Back back back to school. I slept through this week and have lost my breath this week. Have you ever find yourself ducked into a long string of days that have seamlessly run together, with sleep only being one more thing you have to do before tomorrow. I wonder when I can allow myself to stop forcing myself to persevere through the deep swamp of overwhelming homeworks and fall into bed when I don't really want to sleep. I don't want rest. I want to relax, but can't remember how or even what that could possibly mean.
My neck is tight, so tight I think my head my roll right off if it didn't feel like it was bolted to my shoulders, heavy like steel.
It's that season again: the great scramble, the annual house-hunt, the competition among the 25,000, battling through the three-unrelated law that makes renting a perpetual nightmare. A reminder of frustrating relationships and your lack of social life due to a case of chronic course-load. A fact that comes back to bite you in the butt when August rolls around. A reminder of your anti-social habits in the form of stupidly-high rent for an apartment you didn't want in the first place.
I get tired of gimmicks. Sales-points and empty promised make me sick-- I wanted to ask if advertising was included in the over-zealous rent, as she handed me an ugly promotional backpack full of trinkets that should never have been produced for the sake of fish and trees and my mountains that I daily witness giving way to strip malls. An auto-complex that must include the word "Mountain" to remind us that these beautiful landforms were once part of the landscape before commercialism and concrete took over.
I get tired of getting sold. I get tired to plastic smiles and bowls of candy, clean-shaven white men in pressed shirts and ties trying to convince me that their property really is worth spending my hard-earned debt on. Gag. And somehow I can't stop thinking about the obvious uneven concrete underneath the nice new carpet under my feet now and the dishwasher that doesn't actually wash dishes. Traffic is on my mind. Stop lights and speed-traps and gas prices that are reaching out wretched little hands to touch $4.00 by the time swimming season begins. A lovely little bike that struggles up a hill against the wind. To class in 8 minutes, home in 25. Heavy.
I'm reading a book called, "The Things They Carried." Perhaps you've heard of it. Its all about burden and as I lay on the lovely soft cushions of couch, eyes dried out from mineral spirits behind black-rimmed glasses, I imagine myself out in the jungle too, carrying it all on my back-- even though I am a woman, here, 2008. A few more things to hold on my back as I think about little kindergarteners full of energy and summer jobs and all the other homework I still must arrange on my timetable in the next six weeks and four days. Group projects that also feel like pulling five full-grown people up a hill and wondering if maybe I'm also in the wagon I pull and not knowing it. Practicing what I preach and wishing she would stop being impressed and in awe... or whatever.
I think I spend more time than I realize figuring out ways I am going to haul my tired body around after I get done sleeping for a while. The space between work and work seems small and invisible these days. Like a very thin, transparent line, I wonder if there will come a day when sleep means something for its own sake again. If I'll find my life again. If I can read something for pleasure or growth or connection again without rushing through it. If I can stop long enough to figure out a time that I might be able to pencil in a massage.
I've been irritable, I'm sorry to have to admit. I'm sure it's been clear to most-- I'm in that space where my comments are about as short as my attention span. I think I might snap soon, if I haven't already. It all feels heavy and I want to throw it all off on someone else. I'm not sure where to put all the hurt and frustration. All the discomfort, all the eggshell flooring, it's mounting and sometimes it feels as though it has filled me up, overflowing. A different kind of cup overfloweth.
I've been thinking the last few days about how I have little capacity to take very many relational risks. I don't much feel like calling people up, even though I'd like the company. I can't seem to find the stamina to make regular calls, like returning messages or pursuing opportunities. The thought of conversations in which I must be visible disinterest me-- vulnerability takes too much energy. And I suppose the question that lies staring out then is-- when it is too much? Have I reached my limit, even thought it feels as though the first, the essential thing is what gets pushed back back back. Will it ever sort itself out, I wonder to myself. Perhaps. For now, perhaps I will attempt some immitation of sleep.
