What a whirlwind these past few months have been.
I’m not one given to journaling, much less sharing my thoughts with others. The words always seem to come out wrong, sitting awkwardly on a page that, when I look back, seems to have fared better when it was blank.
But.
I have learned of a balm for the soul, a renewal of sorts that comes from sharing my journey with others. I think that is why I have never been successful for very long with keeping up with a journal. What is the point of words if no one reads them? Where is there joy in an experience that is not shared?
So.
Listen to my story if you have a few extra moments. I will warn you, this may be lengthy…grab a cup of coffee if need be.
In the past few months, maybe even the past year, of my life, I have entered what some may call a “new season.� I ponder this phrase as I type it, reflecting on what it means and why there is a distinct feeling in my gut that tells my mind just how accurately this phrase describes the curve that my path of life has so suddenly taken. A new season.
As I was driving through East Texas this afternoon, I marveled at the evidence of spring unfurling its tender shoots and buds along the country highway I was traveling. Drooping wisteria. Buttercups, bluebonnets, Indian paintbrush. Black-eyed Susan’s swaying cheerily in the breeze, laughing as the cars rushed by, this way and that. The fields were simply burgeoning with new life.
Life.
Why am I always surprised when these flowers greet me at the beginning of each spring? It’s not as if they have never arrived. No, their coming is as sure as the coming of the season they belong to. And yet, each spring I am delighted with their presence as if some small part of me—some hidden, illogical part of me—expected them not to come. And I wonder. Do the flowers ever feel this way? Because you know, they certainly don’t stay all year. As the spring rains fade, and the summer heat rolls in like an open oven door, these flowers begin to wilt and diminish, until all that is left of them is a root, hidden beneath the dusty summer earth and the eventual frost of winter. But they are not truly dead, are they? They show up every spring like old friends.
But I wonder.
As the rain becomes less frequent,
And as the summer heat creeps in,
Do the flowers know what is coming?
Or are they surprised?
As their last petals fall and their leaves turn to dust…
Do they know that it is only temporary, that the rains will come again and they will arise to their former glory once more?
Now, don’t get me wrong, I know flowers don’t have feelings, much less conscious thoughts. I’m not trying to be some sort of hippie here. But as I was watching the fields fly by the car today, I had a thought.
As the rain in my life (God’s blessing) becomes less frequent,
And as the summer heat creeps in (tests & trials),
Do I know what is coming?
Or am I surprised?
And as my last petals fall and my leaves turn to dust…
Do I know that it is only temporary, that the rains will come again and that I will arise to, this time, a glory that is not my own?
I wonder.
I wonder what my life would look like if I lived in a way that expected the rain, that expected the heat, that expected the bitter frost of winter and the warm breezes of spring. If I knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that although God works severely, He also works mercifully, and that the death I now holding in me will once more result in new life again.
So often I question the ebb and flow of my relationship with God. A new season. How am I surprised when it comes? And how do I doubt that in the midst of my desert, God’s blessings will pour down once again?
Which brings me to one word.
One word that has been whispered in my ear over, and over, and over again for the past few months, maybe even the past few years.
Leave.
I have rolled that word around on my tongue maybe a thousand times. It is a powerful word, alarming yet inviting. As many of you know, my dearest friends, missions has had a grip on my heart since, well, probably the first time I truly grasped that God did not put us here on this earth to live happy, unsanctified lives of SUVs and fast food and a good job, kids, husband/wife. I was probably around the age of 12 or 13 when I first tasted the goodness of God outside of a possession, person or circumstance.
That is when I heard the first whisper. Leave.
And I have spent nearly the past 10 years carrying the weight of this word along with me. Justifying it. Denying it. Trying to work it into my plans in a way that best suited the type of life I wanted to live.
And yet.
Here I am, 3 days away from finishing my college career. Six weeks away from walking the stage. And that whisper of a word that has hummed so diligently in my ear for the past 10 years has not changed.
It has not worked itself into a nice, neat little life plan, filled with a steady job, good income, nice home, husband & kids. It has not pushed me towards a career, a place close to home, a wedding.
We get one story, you and I. And guess what? It is ending. Soon you will be at a place in your story when the bulk of the pages rest in your left hand, with the few pages in your right murmuring softly that the story is almost complete. And how will it end? Will the story close with whispers of the glory held in a jar of clay, reminiscing on the characters that jar loved and was loved by? Or will it speak of regrets, of opportunities missed, of a road not taken?
My hope is that my story will be like the former, not the latter. That my story will breathe with change, with parting and coming home, with winter and spring, and with that one simple word…
Leave.
So I am at this crossroads, my friends. The signposts read, “Comfortable living, Marlena-style� and yes, you guessed it… “Leave.�
And there is this opportunity. This wonderfully frightening, out-of-my-comfort-zone opportunity. Some of you I have shared this with (others may just need to call me up and we can grab some coffee). But. I am hesitant to put it into words, especially public words, because it sort of holds my feet to the fire in a sense.
I have been running from this opportunity, maybe much longer than even I realized before. The thought of leaving behind everything I hold dear, even though it is precious little, scares the living daylights out of me. The thought of coming back and being forgotten. Or coming back and things having changed. Or even worse, coming back to things that are the same, and I have changed. Changed in a way that I can never sit still again in the world I found so comfortable before.
The decision that is looming before me is opposed. Opposed by others, by Satan, by my fears and selfish longings.
Some have called it the biggest mistake of my life.
Maybe it is.
Some have called me crazy for wanting to sell all my possessions and set out with nothing but the Word of God in my heart and what is left of my worldly belongings on my back.
Maybe I am.
But as I reflect on the rich young man who approached Jesus, telling Him that he had followed every Commandment to the letter and asking what was left to do to become Jesus’ disciple, and yet who walked away saddened because the one commandment he could not follow was “Love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your strength� by selling all of his possessions and giving them to the poor, I see myself. Now true, some may argue that they do not have to sell everything they have to become a disciple of Jesus, and I will not argue you on that point. Becoming a disciple may look different for someone else than it does for me.
But not that different.
Essentially, anything we hold above God, whether it be possessions or plans or people, inhibits us from truly following the Way. So call me crazy, but if I ignore that word, that little word that has been whispered in my ear for so long, to pursue any of the above P’s, aren’t I the same as that rich young man? Won’t I walk away saddened, because the cost of following Christ is too pricey?
So my friends, I ask for your prayers, as I pray for you that you follow whatever your little word may be—leave, change, grow, follow, let go. May you follow, as I clumsily try to follow, the voice of God as He leads us through seasons that still surprise us every time, no matter how consistent they are in the coming. And may we be there for each other in the journey.”
