Process and Surrender
Navigating Change Part 2
My son and daughter-in-law purchased an adorable puppy three days ago. They brought him by our house so we could all appropriately ooh and ahh over him. The poor little guy trembled when I picked him up, his tail tucked timidly between his legs. Instead of exuberant running, chewing, and typical puppy playfulness, he sniffed his surroundings cautiously.
I considered what it must have been like for Lenox. He loved the stability of life with his mama and four wriggly, wrestling brothers. Suddenly he was snatched from the familiar and confronted with new smells, new people, and a strange, new life. He didn't request this transfer. He preferred his former comfortable, secure circumstances. Now, bewildered and lonely, he was expected to forge a place in this foreign environment.
We get good at traveling through typical and resist any reordering of our ordinary.
Lenox and I have a lot in common. I, too, find myself in an unexpected place. A lot of the upheaval of those volatile months (described in last post) centered around a cherished, identity-shaping role: motherhood. I'm still actively in the mom trenches, of course, but my daily reality looks a lot different than it has for the past couple of decades. Life feels tremulous. Call it a mini-mid-life crisis if you want. (Although at 52, I guess I'm a little late to my own party.) I'm still sniffing around, poking my nose here and there, searching for a little stability.
How do we navigate a transitional time as fluidly as possible?
"He changes times and seasons" (Daniel 2:21, ESV).
My mom card seems to be compromised on both ends. First, my formerly cooperative hormones turned traitor. What was normal is no more. For much of my adult life I have been expecting or nursing or both. And I rocked that role. Seriously. Motherhood is my sweet spot. But I will never again see those double pink lines on a pregnancy test. If I had my way, I would have kept on conceiving and nurturing and loving on newborns and toddlers and middles and teens--probably forever. Menopause paused that plan. More like slammed the door on it.
As if that wasn't hard enough, not only am I not able to have more babies, the babies that I have keep departing. Half have left home. The others continue to reach the many milestones that mark the sure path to adulthood. They are finding their own way, claiming their own faith, making their own decisions. This is cause for rejoicing and celebration. But I wouldn't be honest if I didn't acknowledge the natural grieving involved too. Letting go is hard work. Launching a child means losing what was.
In general, we humans don't like change. We get good at traveling through typical and resist any reordering of our ordinary. Anything unusual takes more energy, makes us uncomfortable, and may even stir up fear. We prefer to know what's coming and the best way to respond. But change is part of growth and God is good at forcing us to break camp about the time we decide to set up a permanent settlement.
How do we navigate a transitional time as fluidly as possible? Gracefully release a cherished season in order to receive a new adventure with its own excitement and elegance? Process and surrender. Or, if you prefer, evaluate and accept. Either way, truth is the tool we use to move from one to the other. Truth reminds us that God has a plan and can be trusted. We can anticipate good from His hand.
Surrender refuses to look longingly at what was and instead takes a long, sweet look at the Lord.
As a cyclone of activity and emotion obliterated any pretense of normal, both my calendar and my heart begged for clarity. A whirlwind of (mostly) wonderful is still a whirlwind. So, every few months when the overwhelm kicked into overdrive, I snuck away for a perspective purge. Sitting before the Lord and listing the events, the changes, and the challenges encouraged me to acknowledge the regrettable as well as the rejoice(able). I could see in black and white the reason for grief and tiredness along with the celebration. It was helpful to allow myself to step out of the constant motion and just be present in the moment--feeling the full weight of my conflicting emotions and uncertainty. God made us emotional beings and repeatedly in the Psalms we see that we don't have to hide behind an "everything is awesome" facade. But neither should we be slave to our sentiment.
Often in those few months, I made my list. Each time I started fresh, prayerfully striving to think clearly about the events, outcomes, and the tangle of feelings that always tagged along. I also used that time to tell myself the truth--to steep in Scripture and the rock-solid reminder of my Lord's steady, gracious character. Despite all the changes around me, I clung to Jesus as the One fixed point of stability. He is the truth. The goal of my processing is gaining His perspective and peace.
"He changes times and seasons" (Daniel 2:21, ESV). God's timing and design limits childbearing. His kind intention causes my children to grow. He is the sovereign One Who always chooses right. Surrender acknowledges God's goodness and receives the gift of a new season from His hand. Surrender anticipates blessing and beauty in the midst of challenge. Surrender refuses to look longingly at what was and instead takes a long, sweet look at the Lord.
Back to Lenox. After a few uncertain minutes, his tail took on a tentative wag. He began to relish the rubbing of his back and belly. He responded to the calming voices of his caretakers. Maybe he could trust that good awaited him in this venture. Despite the initial pain of separation, Lenox will know love and abundance in his new life.
As will I. I am expectant in a whole, new way. If I had a tail, I would wag it too.