Wednesday, March 26
Friday, March 21
Good Friday
It's Good Friday, but I must admit that I'm not feeling very spiritual. I'm tired. It's Spring Break and it seems that the main feature of the week has been this glaring reminder that I am just downright tired. My back is tight, my body is sore, my eyes are getting dim. I don't know how it got to be this way-- this absolute lack of desire to do much of anything. Perhaps it has been the nag of homework that's been ever-present this week. It feels more like an opportunity to finish school work at a slower-than-usual pace. Which is nice, I suppose, in a disappointing sort of way.
It seems that oftentimes, my spirituality gets lost underneath piles of books and papers. I often have to ask myself, is this good? Is this okay-- or is there something different I should be doing? Is God in my homework, in my busy calendar? Can he be found there? Will he be found even on the days I'm too tired to do much praying or reflecting? Have I forgotten Him?
At the start of the week, someone asked the poignant question: "Do we really know him?" Do I come to Him in prayer and find that I do not even know who he is these days? Does he say the same of me?
After all of these much-awaited breaks in school, I've come to see these solid weeks or months away from school as ritualistic times (one of the school administrators we visited this semester said, "We don't have enough rituals in this culture," which I think is a terribly profound and important observation). Small periods that I can begin with the prayer, "Abba, take this week and do something in me. It's yours." Has he done something in me this week? I don't know.
Despite the ongoing to-do list (that still waits unfinished), I found a few opportunities to reach out a hand to some friends with some lemon cake and a little dinner. A movie shared with a tired mom and a quiet drive to have lunch with someone I hope to be like someday. I found the courage to begin something I've been beginning for a while. I read book that has changed my view of many things-- maybe everything. I've thought a lot about wealth and poverty and found time to be thankful for my life and many luxuries I do not need. A little renewal came with a fresh haircut (as haircuts usually provide). I played a few good games of scrabble. I faced a few fears. I even went to a few new places.
I must be honest and say it has been nice to have few days of quiet. I'm not sure how I will finish out the semester feeling as tired as I do, but perhaps a second wind will come in the next few days. I begin my new job on Tuesday-- I'm still waiting for other calls for the summer. I am going to do a bit more volunteering at the Junior High and will be teaching a lesson for the photo class. I've started to wade into the deep waters of my painting final, am dreading the next step of the mural process, wondering how that will ever come out-- a little tired of some group dynamics (not looking forward to getting back into an atmosphere of complaints). Lord, I need strength that I don't seem to be able to muster on my own. Time to begin reading a book that hasn't arrived quite yet (even though I paid for expedited shipping) before we begin discussing it in class.
Perhaps those moments of quiet, seeking the Father, is where the strength comes simply to say aloud Lord, I need strength. I often need those reminders, that there isn't an actual expectation for me to be super-human. It is understandable that my energy runs short of all I choose to do anyway. The Lord is full of compassion and mercy, as I am often reminded.
The Lord is full of compassion and mercy.
So what does all of this mean on this Good Friday? Earlier this week, I read this:
"All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned everyone to his own way; and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all." Isaiah 53:6
He sees all that I've done. He knows all of my angry thoughts, my frustrations, the curses that I utter. He sees all the ways that I do not live up to the person he intended in the beginning. I've read this verse many times, memorized it as a kid in church, but it has never brought me the comfort that it brought me on Wednesday. Suddenly, I had to urge to tell him everything. I wanted to floodgates to open and all I'd been hiding to come out into the opening. Somehow there didn't seem to be enough to tell. The Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.
I think when I've heard people talk about this verse before, there has been this sense of guilt or like we still owe something because of what Jesus took for us. Like, we say to each other, Look what you've done to him. How can you think that is right or fair? But the thing that struck me was that the point is that the Lord laid it all on him. He took it. It wasn't like a credit card or a loan-- like Jesus had to die two thousand years ago for us because we just weren't born yet and now that we are on this earth, we need to pay it back. But don't we often read it that way?
There is a freedom in this. Before I even came onto the scene, all the things I could do wrong, all the times I get too tired to be "spiritual," God predicted it and took care of it. And yet I still carry it around a lot. I load up on burdens like free candy. The Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.
