"So Paige, where are you going to go to grad school?"

We were sitting in the dark, purple and blue living room of her house on Highland Street. It was the middle of May, and the week before, I had walked across the stage and received a very expensive, yet very satisfying piece of paper from the University of Montevallo. This piece of paper stated that I, Paige Gingrich, had graduated Cum Laude with a Bachelor's of Art in Sociology and Deaf Studies from Alabama's only public liberal arts university.

It also stated that I was not qualified for any job. Ever.

Ask me if that thought ever crossed my mind.

No, not once.

Why not? you ask.

Well, because rewind three semesters earlier, about a half mile from that house on Highland Street. Insert a first semester junior (yes, junior) who was earnestly praying about what her major should be--it was crunch time after all. This girl was sitting in a Deaf Education class and clenching her teeth together as hard as she could not tobawl like a baby at the story of a hearing mother of a deaf child. This mother was relaying to the class, tearfully and slightly embarrassed, her feelings of isolation and lack of support as she ventured down an unexpected path with what felt like no support, love, or help.

Guys, at that moment, there was a thought that consumed me from my head to my toes: "This is a problem for the Church."

Thank you Holy Spirit.

That day I swapped my major from Spanish (bleh) to Sociology (yay!) in hopes of becoming an Early Interventionist in Alabama, in hopes of providing support for families of children with disabilities, in hopes of being the Church.

And when God tells you to do something, it might look weird to the rest of the world, but that doesn't mean it's not right. This is why I was confident having a degree that some might label "useless".

Fast forward:

Jenneyb (yes, "Jenneyb"; it is pronounced, "Jenney B"), was sitting on her worn-out leather couch, staring at me over her thick-rimmed black glasses in that dark, blue and purple living room of hers. She gave me one of those infamous looks of hers, the one that says you can't get away with ____, and asks a question that I had truly, truly never thought about, "So Paige, where are you going to go to grad school?"

I laughed. An uncomfortable laugh, mind you, one of those laughs that I give in that rare moment when someone surprises me and I'm not quite sure what to say.

"Well, Jenneyb, I've never thought about it." (Honesty: the best policy).

That look, "Well Paige, why not?"

Here, friends and readers, I began to say "I don't know", which if you have ever had a conversation with Jenneyb, you know that is not an acceptable answer. So, I swallowed it and replaced it with a shrug. Way better.

She considered me for a minute before taking a deep breath and rearranging herself on the couch, "What do you have to have to go to grad school?"

My sassy self answered, "I would need to go for free."

Jenneyb nodded, "Alright, then that's what we'll pray for."

I rolled my eyes. People don't go to grad school for free. People don't walk on water, talk to burning bushes, donkeys, or survive three days in the belly of whales, either. You might not think these are acceptable comparisons. I would bet you've never been to grad school. "Yeah, ok, Jenney," I am obviously testy, because I have dropped the b. "We'll know I'm meant to go to grad school when I can go for free."

Jenneyb just smiled. That should have been my first clue.

Fast forward one year: I am working at a preschool in Dayton, Ohio (which isprecisely where a degree in Sociology/Deaf Studies landed me), and I am on the playground one day. I think/pray, "God, could I really go to grad school for free?"

Nine months later, I get a letter from the University of Alabama informing me that I have been accepted to their 2011-2013 Masters of Social Work cohort. I just needed to be in Tuscaloosa by the end of August to get started.

But wait.

No scholarships.

A very large tuition.

But why would I get in just to not go.

Because we (read: Jenneyb, Sammie and Laura; the ones who pray for me when I don't know what to pray for myself) had prayed that I would know I was supposed to go when I could go for free.

A very large tuition is the very opposite of free.

Watch God work.

No lie, this is how this went:

Three months later, I am in the basement of a dorm at Belmont University, training week for Nashville MFuge, 2011. I get a call back from the UA Social Work Department, which was great, because I had been bugging them incessantly for the past week. Without dragging all the details of it out, I said, "Ms. Smith, I was wondering if there were any scholarships remaining for the 2011-2012 school year."

I could hear Ms. Smith sigh sadly on the other end of the line, "I'm sorry, Paige, but you were pretty late to the game. We don't have anything left for this year. You can, however, reapply in the fall for second year scholarships."

Can you hear my heart sinking? I quit my job in Ohio before camp on the premise that I was moving away to graduate school. I got accepted. I took the stupid GRE (granted, I studied at a Red's game, but I still took the darn thing). And now I sat a t the crossroads of "do it on my own" or "wait".

This was hard for me guys. It was hard because it looked just like what we had prayed for. It was so stinkin close to it. So close.

But it wasn't it.

I sat down in the room full of t-shirt boxes, "Ms. Smith, I can't afford graduate school without help."

Pause.

"Have you taken your GRE?" she asked.

I piped up. Maybe that hot afternoon of studying and $60 was going to pay off, "I have."

"What did you make?" I told her. "Hmm, that's at the top of our usual candidates. What was your GPA for undergrad?" I told her that too. Ms. Smith sighed. Again. I needed her to quit sighing. "Paige, those scores would qualify you for one of our top scholarships."

This time, when she sighed, I joined in. "But it's gone for this year?"

"I'm afraid so," she said. "But," my ears perked up, "If you're in a position to defer, you could be eligible for it next year."

"Defer? As in push school back to next fall?"

That's exactly what it meant. When I asked if I could pray about it, she straight up chuckled at me. Oh the South.

