I get it- it isn’t necessary to know how I am feeling every moment of every day. I’ve fluctuated about the race- 98 percent of the time I’m not scared, and then sometimes I’m overwhelmingly nervous. At this point, most people want me to pick an emotion. Honestly? I’d love to, too.
Apparently that isn’t a thing.
At training camp, we are warned about the stretch between camp and launch. We were told that it was one of the hardest parts of race-prep. I listened to it, prepared myself, and then? It didn’t hit. Not until this weekend, that is, after an ill-attempt to watch Christmas movies.
In that moment I realized then it had happened: the unavoidable season of mourning. I know myself to know I mourn big life change- not like a month to month change, but “hey, this significantly changes your story” change.Leaving Anderson in two weeks signifies big life change- weirdly in some ways maybe more than leaving home in January. Anderson has been my plan since I was 15. Seminary has always been the goal & now? My plans have been derailed. Especially now when I have every reason to stay, I know I need to go.
The beauty of this is that I’m not alone. I know my squadmates are experiencing similar things and understand my feelings.
A word to any launching racers after me: you don’t think this feeling will hit you. This feeling of immense fear, nervousness, excitement, and anticipation. The feeling of “what on earth have I done?!” You think you are the exception, and maybe by some act of God you will be. But listen to my words of warning. It will come, my friend. Either slowly and surely, or all at once. It is coming for you. You don’t know a day, you don’t know a time, but it is coming. Yes, I do intend to make it sound like a stalker, because it is waiting to pounce on you. But seriously? It is coming, and weirdly enough, it is beautiful.
The past three or so days have had me wishing I was the master of time travel. I have wished to stop time, speed up time, reverse time, and travel into the future. The funny thing about time is that it can feel like it stands still, but it inevitably moves forward like a wave, carrying you faster than you imagine into the future. That’s the thing about time: it goes on. It carries us forward willingly or not. Second by second, hour by hour, day by day, week by week, year by year. I cannot escape the reality of launch, nor do I want to. But it is coming at a rate faster than I had ever imagined. Daily, it is becoming more overwhelmingly real. More intimidating. With it? My desire to go strengthens, as does my desire to stay and follow the plan I had made for myself. However, like most of God’s plans, this plan is far higher and better than my own.
So with a cold and broken Hallelujah I move forward in time, in race preparation, and into the last few weeks in the town I chose for myself at the age of 15. The town that has allowed me to grow into my own adult self- the town that saw me heal, grow, change, break, and restore. I have decided to allow myself a time to mourn the death of my plan, and to celebrate the life of God’s…but it isn’t always fun.
I know I am called to the race and weirdly enough I am not fearful to go. I am, however, overwhelmed. And that’s okay. This isn’t a small journey. But, I know it will be a worthwhile and beautiful journey…I just have to get there first.
A year from now, I will be somewhere around my final debrief and on my way home. A year from now it will all be over and I will find myself in another season of mourning the end of a journey. A season of wondering where the year went, and a season of celebrating what all the Lord has done in 11 months. I know next year when I see this, I will laugh and say “Oh Jennie, if you only knew.” And for that moment, I press on. For that moment, and all the moments still to happen in-between.
“Love is not a victory march, it is a cold and broken ‘Hallelujah.'”
Hallelujah. This is for you, Lord. I can’t do this on my own.