I love this idea that I die with him so that I too may live a new life. It gives me hope that in the midst of the pain of letting go of the life I know, there is resurrection coming. Perhaps I must die to the thought of having enough energy on my own to find life in the reality that my strength comes from somewhere else. Dying to the desire to set my own course for the hope of a life planned by the one who can do infinitely more than I could ever ask or imagine. Dying to the Kingdom that commands I be polished and prepared for life in a Kingdom of ordinary life that expects me to stumble in my humanity-- a Kingdom where I don't need to put on makeup or make my hair do unnatural things. Dying to darkness and hiding and alive to life where all is out in the open because the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.
I died with him so that I too may live a new life. What a thought full of bright hope.
It seems that oftentimes, my spirituality gets lost underneath piles of books and papers. I often have to ask myself, is this good? Is this okay-- or is there something different I should be doing? Is God in my homework, in my busy calendar? Can he be found there? Will he be found even on the days I'm too tired to do much praying or reflecting? Have I forgotten Him?
At the start of the week, someone asked the poignant question: "Do we really know him?" Do I come to Him in prayer and find that I do not even know who he is these days? Does he say the same of me?
After all of these much-awaited breaks in school, I've come to see these solid weeks or months away from school as ritualistic times (one of the school administrators we visited this semester said, "We don't have enough rituals in this culture," which I think is a terribly profound and important observation). Small periods that I can begin with the prayer, "Abba, take this week and do something in me. It's yours." Has he done something in me this week? I don't know.
Despite the ongoing to-do list (that still waits unfinished), I found a few opportunities to reach out a hand to some friends with some lemon cake and a little dinner. A movie shared with a tired mom and a quiet drive to have lunch with someone I hope to be like someday. I found the courage to begin something I've been beginning for a while. I read book that has changed my view of many things-- maybe everything. I've thought a lot about wealth and poverty and found time to be thankful for my life and many luxuries I do not need. A little renewal came with a fresh haircut (as haircuts usually provide). I played a few good games of scrabble. I faced a few fears. I even went to a few new places.
I must be honest and say it has been nice to have few days of quiet. I'm not sure how I will finish out the semester feeling as tired as I do, but perhaps a second wind will come in the next few days. I begin my new job on Tuesday-- I'm still waiting for other calls for the summer. I am going to do a bit more volunteering at the Junior High and will be teaching a lesson for the photo class. I've started to wade into the deep waters of my painting final, am dreading the next step of the mural process, wondering how that will ever come out-- a little tired of some group dynamics (not looking forward to getting back into an atmosphere of complaints). Lord, I need strength that I don't seem to be able to muster on my own. Time to begin reading a book that hasn't arrived quite yet (even though I paid for expedited shipping) before we begin discussing it in class.
Perhaps those moments of quiet, seeking the Father, is where the strength comes simply to say aloud Lord, I need strength. I often need those reminders, that there isn't an actual expectation for me to be super-human. It is understandable that my energy runs short of all I choose to do anyway. The Lord is full of compassion and mercy, as I am often reminded.
The Lord is full of compassion and mercy.
So what does all of this mean on this Good Friday? Earlier this week, I read this:
"All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned everyone to his own way; and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all." Isaiah 53:6
He sees all that I've done. He knows all of my angry thoughts, my frustrations, the curses that I utter. He sees all the ways that I do not live up to the person he intended in the beginning. I've read this verse many times, memorized it as a kid in church, but it has never brought me the comfort that it brought me on Wednesday. Suddenly, I had to urge to tell him everything. I wanted to floodgates to open and all I'd been hiding to come out into the opening. Somehow there didn't seem to be enough to tell. The Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.
I think when I've heard people talk about this verse before, there has been this sense of guilt or like we still owe something because of what Jesus took for us. Like, we say to each other, Look what you've done to him. How can you think that is right or fair? But the thing that struck me was that the point is that the Lord laid it all on him. He took it. It wasn't like a credit card or a loan-- like Jesus had to die two thousand years ago for us because we just weren't born yet and now that we are on this earth, we need to pay it back. But don't we often read it that way?
There is a freedom in this. Before I even came onto the scene, all the things I could do wrong, all the times I get too tired to be "spiritual," God predicted it and took care of it. And yet I still carry it around a lot. I load up on burdens like free candy. The Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.
