I threw my plan away.  As I was cleaning yesterday, I came across the schedule I made freshman year of college.  It was almost scary to look at it now, three-some years later.  I had decided back then what class I would be taking each semester.  I knew exactly where I would be and when.  Except for some slight variations, the plan I made freshman year is the plan I followed for the rest of college.  I don't remember . . . but I wonder if back then I knew that I would follow that map so closely. 

I feel like I've never really had to make a decision before now.  There was always school followed by school followed by even more school.  The other day, someone asked me what I was doing this summer.  When I considered it, I replied, "It's more like 'what am I doing for the rest of my life?'"  The summer isn't just the summer to me anymore.  I'm moving from my parents home because it seems like the right thing to do.  In a week I'll be leaving the the only house I've ever lived in.  I'll be surrounded by people and places and experiences that are all unfamiliar.  I'll be on my own, making my own decisions, responsible for myself . . . And yet, I somehow still don't feel like an adult. 

My plan ran out, and I don't really have another one to replace it.  I don't feel scared, though.  I feel free.  Unprepared . . . yet ready.  I don't know what God has for me now, but I am free to embrace it.  I'm unencumbered in so many ways.  I don't mind not having a plan for once, for now.  I trust God; I trust in his guidance and his patience to graciously lead me and direct me.  The rest of my life is ahead of me.  God is my strength, and with him I can do anything. 

Some nerves, some microphone problems, some laughter . . . and a standing ovation.  My speech is over! Here's what I said, more or less:

It's really funny to me that I'm standing here.  Once upon a time, I didn't even want to go to college.  Mom and Dad might recall that . . . or they may have blocked it from their memories.  The decision to come to Campbell was one of the best I've ever made.  Though, I certainly never expected to be here . . . giving a speech . . . for a really big award.  

In the past couple of weeks, I've been trying to figure out why I was chosen.  What could I possibly have done to merit this award? Do I really deserve it? Well, this is my conclusion: I'm here because I never wanted to be here.  Let me explain.   

There are basically two different kinds of honor.  There's honor that you give to someone else, hopefully people like your professors and parents to show how much you value, respect, and love them.  Then there's honor that you receive because someone has recognized an action of yours as exemplary.  So here we are, honor students in honor societies at an honors banquet.  We're all here because we have received honor.  Someone has seen something in us that deserves recognition.   

Honor is an interesting concept, though, and there's something very elusive about it.  You can't achieve honor by seeking honor itself.  The irony here is similar to that of humility; if you're humble, you can never say you are humble.  Once you do, the humility is lost.  Likewise, if I stand here telling you how much I deserve this honor, I become the least deserving of us all.   

I think I may have confused you, but thus is the nature of paradox.  What I'm saying, though, is that if I make honor my goal then I tend to lose sight of what will truly make me honorable.  So . . . how do we receive honor, then?  

Well, I think the Bible is pretty clear about honor, that it is the product of humbling ourselves, of becoming a servant, of loving our neighbors, and above all of fearing God.  In the book of John, Jesus tells his disciples, "If anyone serves me, he must follow me; and where I am, there will my servant be also.  If anyone serves me, the Father will honor him."  As Christians, we're called to emulate Jesus, and that means becoming a humble servant; that's the way to achieve honor.  If anyone ever deserved honor and praise and awards, it was Jesus.  And yet he didn't go around saying, "I'm a really good guy and help a lot of people and perform miracles and such.  Where's my certificate? I'm here--honor me!"  No; Jesus served and loved and never expected honor from men.  Our attitude should be the same.  

Now, a lot of cool people have said a lot of cool things about honor. One of the most pertinent observations I found comes from Scott O'Grady in his book Return to Honor.  O'Grady is a former US Air Force captain who gained fame back in 1995 when he was forced to abandon his plane while over Bosnia; he spent six days evading capture before he was rescued.  In his book, O'Grady visits the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.  In this passage, he explains the essence of my point-- that how you serve and honor others is much more important than the praise that you yourself receive.   

He writes: "Each of the unknown soldiers had served nobly; each had given his life--more, his identity--to a cause he thought greater.  And what had they gotten in return? No thanks or applause, no medals or parades or guest spots on TV talk shows.  It wasn't the reward that mattered or the recognition you might harvest.  It was your depth of commitment, your quality of service, the product of your devotion--these were the things that counted in a life.  When you gave purely, I thought, the honor came in the giving, and that was honor enough."   

I think O'Grady's point translates to being a student here in a very tangible way.  Honestly, this banquet isn't what matters.  Honor isn't about how great you are but about how you serve others because of how great they are and how great they can be.  My intent is not to belittle this award--I really am thankful for it--but I want to be sure that I keep it in its proper place.  Sure, recognition is nice, but it isn't necessary. I challenge you to examine your own actions, the way you relate to others, your attitude toward classes and work, your motivations for everything that you do.  Receiving honor should never be more important to you than actually being honorable. 

Words are important, the particular ones you use and how you use them.  For instance, to say that I'm starving is such a misrepresentation.  Pretty much, I've redefined starving to mean that I should have finished my whole bowl of cereal or that waiting six hours for the next meal is too much.  I don't think I've ever seen someone who was truly starving, and I have certainly never even been close to starving.  But by using the word so flippantly and inappropriately, I've made it less powerful and less meaningful. 

Another word that I often abuse is love.  I've made it such a cheap word by saying things like, "I love mashed potatoes!"  That's just silly.  The word I use to describe my feelings toward a food shouldn't be the same that I use for such important things as my family and God.  If I only love my mom as much as I love mashed potatoes, then my love doesn't mean very much. 

In all honesty, I do like mashed potatoes, but I don't love them.  Using the right word makes all the difference. 

I read this today, and it fits well with the sentiment I'm trying to convey:

What is love really?
"In this is love, not that we have loved God but that he loved us and sent his Son to be the propitiation for our sins. So we have come to know and to believe the love that God has for us. God is love, and whoever abides in love abides in God, and God abides in him." (I John 4)