Today's episode is the first part of a conversation between Jacob
(our producer), Jeremy, and myself that unearths and establishes the
environment we grew up in, specifically the conservative, fundamental
church and school we attended. We’ll look at some of the things we were
taught and how we absorbed it. Laying down this groundwork will allow us
to explore our relationship in later episodes - none of it makes sense
without this context.
This unearthing has been a years-long
effort - and I know we’re not done discovering. But here we are looking
across the table at each other, amazed at who we are. We’re different
than we were. The word metamorphosis comes to mind. I know we’re not done changing. It’s just time to tell the story.
Jeremy
and I renovated our house and are in the process of moving back in.
Talk about work. External change is such a laborious process. Internal
too. Connecting the dots, from past to present. Figuring out that some
things don’t fit. Figuring out how who and where you used to be affects
who are now. What walls are now moved? What pathways don’t exist
anymore? What new pathways beckon into a new and open space? Re-learning
is the work of a lifetime. But I’m finding Help and Strength all along
the way.
Here’s me and here’s what’s happening (physically):Right now, I’m laughing at myself.
I
try to get out of (or through) transitions as quickly as possible. Have
I learned nothing from these true and beautiful stories? Haven’t I
waxed poetic about the need to press myself into discomfort and how
important that is for growth?
Yet… here I am just really
needing things to get back to normal. My family and I are in transition
again, and I just want the CHAOS GONE. Transitions are so messy and sticky and full of discomfort and the unfamiliar.
We
moved back to our house the week before Thanksgiving. It is fantastic
to be home and back in our neighborhood. The only thing is… that home
doesn’t feel like home yet. Jeremy has walked into my new closet a
couple of times expecting to find the bathroom. My daughter bumped into a
wall upstairs because she took a wrong turn. The old pathways don’t
exist anymore. It’s a new space. Everything is different. Everything has
to be relearned.
That takes energy and time that I don’t want to
give. I just want the dust gone and curtains hung and boxes empty and
everything in its place right now. It’s frustrating that I have to wait.
And work toward re-homing this restored place.
I have a hard time
holding a heart of gratitude and a feeling of discontent at the same
time. I think, “How can both be true?” I struggle with wanting to deny
the feelings of dissatisfaction that surface.
I think, “How could I dare to be anything but grateful? This house is a gorgeous gift. How could I be cranky about anything?”
I
am learning to acknowledge - It IS difficult to learn a new space. It
IS difficult to cope when things aren’t working right or are unfinished–
that’s an important step. (And acknowledging that truth doesn’t negate my gratitude).
When I’m honest with myself about my emotions, I can then begin to figure out how to address my needs.
What
can I do to care for myself during this transition? For instance, at
one point what I needed was to leave the house and the noise and the
workers and find a place of quiet. I got into my car and closed the
door. The unexpected and sudden stillness was sublime.
Shortly
after we moved in, Jeremy said, “Babe, you're going to have to change
your expectations. One month. It’ll take a month to feel settled.” And
that helped, actually. To hear that my expectations were not reasonable.
Because then I changed them. Or at least reminded myself that I needed
to.
That’s all life is, really. One change after another. Or
maybe even several things changing at the same time. I find it
fascinating that, seeing that this is our reality, God offers himself as
someone who doesn’t change. “I am the same yesterday, today, and
always,” he says. And that feels like a rock-solid place to put my
feet. It helps, too, to have your people around you to help navigate the
maze. My sister was here and helped me organize my new bookshelves. She
made breakfasts for me. She gave really great hugs. My son said one
day, “Mom, you’re doing great,” and held me close for a second. Those
beautiful acts of love helped lift me back up so I could keep going.
They helped my spirit breathe.
And sometimes we just need someone to put their face six inches from ours and remind us to “breathe.”