I love this idea that I die with him so that I too may live a new life. It gives me hope that in the midst of the pain of letting go of the life I know, there is resurrection coming. Perhaps I must die to the thought of having enough energy on my own to find life in the reality that my strength comes from somewhere else. Dying to the desire to set my own course for the hope of a life planned by the one who can do infinitely more than I could ever ask or imagine. Dying to the Kingdom that commands I be polished and prepared for life in a Kingdom of ordinary life that expects me to stumble in my humanity-- a Kingdom where I don't need to put on makeup or make my hair do unnatural things. Dying to darkness and hiding and alive to life where all is out in the open because the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all.
I died with him so that I too may live a new life. What a thought full of bright hope.
Friday, March 14
Something has shifted.
I stopped. Listened. Waited. Walked. Accepted.
It doesn't feel like I was waiting for it to feel like
I was waiting for something more final
Something concrete
Permanent like a tatoo or something
Resolved
The deed is done
That's what I was waiting for
resolution
Assurance that all would be smooth sailing from here on out
But now
now
I don't think life is quite like that
life is life
It feels good to be doing something
That doesn't feel like an appendage
Not pursuing something that just feels like
A strange mole,
A wart hanging awkwardly off the rest of my regular life
I feel like my life has made room for me
And something about that feels
right
I don't know what will happen tomorrow
But for once I feel like
Today is enough
Today is right
And I don't need to worry
as much
I've been tired these days
Probably because we don't have much food left
I just ate the last piece of fresh fruit
Four weeks
Time for a trip to the Sunflower
These days I've been noticing my own wealth
I feel poor
I think about all that I can't afford
And then I look around
My apartment full of nice things
like heat
and water
fresh air
I drive around in my car
one contributor to the 8%
Things feel tight
Yet I lead a life
Few can begin to fathom
A life
I am accustomed to
Comfort
Discontentment
Fresh Fruit
Clean water
900 square feet
Full of objects
Opportunity
Affluence is a way of life
Abundance
Is all we know
It times time sometimes
To crawl out
Pain and hardship
To see things right
Step by step
We learn what life really is like
I stopped. Listened. Waited. Walked. Accepted.
It doesn't feel like I was waiting for it to feel like
I was waiting for something more final
Something concrete
Permanent like a tatoo or something
Resolved
The deed is done
That's what I was waiting for
resolution
Assurance that all would be smooth sailing from here on out
But now
now
I don't think life is quite like that
life is life
It feels good to be doing something
That doesn't feel like an appendage
Not pursuing something that just feels like
A strange mole,
A wart hanging awkwardly off the rest of my regular life
I feel like my life has made room for me
And something about that feels
right
I don't know what will happen tomorrow
But for once I feel like
Today is enough
Today is right
And I don't need to worry
as much
I've been tired these days
Probably because we don't have much food left
I just ate the last piece of fresh fruit
Four weeks
Time for a trip to the Sunflower
These days I've been noticing my own wealth
I feel poor
I think about all that I can't afford
And then I look around
My apartment full of nice things
like heat
and water
fresh air
I drive around in my car
one contributor to the 8%
Things feel tight
Yet I lead a life
Few can begin to fathom
A life
I am accustomed to
Comfort
Discontentment
Fresh Fruit
Clean water
900 square feet
Full of objects
Opportunity
Affluence is a way of life
Abundance
Is all we know
It times time sometimes
To crawl out
Pain and hardship
To see things right
Step by step
We learn what life really is like
Sunday, March 9
Noise. Rush. Running. Striving. Working. Proving. Trying. Jumping. Leaping. Risking. Rushing. Snap. Decide. Know. Before you actually know. Take what you can. Do what you must. Follow your heart.
Stop. Silence. Wait. Seek. Peace.
Sometimes the things that God asks us to do don't make sense. Sometimes he invites us deeper into his upside down world, even when it hurts and we don't understand. I don't understand how all of this is going to pan out. He said once or twice that he would provide, but it is hard, makes my stomach hurt to wonder what tomorrow will bring.
Look at how the lilies of the field grow, he says, how they never worry or spin and yet they are dressed in greater splendor than all of Solomon's court. Just take a few minutes and look. Stop and admire them. Breathe in and enjoy the air I've made for you.
