In the past two years, the amount of change in my life has
been incredible. More than ten close friends have moved away (that’s just the
women, not including their husbands and kids!)—some to different cities, some
to different countries. I have changed churches. New people have moved into
town, into our community. A baby was born…make that two. I took on a new role
at the company and revamped my schedule. I am in the process of transitioning
to more training and consultation and less home therapy. I decided to write a
book. I moved into a new apartment. I have met a couple of new friends. I have
entered my late thirties. By the end of December, I will have spent about four
months away from home this year.
Recently, I learned that a family will likely be leaving our
community soon and perhaps the country not long after that. This past week, I
heard confirmation that the kindergarten I have worked for on and off for five
years is moving, or maybe even closing.
As I was sitting in my antique chair with the mandatory mug
of latte in one hand and a tissue poised to catch any runaway nose-drips in the
other, I reflected on all this change in my journal. My navy blue felt-tip pen
revealed thoughts and feelings that I didn’t know were hidden inside.
…Again…still…my world is rocked…but not quite yet… It all really just
makes me want to run away. In recent days, a sabbatical has sounded really
inviting. And I have found myself wondering what life would look like if I
moved back to America. At this point, honestly, I don’t love my life here. I
love China-life and I love working with kids, but it’s not enough. So much of
what I love about China is gone—moved away or changed. I don’t like this
season, if that is, in fact what it is. It is not fun to live in the aftermath
of big changes while seeing another huge wave of changes forming in the distance.
It may swallow me. I may drown. Fear. Bracing. Running. But, it’s like running
in a bad dream—using so much energy and trying so hard, but your feet and legs
are not taking you anywhere….
Just then, an image popped into my mind. It was the first
summer my family spent a week at the beach in Delaware. I love playing in the
ocean! One of my favorite things to do is to dive into a wave just before it
breaks. If you time it just right, the wave ripples down your back and shoots
you up on the other side. I enjoy the natural back massage and the power with
which the wave moves my body. It’s exhilarating to have “harnessed” the
mightiness of that small part of the ocean.
Well, that summer (or maybe it was just that week), the
waters were rough. Try as I might to harness the might of a wave to give me a
back massage and propel me upward, the ocean refused. It propelled me all
right, but downward and upside down and all around. It did give me a massage,
in a way, as it pounded and dragged my shoulders, hips and knees on the sandy ground.
By the time I would find my footing and stand upright again, another huge wave
was towering over me. I had just enough time to get another lungful of air
before the ocean tumbled me like a ragdoll once again. Eventually, I was done “playing”
in the ocean and, just plain exhausted, slowly made my way to shore to rest my
weary, bruised body.
That’s what all this change has felt like—getting tossed
around by events mightier than me, finding my footing after one tumble just in
time to brace for another. No wonder I got sick. I often feel my stress and my
deep emotions first physically (maybe not first, but at least it’s the first
time I am unable avoid it). This cold forced me to stay home and slow down
enough to find out what was going on under the surface.My journal entry continues:
As soon as I wrote “swallow”, God’s promise from Malachi 3.6 came to
mind: “I the LORD do not change; therefore you, o children of Jacob, are not
consumed.” I can memorize that, meditate on it, repeat it when I’m down and
mentally assent to its truth, but living in the reality of it in everyday life
in another story. How does this promise make its way deep down into the
“knower” of my heart? Step by step. Hour by hour. Day by day. A process.
Keeping myself available to the means of grace—Scripture, God’s voice in the
quiet, community, creation, my camera lens, writing…
And so, as difficult as it is, I refuse to run away back to
the shore, to the façade of safety. I will continue to keep my feet in the
water, diving with all I have into each moment God has for me, trusting and
knowing He is there. His presence never leaves me behind and never fails to
heal the bruises. He is the God who goes with us into the storms and the death-valleys,
giving peace that doesn’t make sense. I choose this moment to believe. I am
held in the hand of the Shepherd of my soul and I will not be consumed.
