God can be found in your life: in the paradox of new beginnings and letting go

It didn't feel like I thought it would. I thought I'd be breakdancing for joy. Instead, I felt adventurous on Wednesday as we mazed our way through IKEA searching for a room-sized rug and plants. 

 On Thursday, I moped as she packed up her stuff. On Friday, I morphed into task-mode as we drove after the recent snow storm to move my eldest into her new dorm an hour away. 

Saturday and Sunday I felt emptiness, mild shock, and exhaustion.

Parents who have done this before say it's rough on the emotions. I told myself it wouldn't be. 

Here's why. A year and a half ago my daughter had graduated high school and DIDN'T go away to school like all her friends (like my husband and I had done). Back then I had grieved for the letting go ritual that did not happen as I had expected. 

 Last week I felt another paradox: the desire for things to stay the same and for them to change. I mean, who's going to bake bread for our family, take care of our chickens, and bring us fancy coffee? At the same time, I felt my girlie was a little past due to fly off into the world on her own.

 I wondered: what would happen if I let myself ride these waves of emotions?

Many of us are going through the change of winter. The post-Christmas malaise combined with what-in-the-world-do-I-want-to-do-with-my-life this year? One moment we are designing the best workout routine ever, the next we have sunk into another favorite show marathon to get through the cold gray blah.

 In transitions, it's easy to compartmentalize our feelings, ignore them altogether, or dwell on how we want things to be, rather than accepting the discomfort of a new state of being. In the unexpected or unpredictable, what would happen if we allowed ourselves to feel all the emotions as they arrive?

 As I wrestled with this yesterday, I came across words that halted my soul: 

“When I walk into a garden, I can embrace the present moment by pondering a single flower. The more beautiful and effervescent the flower, the more elusive and fragile is its life. Beauty by its very nature is fragile.

 "Touch it too roughly and it's gone, grasp it too firmly and its petals fall away. It must be held onto lightly and gazed on attentively or it slips away. You cannot analyze it or pull it apart to see what it's made of or how it got there, if you want to experience the flower in the field. 

 "So, too, are our lives. Concrete yet so elusive. For who can fully analyze our lives or understand their many ways? But we can taste and feel them in the moment and refuse to pull them apart like the petals of a flower.” 

—-Father John Eudes as quoted by Henri Nouwen in Discernment. (In this passage, Nouwen is explaining how nature allows us to experience God's hidden presence.) 

 My emotions are indeed elusive. Trying to predict what my young adult children will do next is equally ephermeral! What I can do is experience my life and its varied emotions in the present. 

Remember, your life is a flower.

You don't have to comprehend all that God is doing or even who he is fully. You can savor your life now: both the new beginnings and the letting go.

 My now-life is a flower, delicate and superbly created. I do not want to overanalyze it by ripping off the petals. I refuse to wonder, “did I do enough?” Instead, I can experience this time of transition and live it. 

God can be found during the incongruity of newness and letting go. If I seek him there, I will find him.

We are moving through winter's invitations and challenges. Perhaps we are fired up for a fresh new year, waiting patiently on God, or struggling with a taste of depression. It can be tempting to overmanage our reactions or plan our lives to the minute so we don't feel too much.

Remember, your life is a flower. You don't have to comprehend all that God is doing or even who he is fully. You can savor your life now: both the new beginnings and the letting go.

Releasing my daughter into her new college journey did not feel like I anticipated. I am choosing to be present to her and to myself: a simple, beautiful, and dicey task. I imagine I will feel many more feelings as I embrace the quiet and relearn to make my own bread.

If you are in a transition as a creative, a leader, or both, and want to practice finding God in the present circumstances of your life alongside other friends, join the waitlist for the Creative and Free Collective. We will be starting a brand new cohort in a few weeks!

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