Sometimes the Father asks us to do things that we wouldn't do on our own. HJow we do things over and over again, expecting different results. Insanidty, they call that. Stop the insanity, I think he is calling out. Stop following your understanding and listen to me. You asked for peace, you aske for rest, you asked for a way and I've given it. So stop.
Some days it's easy. It's easy on those days when my day is full and I can come home and watch American Idol. But others days, like today, it is hard and I need to grieve and I need to be reminded that it is hard and that things have not been fair, regardless of how life really works. I sat there on the couch and felt each tear fall, curling around my cheeks and caress my chin. It hurts. It's frustrating when our dreams take us on paths that feel impossible with the thorns brushing our skin along the side of the way.
You have called me to this-- I can see that. You have placed this broken place in my heart for children like me, kids who need to hear what I heard. But it feels so impossible and I don't know how I am going to make it. I don't know where the bread will come from tomorrow, but somehow I can't abandon this dream that you have put in me.
Sometimes following the Son is very hard-- perhaps it is not what we bargained for. I've said often that I choose to give up my security. I did what I did to teach myself a lesson in trust-- and now I wonder who's idea it was to put me through this pain. I've followed my heart and it is a hard path-- far from easy, simple, or secure. But I feel this integrity deep and it is important; sometimes following what I know is right for my heart is not soft or reasonable. You said following you would be hard. But you said it would bring the full like that you meant for us, what was really meant for us.
You said if we followed you, we would be hungry, and we would be hated, but you said it would bring the best life we've ever had. The son of man had no place to lay his head. I think about that a lot-- long for the freedom, but shrink from the pain, the hardship, the cold, the hunger. I'm doing the best I can, but it doesn't seem enough. It sometimes seems like these dreams are too much, my arms too short, my strength exhausted. How will I walk on? How will tomorrow happen?
You say you will only lead step by step. You gave them bred for the day, plenty for the 24 hours pan, no more. You kept adding the flour each day, even when it looked bare. And here I am, tired. Wondering. Hurting. how could they do this? It is as if no one cares, no one understands, the plight of many is on the hearts of few. I know I am not alone, but it seems there is nothing to be done. It is hard.
Sometimes following doesn't make sense. Like flying upside down in a right-side up world. But I want to follow you, I said that. I want to be close to you and I want to hear your voice. I asked you for the strength, the time, the energy, to find myself, to look into your eyes and so you took away all that made it so hard. I asked for two things and you gave the harder of the two, but the essential. The hurt feels so good. The tears that fall on a shoulder as you caress, saying, "I will never forget that moment when I carried you through the rain. The night you sat on the couch, tears falling, hands holding, eyes closed. Hearing my voice. Words of love and acceptance, the reminder of my own approval. That time you felt my hands in hers, my inflection in them. I will remember this. "
Sometimes the road he calls us to walk is unfamiliar and far from the sound of this world. But I am realizing that this is the route that I want-- I've missed this place close to His heart, I've missed the callouses on His hands as He leads me on. It's been long since I've seen this scenery and I am thankful for the reminder. Through everything, I've begun to find a new family of embraces in the old coffeehouse, the arms of mentors and friends who know what it is like to hurt too. I see a new road forged, a new community formed that perhaps has been borne out of so many hard roads. And I don't really think that I want anything different.
lead on.
Stop. Silence. Wait. Seek. Peace.
Sometimes the things that God asks us to do don't make sense. Sometimes he invites us deeper into his upside down world, even when it hurts and we don't understand. I don't understand how all of this is going to pan out. He said once or twice that he would provide, but it is hard, makes my stomach hurt to wonder what tomorrow will bring.
Look at how the lilies of the field grow, he says, how they never worry or spin and yet they are dressed in greater splendor than all of Solomon's court. Just take a few minutes and look. Stop and admire them. Breathe in and enjoy the air I've made for you.
Sometimes the Father asks us to do things that we wouldn't do on our own. HJow we do things over and over again, expecting different results. Insanidty, they call that. Stop the insanity, I think he is calling out. Stop following your understanding and listen to me. You asked for peace, you aske for rest, you asked for a way and I've given it. So stop.
