“Would you like a butterfly on your finger?” She asked.
My stomach did that thing where muscles that remain otherwise unnoticed all flex simultaneously as I thought, ‘Not really. I would like to be on my way to South Africa. I would like to be laughing with x squad. I would like a hug from that one guy, or to be back in that blanket fort with those girls, or to be worshiping with the staff body that I was part of back when I had a job last week. I would like my life back.’
I caught myself. Shaking my head to stop the trail of selfishness beginning, I tried to smile and to make my, “sure, thank you,” sound sincerely enthusiastic as I reached out my index finger.
And there it sat. Delicate, whimsical, temporary and part of something bigger than itself – like all things seen.
Its light wings began to shake violently as I held it, revealing how much was going on under the surface while I tried to stand as still as I could.
I wanted to appear so collected and enthralled by my surroundings – plants every shade of green, flowers of every color, and butterflies dancing all around me; but the delicate thing on my finger gave me away.
There, in that room on top of the Tennessee Aquarium, I bowed my knee to gratitude again for what felt like the millionth time in a week. I was there to try to heal; to try to remind myself that I also am delicate, whimsical, temporary and part of something bigger.
It was the something bigger part, especially, that I was hoping to shove my self toward face-first. I needed to feel the weight of the paradox between how truly important my role is – and how very tiny I am – in the grand scheme of things.
Refusing to just shove the negative aside, I’ve tried to confront it head-on and tell it objectively what it was going to look like to process this massive life change – the one that has, ironically, left my life looking much like it did three months ago before the idea of squad leading was at all part of my reality.
I felt like I was in the most teachable, fullest season of my life yet. I could hear the Lord speaking over me, “you are my beloved daughter, with you I am well pleased.” I was filled and delighted and shouted with everything in me, “Here I am, send me!”
But the ‘going’ is not what comes right after the Lord’s blessing for Jesus, and it isn’t what’s come after the Lord’s blessing for me.
Mark 1:12&13 (right after the Lord speaks that blessing over Jesus) reads:
“The Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. And he was in the wilderness forty days, being tempted by satan. And he was with the wild animals, and the angels were ministering to him.”
I’m back in the office working part time in the Interview department and figuring out what else I’ll be doing in the coming months. I have some ideas, but none concrete enough to share, yet. I’m having the blessed, hard conversations with future Racers again; getting to operate in the very same gifts that God has been graciously developing in me over the past year. In a sense, I feel so at home.
I also still feel sad, and throughout the day I have to consciously grant myself permission to feel that way. I understand grief so well, but understanding it seems to be working against me. I’ve fooled myself into thinking that knowing the steps is the same as taking them, or at least means I can take them faster.
I can’t. The familiarity of the office stings a little and every time I lock eyes with someone who knows I was planning to be in South Africa right now, I feel tempted to pity myself or to accept the pity they sometimes offer me with their well-meaning (and sometimes needed), ‘I’m so sorry’s. Knowing the process makes me think the wound shouldn’t feel so fresh.
But, you know what? It is fresh. And that’s okay. And right now, simultaneously, I will feel this and heal, and I will move forward bravely and fully aware that I’m in the wilderness.
There is temptation here. Temptation toward bitterness, pity, and spite. Temptation to run away, or to completely numb myself to the hardship of the thing and carry on like nothing still hurts.
There is also promise, though. The Spirit drove Jesus out and he was in the wilderness where, yes, there was temptation – but he was also being ministered to by the angels. Even in the wilderness where Jesus was asked to stand firm in his faith, where he was tested, there was growth and glory to God and (dare I say) joy in the glory.
You guys, that’s part of the goodness. It’s not the whole of it, and that makes it even better – even sweeter – but the promise of growth, the promise of not being alone, the promise that even in upside-down circumstance and hearts on the mend we are drawn closer to God and made to look more like Christ: that’s a lot of goodness. And it’s the road to wholeness.
My struggle is pretty big right now and that makes it pretty obvious. Maybe yours is easier to hide, but I urge you to press into the pain before someone puts a butterfly on your finger and gives you away. Press in, be real, feel what you’re feeling and ask God to reveal the truth in it.
Acknowledging the hardship hurts. It does. But it’s the only pathway to healing and growth and intimacy with the One who gives us strength in the wilderness.