I called Ben to discuss this (Ben: my now husband, then boyfriend-husband-in-seven-months-we-move-fast-Ben). The first words out of his mouth? "Paige, I know we've talked about moving to Alabama, but I was just offered (his dream job) and I need to give them an answer by Friday (it was Wednesday)."

I called Ms. Smith back, and I deferred. In January, eight months later, Mrs.Parish (that would be me) got a letter in the mail stating that I had received a scholarship to attend the University of Alabama's MSW program. It wasn't a full scholarship, but when we added up all the numbers, I looked at Ben and asked, "Can we do this?" and he said yes.

That was the first of many, many arrangements that the Lord made in my life around this season specifically. One of the tangible ones, at least. You could honestly keep moving back to a fourteen year old Paige who fell in love with sign language, to a seven year old Paige who the Lord chased down in the back row of children's church, to a five year old Paige who was told "I'm afraid you're giving away your childhood" when she insisted on handing out her own stuffed animals to people she loved for them to keep--seriously, I'm a gift giver; get over it. You could keep on going back to the times my grandparents decided that they were going to commit their families to Him, which meant that their grandkids would be in church at every available moment, which meant that I would one day even hear the Gospel.

And so on, and so on, and so on...

Crap. God's sovereignty, yeah? It gives me butterflies and a headache at the same time. I love it, and am so thankful for how He's cared so much about me, about us,to carefully and precisely arrange our lives.

But this? To answer prayers so specifically, to have had things worked out all along?

In the most serious way possible, God, for real? You deserve mad props for that one. 

That January, my new husband started looking for a trailer. This was because he added it up, and figured he could buy a trailer to move and then we could resell it, thus the move would cost us virtually nothing. Thus, he continued his love affair with Craigslist by scouring it for a trailer.

In May, we packed up the house in preparation for going to camp--Philly, this time--knowing that we would have a one to two week turnaround to get to Alabama when we finished our summer.

Ben did not have a job.

We had no where to live, we were counting pennies to pay for semesters number two, three, and four.

We still didn't have a trailer.

And we went to Philly, anyway. Why? Because God told us to. And it was great. Oh my goodness, great! In your mind, stuff that word as full of wonderful images of redemption, calling, forgiveness, love, and service that you can, and you might get close to just how great it was.

At the end of eight weeks or this greatness, we were packing up the truck to drive back to Ohio.

Guys, we had spent none of those eight weeks seriously looking for jobs, housing, or even a trailer. We had spent all of our time on camp. Was it easy? Heck no. But was it worth it? Everyday.

We were outside of the dorms, packing up the truck and hugging necks, saying goodbye, when Ben gets a phone call. The Caller ID reads, "Tuscaloosa City Schools".

I can't make this up.

He goes to answer it, and I look at a teammate somewhat frantically, "Do you think they're offering him a job?"

He laughed, "I would if I was them."

Ben comes back ten minutes later, "Well?"

He looks at his phone, "I think I have a job."

Hugging ensues.

Ben goes back into the dorms, I am sitting in the air conditioned truck when I get an email. It was from the University of Alabama. It informed me that I was receiving a $500 stipend for the next two semesters.

I ran into the dorms, practically shouting the news. Our team, who had a comeback for everything, was speechless. One stopped and said, "I think we should pray and thank God for this." So we did.

And guys, on the way home? Ben found a trailer.

We packed up and moved, found an apartment within our budget within twenty-four hours.

Stop. It.

And today, I am sitting on my couch, in our house in Tuscaloosa, eating watermelon, and watching my cohort-mates post on social media about graduation tonight.

Arrangements. 

He knows what we need and he delights in answering our prayers. Stories like these give Him glory in the most minuscule of ways--ways that say, "Look what the Lord has done!" which is cool and great and all, but who really cares that he got us a trailer when we are standing in the middle of an entire creation that sings praise to its Creator?

But when we zoom out from the specifics of the story, we see that it is more than Him just making these small things happen. It's less like a pebble dropped in a lake, and more like a giant set-up of dominoes that has multiple levels, lines, spans the entire universe, and is in the process of revealing to us the most beautiful, breathtaking picture we have ever seen that is more than we could have ever even imagined. The picture of our lives in line with Christ and the feedback loop of blessings that we reap when our lives bring Him glory.

This isn't the prosperity Gospel. Please don't take it as such. It's just affirmation of the promise that He takes care of us because He is loving and gracious, never-abandoning, and always about His will. We get to do more than walk behind Him and pick up the things He misses; we get to be an active part of the process.

He got me through these past two years. I've learned so much about Social Work, yes, but also about my cocky, conceited self. I've learned some good things, too though. I've learned that I love people even though they exhaust me. I've learned that never moving past the Gospel isn't remedial, but essential. I've learned I love to write, paint, rearrange furniture, bake cakes and write cards, run, and even found a puppy I'm fond of. I've learned that to live out the Gospel looks a lot like living an ordinary life that's not. I've found out that friends and family don't go away just because you're anxious or haven't called them in three weeks, and that they still love you when you finally come around to noticing.

Lessons on top of lessons, on top of more: book smarts, loving well, discipleship, organization and planning, that left handed jump shots don't stick around forever but there are some very quality things that do.

But, a lesson that He taught me a few years back, one that I didn't have to learn twice (and probably the only one) is this: I don't have to worry about tomorrow.

Where will I work?

I have no clue.

But I'm not worried about it.

Why?

I'm sure He's already got it figured out.