Yesterday
on her blog Elizabeth Esther wrote:
“Sometimes
I think I deserve a well-planned life. One with backup plans and
contingency plans and no interruptions.”
I can
relate well to her. I might not deserve such a life, but I certainly
wish for one. I want a world in which everything is neat and orderly,
where there's a place for everything and everything is in its
place—speaking not only of the physical objects that make up my
life. Life, at least for me, rarely if ever seems to cooperate with
my plans.
In the
oft-cited verse Jeremiah 29:11 God says:
“I
know the plans I have for you...plans to prosper you and not to harm
you, to give you hope and a future.”
Encouraging
words, but often they seem so far from the reality of daily life. We
overlook or forget the context of these words—a letter written to
the Jewish exiles living in Babylon. I doubt that most of them had
planned or expected to find themselves living there. They didn't want
to be there. But God tells them to settle in and prepare for an
extended stay. He even tells them to seek the peace and prosperity of
the city where they now live—the city of their conquerors. And in
the midst of this, he tells them that he knows his plans for them. I
wonder how they felt when they received this message.
Last
year I saw my life turned on its head. Quite suddenly and
unexpectedly I had to leave the place I had been living for some
time. I had to leave the work I was in, just as it seemed it was
finally making some headway. I had to say good-bye to dear friends.
Some would say I should have been delighted because I had to return
to the land of my birth. Sure, this had some potential positives, but
I lost all that had formed my identity. Thankfully I didn't go off as
a prisoner in a train of captives, but the pain may have only been
marginally less. I began a downward spiral into despair and
discouragement.
As I
struggled through this time of transition and loss, I kept trying to
cling to bits and pieces of my former life. I didn't want to have to
die to it all. But God kept pushing me. He was relentless. I'd
surrender another piece and hope that it was the final one, only to
find him pressing me to take the next step. I wrote about this in December, describing it as a process of de-formation. In January I
reached the lowest point, lying awake several nights in a row, far
away from my family and any comfort. (I was traveling on business at
the time.) I let go of the last pieces of my earlier existence that I
was still clinging to.
Since
returning from that trip I feel like I have stepped out of the
darkness into the light of a new day. Having released everything,
having died to all that I held dear, I found a new freedom. I was
holding on to what I wanted to do—things that I believed God wanted
me to do, because at one point in time he had given me those
tasks—and this kept me from letting him lead me in a new direction.
I'm reminded again of a line from one of my favorite Michael Card
songs:
“We
can't imagine the freedom we find from the things we leave behind.”
I
still don't know clearly what the future holds. I'm exploring new
avenues and new opportunities. Uncertainty seems to be the new normal
for me. But I'm learning to live in faith, to walk day by day without
backup and contingency plans, without feeling like I'm the one in
control. Elizabeth Esther speaks of failing forward. I hear you,
sister. Let's be bold in our failure and in the process find grace
and the freedom to let God make us new.
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