"You liberate me from my own noise and my own chaos, from the chains of a lesser love."
- Audrey Assad, You Speak
113 days left.
I am not the same person I was when I came on the Race last September, you guys.
People told me that I would change. "Even more than you think you will," they said.
I laughed.
After six months of mandated weekly counseling, I thought I was finally reaching an arrival point in my walk with God. (Looking back, to think I ever believed this possible at 23, let alone EVER, is the real laughing matter.)
From what I've been hearing lately, you never really arrive. It's more of a continual mountain-climb of a life with checkpoints along the way. Lots of broken gear and pitfalls, but grace and mercy abounding at every turn.
I turned 24 a few days ago, and God's birthday present to me was an invitation to step away from the familiar, narrow, everyday view of myself, as He took my hand and allowed me a glimpse at my life from His broader perspective.
"Therefore, behold, I will allure her, and bring her into the wilderness and speak tenderly to her."(Hosea 2:14)
I've been spending a lot of God-time lately hanging out with Moses and the Israelites. And the Israelites were a pretty dumb bunch 87% of the time. God saved them from a whole host of chaos and at the end of the day, in their opinion, there was always something He could have done better. But I can be pretty dumb too, and that might be why I relate to their struggles so much.
After countless generations of oppression, slavery and bondage, God hears their cries and sends Moses to take them (all 6 million or so) out into the wilderness, to the land God had promised to them. A few days into the journey, this is the level of gratitude that ensued:
"Then they said to Moses, "Is it because there were no graves in Egypt that you have taken us away to die in the wilderness? Why have you dealt with us in this way, bringing us out of Egypt?" (Exodus 14:12)
Personally, I sometimes feel like the Bible lacks a little bit of creative imagination, so I like to make up tones and side-dialogue to bring it to life. I have no idea how the conversation actually went, but in my head, it went something like this:
"It's hot. I'm hot. I hate it here. I haven't seen a tree in three days. This manna isn't gluten-free. Where are we even going? (J's, helloooooooooooo.) Should we stop and ask for directions? Oh, wait, that's right - WE ARE THE ONLY PEOPLE OUT HERE."
As God was taking the Israelites from one place into another, there was a noticeable change in supply.
When they left Egypt, they left behind the familiar, the known. In the wilderness, they were so preoccupied with what had been left behind that they almost totally missed the new things God had. Where was the food? Where was their favourite street palm tree hangout? Their favourite corner booth with leavened bread 2 for 1? (I'm losing myself here. Reign it in, Kayla.)
In the last few weeks, I've been living in serious tension, as the season I've known has started to end. It was as if the leaves started dropping off the trees and in classic fashion, I was freaking out about it, running around with duct tape trying to stick them back up.
Seasons equate change. And change can be scary. But I'm once again learning that you can either embrace the change or kill yourself trying to push back the inevitable.
Just as shifting seasons require sacrifice of the familiar, a lot has been dropping away in my life. The forms of comfort, support and provision of last season have already died. The time for them has passed. What I've filled my arms with is now rotting and the stubbornness is starting to make me sick. It's time to let go.
I'm letting go of needing to use alcohol to cope. Not because alcohol is bad. Because recently, I've been dealing with some hard things, and have found myself using drinking as a way to dull down the tears I don't want to cry. The price for this, of course, is numbness. Lately I walk around like Cameron Diaz in the Holiday, praying, "Just one tear. Please, God, just one...eeergggghhhhhhh...!"
I'm letting go of a friendship I've been investing in with a great guy I met just before I left for the Race. For the next four months, we won't be communicating. And friendship is not bad.
But what if falling more deeply in love with God looks like a devotion so singular that it causes us to lay down what we think we deserve, trading comfort of a Divine romance?
I'm letting go of the fear of the unknown.
He is calling me higher.
He set me adrift in a life-raft, but it's time to learn to swim. He's asking me to stab the raft. Open water is a pretty risky place to learn, knowing that drowning is possible. And yet, I honestly believe that I'll discover strength I was unaware of - all because I haven't had to exercise it yet.
But for the first time in my life, I want the will of God above all else. I'll say it again: I want the will of God above all else. I want to be close to him and in his will more than I want the things I could otherwise have. Everything - people, job opportunities, relationships, preferences - are finally falling in line behind the desire to be as near to God as I can be.
I just don't have time or desire for anything they would try to take me away.
He's freeing me from the bondage of lesser loves and inviting me into something wildly unfamiliar, promising only perfect love in exchange for a life lived completely surrendered to him.
And oh, what a worthy defeat it is.