purpose, or so I thought. It was what God called me to.
I was ready to be a superhero.
But God had a different plan in store. And it was clear it did not involve law school. What happened instead was a seven year journey that has led me to this moment.
Much has happened in those seven years, but in short the main thing that stands out is this: God stripped me of my superhero cape.
Much like Joseph and his coat of many colors, I was thrown in to what felt like a dark pit. But every now and then I would see a light, leading me out of that place. It wasn't constant. But frequent enough that I wanted to keep following it.
And do you know what it lead me to every time I encountered it?
Surrender.
Saying "no."
Stepping down as my mom's guardian.
Saying "no" to the chaos.
Admitting I could not fix any of it.
Backing away from a situation I had previously felt so sure I was suppose to save.
And then surrender again.
Because as it turns out, I really wanted to be a superhero. And I kept trying to put on that darn cape. But God said "No", every single time and then He stripped me of my need to save and to fix.
I found out when I put that cape on, I thought I was responsible for saving instead of embracing the saving grace of a Savior. I started to look down on people. I started to think I knew better; I started to think I knew how the world needed to be fixed. I started to think I had the solutions to all of the problems.
But the thing is, I was never meant to be a superhero.
And neither were you.
As it turns out, the more I turn over my superhero desires, the more the Lord shows me who He is and how He really does have all this under His control. And the quicker the cape comes off, the more I am able to see God work in the intimate details; and the more I learn about His sovereignty to use these dark topics for His ultimate good.
While it might not be law school, I know in my heart I heard that call to help bring awareness to these topics. But the beauty of the past 7 years has taught me that I am just as broken. My elevation in life is no different than anyone else. I have learned to stop looking down and instead just look around...because everyone I know is being impacted by these topics in some shape or form.
So while I will never have an Esq. by my name, I have a pen and a story that hopefully one day will be used to help those remember: We were never meant to be superheroes.