The Time I Broke Down in Front of My Professor


My birthday… was unreal. Seriously.

I had all these fears about turning 30 in a new city and it was probably my favorite birthday to date. Thank you for the way you love. For someone who loves words, I’m at a loss.

Now that is out of the way, let’s get to the good stuff.

Can I tell you that I am loving school? It is the hardest thing I have ever tackled academically and I am in love with it. I left my first week of classes, called my mom and told her this is exactly what I was created to do. I have never felt that before, such a profound connection to a calling. Denver Seminary has been amazing. Challenging, but amazing. I feel like if I’m not in class I’m doing homework for class. I’ve been able to keep up okay but I’m definitely applying myself in ways I never have before. I’m currently taking two classes. With fascinating classmates and even more fascinating professors.

Y’all, trying to start learning again after almost 10 years away is tough. Also, APA, what the…? I’m issuing a formal complaint against my first 16 years of education for telling me “nah girl, you good” when it came to MLA vs APA. Suck it, Cheyenne Mountain High School and Belmont.  

I’ve cried twice in my Thursday night class. Twice out of the 4? times I’ve had class. This past week I had to excuse myself. Like stand up, walk out the door, walk to the bathroom, and ugly cry. Because my professor gave us a simple prompt:

Who do you want to be when you’re 80?

The question was simple, the only directive not to include the “things” we wanted to accomplish, not an obituary, but a question.

Who do you want to be when you’re 80?

The tears came instantly.

Because for as long as I can remember, this answer has always been a wife and mother. Yet as my story unfolds, I find those things may not be the answer Jesus has for me. And I’ve learned to grieve through it while also holding on to hope and searching for who I want to be.

Through a haze of tears, here’s what I came up with:

I want to be a woman of love, of deep character. Someone who makes others feel safe and known. I want to be someone who has laughed at herself and enjoyed the nuances of life. I want to be a woman who found meaning in the way her story unfolded – that she is able to say “Look what the Lord has done! I have seen the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living!” I want to be a woman who creates family around her table — whether that is biological or not. Who always has open arms and an open heart. I want to be a woman who has never been afraid to try, who said yes more often than no. I want to be a woman with more laugh lines than frown lines, who appreciates the value of all humans. I want to be a woman who loves others more than herself. I want to be a woman who was known for her kindness to everyone she encountered. I want to be a woman who is humble and ever learning, who makes other feels at home. I want to be a woman who leaves a legacy with her words and her actions. I want to be a woman who has kept heaven as the lens of her gaze.

These words poured out of me. With all the hope and grief and desire I’ve encountered.

On my very best day I see glimpses of this woman. But most of the time she’s far from sight. I’ve not loved others well or more than myself. I’ve not been known for kindness or valued all humans. And Lord willing, I’ve got another 50 years to work on these things.

So as I finish writing this the emotion is pouring out and I cannot sort it out guys. At all. Like the snot, and the tears, and the mascara, and the choked down sobs. My professor catches my gaze and I make the ugly cry face. I excuse myself, walk to the bathroom, sob all the things, splash my face, and return to class to power through the last 20 minutes.

My professor sees me come back and gently approaches me while my classmates are discussing their non emotional breakdown answers.

“How ya doing? What’s going on?” she smiled at me, knowingly.

“I’m okay. I’m so sorry, I have no idea where that came from…” I offered apologetically while trying not to breakdown AGAIN. Sometime in the midst of her wise questions, my 30th birthday, and singleness, and shame, and ALL OF IT comes pouring out. I just dumped everything on my poor professor. So you know what her response was? To offer me time to come sit down in her office and process. She told me to email her about her friend’s blog and a sermon she did on singleness.

I watched that sermon tonight and never have I heard the language of the struggle of singleness spoken as eloquently as she did. I am floored I have the privilege of learning under her. Single friends, this. Married friends, this. Because you all have watched the wrestle of learning to hope IN Jesus and not IN marriage. Of grieving and hoping. Of longing for a companion. You’ve had a front row seat. But this woman gets it. And can share it without my tears and my fuzzy thoughts.

I don’t have much else to say, because I really want you to watch this sermon. Really. It’s so good.

But here’s what I will say — crying in class is not always a bad thing.



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