In the past two months, I’ve found myself surrounded by a lot of new things in my life. Like backpacks and hiking boots and thoughts of going to the bathroom in all sorts of dirt. Each of these is overwhelming. Today as I was praying about being overwhelmed in the newness, I caught my mind drifting off a couple of times.
You know what it was drifting off to? My kitchen table and my couch. I was staring at both of these things thinking about how much I love how they look in my apartment and how much I love my apartment…and how I am losing them.
Essentially, I drifted back. Into loss. Into sadness and into grief and then as a result, into a bit of anxiety.
This is something I’m learning about myself. When my world changes, when I lose something or someone, I start to drift back. I begin to think about what I have lost and am losing and I get scared I’m going to lose more. Now, in this situation, I’m not really scared of losing my kitchen table…but, you know, I kinda am. I’m scared that I’m going to lose the independence I found when that kitchen table found me. I like that independent, professional, financially secure, girl. And it feels like I’m giving up parts of her.
This is when God reminds me that giving up things doesn’t mean giving up my identity. That giving up things doesn’t mean giving up my being. But it does mean giving up a bit of self. And that sacrifice is hard. It’s hard not because it’s me, but because it’s sacrifice. And sacrifice is always hard.
I was talking to a friend of mine yesterday about the trip and we were laughing about some of the sacrifices I’m wrapping my head around these days. Every time we got close to acknowledging out loud how hard this sacrifice is, she would say, “Well, this is going to be great,” and smile. A part of me wanted to be like, “No! It’s awful!” How horrible am I!? I wanted to rest in the awful. I wanted to stop there.
But really, I know I wanted to rest in the loss. I wanted to lay with it and sit in it and be sad. And the therapist part of me knows some of this is okay. It’s even needed. It’s been barely a month of processing this out loud and ohmygosh its hard. But no one talks about the difficulty of letting go in an adventure. Maybe no one who has gone on a missionary adventure has been a control freak, like me. People say, “How exciting,” and celebrate and move forward. And I’m there too. But I’m also here. Being human. Grieving some of my sacrifice.
My prayer lately has gone something like this:
God, show me how to lose my life well. Open my heart to newness and excitement while also teaching me how to hold loosely to what is. I want to be a woman who can jump when you say jump. Give me a thirst to be obedient to you…every time. Lord let me live in the moments of each day, practicing being present and willing. But God ease my grief. Comfort me and give me wisdom when I don’t understand why it’s hard. Give me your words of grace and mercy for myself. Let me love the process. The journey. Amen.