Some days it's easy. It's easy on those days when my day is full and I can come home and watch American Idol. But others days, like today, it is hard and I need to grieve and I need to be reminded that it is hard and that things have not been fair, regardless of how life really works. I sat there on the couch and felt each tear fall, curling around my cheeks and caress my chin. It hurts. It's frustrating when our dreams take us on paths that feel impossible with the thorns brushing our skin along the side of the way.
You have called me to this-- I can see that. You have placed this broken place in my heart for children like me, kids who need to hear what I heard. But it feels so impossible and I don't know how I am going to make it. I don't know where the bread will come from tomorrow, but somehow I can't abandon this dream that you have put in me.
Sometimes following the Son is very hard-- perhaps it is not what we bargained for. I've said often that I choose to give up my security. I did what I did to teach myself a lesson in trust-- and now I wonder who's idea it was to put me through this pain. I've followed my heart and it is a hard path-- far from easy, simple, or secure. But I feel this integrity deep and it is important; sometimes following what I know is right for my heart is not soft or reasonable. You said following you would be hard. But you said it would bring the full like that you meant for us, what was really meant for us.
You said if we followed you, we would be hungry, and we would be hated, but you said it would bring the best life we've ever had. The son of man had no place to lay his head. I think about that a lot-- long for the freedom, but shrink from the pain, the hardship, the cold, the hunger. I'm doing the best I can, but it doesn't seem enough. It sometimes seems like these dreams are too much, my arms too short, my strength exhausted. How will I walk on? How will tomorrow happen?
You say you will only lead step by step. You gave them bred for the day, plenty for the 24 hours pan, no more. You kept adding the flour each day, even when it looked bare. And here I am, tired. Wondering. Hurting. how could they do this? It is as if no one cares, no one understands, the plight of many is on the hearts of few. I know I am not alone, but it seems there is nothing to be done. It is hard.
Sometimes following doesn't make sense. Like flying upside down in a right-side up world. But I want to follow you, I said that. I want to be close to you and I want to hear your voice. I asked you for the strength, the time, the energy, to find myself, to look into your eyes and so you took away all that made it so hard. I asked for two things and you gave the harder of the two, but the essential. The hurt feels so good. The tears that fall on a shoulder as you caress, saying, "I will never forget that moment when I carried you through the rain. The night you sat on the couch, tears falling, hands holding, eyes closed. Hearing my voice. Words of love and acceptance, the reminder of my own approval. That time you felt my hands in hers, my inflection in them. I will remember this. "
Sometimes the road he calls us to walk is unfamiliar and far from the sound of this world. But I am realizing that this is the route that I want-- I've missed this place close to His heart, I've missed the callouses on His hands as He leads me on. It's been long since I've seen this scenery and I am thankful for the reminder. Through everything, I've begun to find a new family of embraces in the old coffeehouse, the arms of mentors and friends who know what it is like to hurt too. I see a new road forged, a new community formed that perhaps has been borne out of so many hard roads. And I don't really think that I want anything different.
lead on.
Thursday, March 6
Life is not linear. We live a non-discursive existence in which tomorrow is uncertain and today is all that we have-- this I am learning. I've tried hard to set myself up in such a way that I can trust myself next week, next month, that I can be certain (in a way that my eyes can see) of what tomorrow will bring. I don't think it works that way.
I've been working hard for the last many months to recover a security that I once voluntarily gave up. I counted on things that feel through.
Do you remember before when I might have said something to the effect of "there is no end all be all?" Do you recall my ever saying something like, "I want to learn to be okay with the freefall?" I feel as though I am learning those lessons and wondering how I got involved in it.
I've been seeking this state of mind in which I am able to move away from illusions and ideas of what my life is supposed to be like, this sense of "right-ness" or "one-thing-ness." And I'm beginning to wonder if this move towards letting go of ideals goes further than just the type of job I work, but shifts deeper into the illusion of security of a job at all. That perhaps the greater move that I am being called into is into one of daily, momentary trust.
