you are the war that i can't win
The last months have been ones of letting go. I have had two friendships come to a halt. I've let go of the hope of doing some specific ministry. Sometimes you are the last one to know a relationship is over. The last to know God's plan for the moment.
The moment can last days. It can last years. A lifetime. It can be long and hard. And yet I'd rather let go of relationships, ministries than hold on tightly to them if God doesn't want me to.
If you've ever been in a canoe with someone who doesn't know how to paddle, you know get stuck in a cyclical surge of water, as you work against each other. One paddles forward, one is pushing back. It gets you nowhere, just swirling water that pulls against your oar and makes you wonder why you are not moving.
I feel like that when I'm trying to hold on. I try to keep all the threads of friendship, of ministry, woven together. Life unravels. You can't always undo the knots, mend the ripped pieces. There may be frayed remnants left. In the calm water, glimmering memories and moments of hope. But in the end, it's best just to let the oar drop into the water, to not fight the pull of the boat as someone else steers.
I have a God I adore. So I guess I'm okay to sit in the canoe with him and let him push off the bottom and re-direct the boat. Is it easy to just sit? No. And I'd rather let him pick up the pieces and decide what to do with them. Does it hurt? Yes. He can let them sink to the bottom of the lake, or make them resurface years later. He can let them fade away, never to be found again.
I am never more stronger than when I let go. And when I do, He gives me help along my path that is good. Unexpected joys come my way. He makes me laugh again.
When I was really, really depressed, like not able to leave my house depressed - about six years ago - I found a groupon for kayaking on Town Lake. I texted my dad and said, let's go. This was about the bravest act I could do at the time. Being out of my house, on a lake, nowhere to bolt if necessary.
My dad did most of the paddling that day. I don't know what I was doing with my oars. If you knew me during that time, you know that is a true statement.
When we finally pulled up to the dock, our two hours of kayaking over, I jumped out first. I had a little water on my shoes, but otherwise I was in good shape and had a tiny bit of bravery to hold onto. I looked at my dad as he got out. He was covered in water. His pants were soaked. He looked like he had just swam the length of the lake.
Isn't that the kind of father we want? Someone who will take the hit, who will absorb our craziness?
I'm so thankful that's the kind of dad I have. And it points me to the kind of God I have. He is kind. He is smart. He is loyal.
He loves us. So for that, I'm letting go.
The moment can last days. It can last years. A lifetime. It can be long and hard. And yet I'd rather let go of relationships, ministries than hold on tightly to them if God doesn't want me to.
If you've ever been in a canoe with someone who doesn't know how to paddle, you know get stuck in a cyclical surge of water, as you work against each other. One paddles forward, one is pushing back. It gets you nowhere, just swirling water that pulls against your oar and makes you wonder why you are not moving.
I feel like that when I'm trying to hold on. I try to keep all the threads of friendship, of ministry, woven together. Life unravels. You can't always undo the knots, mend the ripped pieces. There may be frayed remnants left. In the calm water, glimmering memories and moments of hope. But in the end, it's best just to let the oar drop into the water, to not fight the pull of the boat as someone else steers.
I have a God I adore. So I guess I'm okay to sit in the canoe with him and let him push off the bottom and re-direct the boat. Is it easy to just sit? No. And I'd rather let him pick up the pieces and decide what to do with them. Does it hurt? Yes. He can let them sink to the bottom of the lake, or make them resurface years later. He can let them fade away, never to be found again.
I am never more stronger than when I let go. And when I do, He gives me help along my path that is good. Unexpected joys come my way. He makes me laugh again.
When I was really, really depressed, like not able to leave my house depressed - about six years ago - I found a groupon for kayaking on Town Lake. I texted my dad and said, let's go. This was about the bravest act I could do at the time. Being out of my house, on a lake, nowhere to bolt if necessary.
My dad did most of the paddling that day. I don't know what I was doing with my oars. If you knew me during that time, you know that is a true statement.
When we finally pulled up to the dock, our two hours of kayaking over, I jumped out first. I had a little water on my shoes, but otherwise I was in good shape and had a tiny bit of bravery to hold onto. I looked at my dad as he got out. He was covered in water. His pants were soaked. He looked like he had just swam the length of the lake.
Isn't that the kind of father we want? Someone who will take the hit, who will absorb our craziness?
I'm so thankful that's the kind of dad I have. And it points me to the kind of God I have. He is kind. He is smart. He is loyal.
He loves us. So for that, I'm letting go.