I am not a huge fan of change.
I wish I could say I am one of those super cool people who not only didn’t mind change but coveted it, always looking round the corner for the next surprise, hoping for the thrill of the new and unexplored.
Unfortunately, I am not an adrenaline junky, but more of an enthusiast of all things steady, still and calm.
I have a tendency to become fondly acquainted with my corners, attached, comfortable and devoted to what has become ‘home’. This is basic human instinct for many I suppose, and there is good in that.
The problem lies, of course, in the fact that the world doesn’t stay still, and we don’t either. Naturally we change, day by day, moment by moment, and so does everything around us. That is growth, rebirth, death, and all that lies in between. So why, then, do we so often fear and resist when the path ahead is no longer familiar?
I can only speak for myself in this, but it’s not for lack of experience nor the good of the outcome that I dread this reality- it is more, perhaps, the road I know I might be asked to travel in order to get there.
In the summer of 2019 I lost my first baby, and I would conceive, love and lose three more within three year’s time. The pain of each goodbye was more than I felt I could bear. In the midst of these losses, I underwent three consecutive lung collapses over the span of two months, four chest tubes and five separate surgeries. By the end doctors told me I would never be able to conceive and carry a healthy child to term.
At the time I often felt like God was simply taunting and taking, and it was nothing short of terrifying to know He was not only able but willing to take my children home before I had a chance to hold them.
Though not quickly, and not easily, God worked deeply in me through this span of time, this dark valley, showing me himself in a way he’s been re-teaching me my entire life- that is, the art of freeing myself of my own grip and trusting regardless of what my eyes tell me is true.
Letting go .
So cliche sounding, I know, and I wish I had a more eloquent way of saying this, but it is the greatest lesson of my life and one I will never entirely master on this side of heaven. I fought him on it, and I fought hard. For a long time I could not separate the idea of him taking my babies and what I perceived to be his ongoing disfavor and abandonment. I felt more heartbroken, alone and confused than I have any other time of my life.
But, one finger at a time, he opened my hands and showed me who he was again, and I finally let go.
He carried me through the end of that valley when I had nothing left but my open hands. I learned I could live on without them and find joy and peace beyond what I thought possible, despite my circumstances. Not because any of it was ok, it never would be, but because He is. It was never about getting what I thought I needed or deserved on this earth, but something far greater promised to me. And in some strange way, what happened next no longer mattered, because I knew the end of the story, at least the part I needed to know. And that was enough. I was with him, and I was free.
“Our” world is not meant to be grasped tightly as if they were ever our own. As humans we seek to capture and hold all that we cherish, even if that means that some of those things are no longer free.
And neither are we, then, I suppose. To release our world to him can be the most terrifying thing we can imagine, because we don’t know where he’ll take us, and we have to trust him on a deeper level than ourselves. But, in truly doing so, there is some great peace that will ensue.
The road of change, of tearing and of leaving reminds us that the core of love is not possession, but joy in what something or someone is, independent of us entirely. It is to delight in what God created them to be, for however long or short that happens to occur.
The goodness and beauty of my four children had nothing to do with me, as it turned out. They were beautiful and good in their own right, and while I wanted them to be mine, with me here, their not being so actually didn’t negate that.
Death, sickness and pain will never be ok or safe, but He will. And because of that I can choose to take His hand and walk any road he deems necessary, as long as I am with him.
The world around us teaches us that success and happiness lies in possession and control, but I am living proof that is untrue. In order to truly find joy and peace in what can feel like chaos, we must let it all go and open our hands. To love but never grasp for ourselves, killing the idea that something is somehow better because we are holding onto it. We want to pick the flowers we delight in and keep them for ourselves, but as soon as we do, they die.
And, for those who don’t know the end of the story, after all had been given up to him, He gave me a miracle named Rowan Harper. He didn’t have to, but He did, and her existence is my daily reminder that He is good and I can keep my hands open.
I wonder if you, too, might have something in your hand. Something you’re wanting so deeply to be free of but cannot manage to release. It can feel like you’re stepping into the abyss to let go, but there is something so good on the other side.
I could tell you to sit here and open your hands with whatever that thing is and just release it, but I know it just doesn’t work that way. It’s a journey not a destination, one I still walk every day. I know it can feel like a death of sorts, and in some ways maybe it is. But I think it’s worth it.
“You never know how much you really believe anything until its truth or falsehood becomes a matter of life and death to you. It is easy to say you believe a rope to be strong and sound as long as you are merely using it to cord a box. But suppose you had to hang by that rope over a precipice. Wouldn’t you then first discover how much you really trusted it?”- CS Lewis, A Grief Observed
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Sidewalk Chalk 