Sacred Place

Last night I dragged myself to the college group at my mom's church, figuring it's better to be plugged in somewhere this summer other than the computer and Starbucks (a potential job, yet again). They were a lively bunch, very different from Biola kids, and I quite enjoyed myself.
A girl, Claudia, gave the message. I could tell she was a little nervous, but she did a beautiful job. She talked about Samson being wasted potential because he'd forsaken his covenant with God. Claudia related to our own covenants with God, stressing that though they are based in biblical truths, they are different for each of us. She asked a question I'm not sure I'd ever considered a question for myself, let alone relevant for me. She asked, What is your covenant with God? When I decided to live God's life and not my own (in her words), what was it I promised?
She asked a second question equally as difficult: What is that sacred place for me, where I know I am strong in the Lord (I feel so silly, using this language; I haven't used in a long time and don't plan on starting up again but it's fitting for the topic at hand, at least until I can find my own voice in expressing it)? For Samson, it was his hair. I wish it were that easy for me; if anything my hair is the last thing to be considered my strength; it's getting to the mullet stage, and I'm afraid I'm going to deal with looking like an androgynous truck driver until it grows out.
All joking aside, though: what is my strength? Along with my lesson of living in ambiguity, I think it doesn't lie in my ability (or lack thereof) to evangelize or preach powerful messages. It probably does not even lie in any possible ability to listen well, to take care of people, to work hard. I think it may lie in something tragically untraditional, at least in Christian ministry: literature. It's been an amazing semester, seeing how God speaks to me and connects with me through poetry and literature. I can't say that I'm great at writing or theory or analysis, but I do love it and that's what matters most to me.
It's wonderfully electrifying to find that I am naturally untraditional. It's been a goal I've been shooting hard for the past few years, but I don't think I needed to work so hard. In majoring in Anthro and aiming to be a missionary, I was fighting to become something noble and (supposedly) godly. But I'm loving this idea that serving God is simply doing something well. And that something is whatever you love and are already good at. It doesn't mean you're an automatic genius; it certainly does require much hard work. But it's a beautiful liberation to accede to this philosophy of life. It brings all the poetic rebellion I've wanted since the beginning of college (and apparently produces an overflow of cheesy language).
Anyway, I'm not sure I can totally answer Claudia's second question, and I sure as hell am not going to try to answer the first one just yet. There is still some hestitation on my part to fall into total ambiguity (meaning things may not be as they seem, may not be as easily definable as I thought before; I do not mean that we cannot know things or that truth is relative). I want to grow into it, let myself be fused with it so it becomes natural.
And make a complete ass of myself along the way. I like that, too.