Almost a week ago, I heard this voice saying to me that it is time to stop pursuing the idol of certainty and stop, wait, and listen. This sense that I've lost pieces of myself in this rat-race to earn a security that is not available in the things I've been seeking. My attitude has been set in a belief that if I could just land a steady job, then things will stop spinning, that life will be right, that I will be able to find myself. But maybe the key here is that I have to find myself, my center in the midst of the spinning.
Many wise people who have lived a bit more life than myself have told me that this phase of transition never stops-- that life seems to be a bit of a revolving door. I don't know if that means that life will never stop changing and that things will never seem certain or set for a few minutes, but the advice to just get out of a transition period is a lot of pressure. It makes me feel as though because I am still on this long search, it is my fault that things are hard.
I've thought often about the idea that maybe it is my own fault, my own decisions, that have made my own life extra hard. I wonder what is built into me or why God made me this way. I've had to consider if this aspect of my character is something that needs to change or just a complexity that I need to accept and love and live with, not matter the difficulty that it poses.
The problem, I think, is that I have a hard time settling. I don't find it easy to just land on something to get by. I have this drive to do the best I can, to put myself in situations that are challenging or that are fulfilling or give me a sense of meaning. And so sometimes that makes it difficult to live in a world that is already complex-- makes a complicated world even harder to navigate.
But I am finding that when I let go of this need to cling to security, I find a lot of freedom to try new things-- to do things I never imagined I would do before because the security or the safety matters little. I read this quote once: "It is amazing the things we can accomplish when we don't care who gets the credit." I think that is very profound in its telling of our release of things like credit or reputation that keep us from just doing what our integrity and wholeness tells us to do the most. When we release the power over our own lives to something bigger, we are free to make all kinds of leaps, even if the leap is actually doing nothing at all. We move forward when we know even our very lives are not great losses.
I've been working hard for the last many months to recover a security that I once voluntarily gave up. I counted on things that feel through.
Do you remember before when I might have said something to the effect of "there is no end all be all?" Do you recall my ever saying something like, "I want to learn to be okay with the freefall?" I feel as though I am learning those lessons and wondering how I got involved in it.
I've been seeking this state of mind in which I am able to move away from illusions and ideas of what my life is supposed to be like, this sense of "right-ness" or "one-thing-ness." And I'm beginning to wonder if this move towards letting go of ideals goes further than just the type of job I work, but shifts deeper into the illusion of security of a job at all. That perhaps the greater move that I am being called into is into one of daily, momentary trust.
Almost a week ago, I heard this voice saying to me that it is time to stop pursuing the idol of certainty and stop, wait, and listen. This sense that I've lost pieces of myself in this rat-race to earn a security that is not available in the things I've been seeking. My attitude has been set in a belief that if I could just land a steady job, then things will stop spinning, that life will be right, that I will be able to find myself. But maybe the key here is that I have to find myself, my center in the midst of the spinning.
Many wise people who have lived a bit more life than myself have told me that this phase of transition never stops-- that life seems to be a bit of a revolving door. I don't know if that means that life will never stop changing and that things will never seem certain or set for a few minutes, but the advice to just get out of a transition period is a lot of pressure. It makes me feel as though because I am still on this long search, it is my fault that things are hard.
I've thought often about the idea that maybe it is my own fault, my own decisions, that have made my own life extra hard. I wonder what is built into me or why God made me this way. I've had to consider if this aspect of my character is something that needs to change or just a complexity that I need to accept and love and live with, not matter the difficulty that it poses.
The problem, I think, is that I have a hard time settling. I don't find it easy to just land on something to get by. I have this drive to do the best I can, to put myself in situations that are challenging or that are fulfilling or give me a sense of meaning. And so sometimes that makes it difficult to live in a world that is already complex-- makes a complicated world even harder to navigate.
But I am finding that when I let go of this need to cling to security, I find a lot of freedom to try new things-- to do things I never imagined I would do before because the security or the safety matters little. I read this quote once: "It is amazing the things we can accomplish when we don't care who gets the credit." I think that is very profound in its telling of our release of things like credit or reputation that keep us from just doing what our integrity and wholeness tells us to do the most. When we release the power over our own lives to something bigger, we are free to make all kinds of leaps, even if the leap is actually doing nothing at all. We move forward when we know even our very lives are not great losses.
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