free fall

lindsay4 Comments

One hot, summer day in Austin, a group of friends and I headed out to Pace Bend Park to go cliff jumping.

We started small – taking turns leaping off the lower rocks into the cold waters of Lake Travis before gradually making our way up to the tallest cliff.

The drop was at least 75 feet. One of my friends jumped, then another, and then another. I stood back, the pit in my stomach slowly growing larger as I waited for my turn.

When it was time for me to jump, I walked up to the edge of the cliff and peered over. Palms sweating, legs shaking, I walked back a few steps and took a few deep breaths. I wanted to jump off because I didn’t want to miss out on the experience, but I was terrified of what would happen once I was in free fall.

After a few minutes, I took one final deep breath, told myself to “just do it,” ran a few steps to the edge and jumped off.

I vividly remember the feeling of being in mid-air. At first, there was a rush of relief that I’d done it. The jump was over. Then, a few seconds in, when I realized I was still in the air and hadn’t hit the water yet, a rush of panic crashed over me and I let out a startled yelp.

I landed in the water, popped up to catch my breath, and shouted to my friends, “That was a lot farther down than I expected it to be!”

…………………

One year ago, my husband and I jumped off a cliff.

And it feels like we’re nowhere near hitting the water.

We took a risk and started a business. One year in, we’ve got more questions than when we began. We still don’t know how we’re going to land. When friends ask me how it’s going, my most common answer has been:

“It’s nothing like we expected it to be.”

We expected to be on solid ground by now. We expected to have answers. We had a plan, and we expected things to go according to that plan.

We didn’t expect to battle fear, insecurity, doubt and confusion as we have. We didn’t expect to sacrifice other desires. We didn’t expect for our marriage to be challenged. We didn’t expect our trust in Jesus to be tested.

We didn’t expect for it to be this hard. For the fall to be this long.

Call it naiveté. Call it life.

For us, it’s called free fall.

………………..

The thing about free fall is this: once you’re in the air, you’re there until you reach the water.

That sounds obvious.

What I mean is this – when you jump, you’re choosing to give up all control. And when you’ve been free falling for a while, there comes a moment where all you want to do is take the control back. But, you can’t. You’re in mid-air. There’s nothing to grab on to, nothing to make the landing come quicker or softer.

Maybe you can relate?

This is where Taylor and I are. And as we’ve been processing through how to respond, two options have become clear:

Panic or Trust

Fight or Embrace.

The truth is that we can panic, and try to fight the stage we’re in. We have. Unfortunately, when you’re in mid-air, there’s not much point in trying to fight gravity.

Or, we can trust that even though we’re not in control of the free fall, we know the One who is. We can embrace all the confusion, the unanswered questions, the uncertainty and let Him lead us to a place of freedom, believing that where we are now is where we’re supposed to be. We can trust that it’s good even though it’s hard. We can choose to believe that the promises He makes to us in this time are true.

I will never leave you or forsake you.

My steadfast love for you endures forever.

Fear not, I am with you. I am the One who helps you.

There are days where I choose panic, where I jump headfirst into the lie that being in control equals freedom. But the days I choose trust? Those are the days I feel true freedom. Not because I’m in control, but because I’m trusting my Wonderful Counselor, my Father, my Mighty God with how we fall, and how we will eventually land.

It’s so tempting for me to want to go back to the way things were – back before the questions and uncertainty. But then, what reason would I have to trust Jesus? If I’m in control, I don’t need Him.

So I’m (slowly) learning to embrace the free fall, to trust that we’re in the right spot even though it feels like we’re hanging in mid-air. I’m learning that me being out of control might be the very best thing.

 

 

for when goal-setting starts to feel like striving

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This past Tuesday, after a week of family, traveling and not much down time, the familiar end-of-the-year panic hit me.

Taylor and I are hanging out at home, with nothing really on our to-do lists, and all of sudden that becomes a real problem in my mind.  My mind starts yelling at me, “It’s the last week of the year! You’re not doing anything! You’re so unprepared for 2016!”

And just like that to-do lists and made-up tasks threaten to take over what was supposed to be my week of rest at home. Anyone feel me on this?

In a moment of clarity and grace, I recognize my soul isn’t in a great place and I hit the stop button. I get alone, pull out my journal, and start writing. As I’m processing my thoughts and this anxiety that’s crept into my heart, I realize this isn’t a one-off occurrence. Thinking back over the past few years, I can recall this specific anxiety making an appearance right around the end of the year. Its voice is familiar, and sounds a lot like, “You’re not enough” and “You’re wasting your life because you don’t have a plan” and “Look at how much everyone else is accomplishing. What have you done?”

In the past, I’ve responded to this voice in different ways. Some years, I give in completely and desperately fill my schedule with trivial tasks and to-dos that make me feel busy (read: important, worthy). I went back to work feeling exhausted. Last year, with all the best intentions, I responded to this voice by setting goals in different areas of my life, complete with specific action items for each goal. That lasted until about March, and then life got a little crazy and that process went on the back burner.

When the end-of-year-anxiety hit this year, the temptation to fill up my last few days of rest with meaningless tasks was in full force. The temptation to sit down and write out a list of goals, to make a plan for 2016 was strong. But neither one of those sat well with my soul. It felt too much like striving, like I wanted to feel like I was in control of my life, and have a handle on what’s coming next. In reality, as I look ahead to the next 12 months, I have no idea what they will look like. Truly. And I don’t want to pretend like I do.

So this year, I’m not setting goals. Not because I think goal-setting is inherently bad or harmful, but because I’m not in a place where that’s a healthy, life-giving practice for me. It too quickly turns into measuring my identity and self-worth by my accomplishments and performance. It too quickly turns into a crutch for control.

This year, I’m choosing to lean into the uncertainty. Instead of setting goals, I’m asking the Lord for a word or phrase to characterize the next year. Instead of asking myself what I want to accomplish, I’m asking “What do I want to be about?” And for me, in this season, those shifts are helping me walk into 2016 honestly, with an open mind and heart to God’s will and not my own.

 

the story of saturday

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He wakes from a restless sleep while it’s still dark outside, his eyes red and puffy from the events of the past 24 hours.

He barely catches his breath before the weight falls on him and the tears begin again. The guilt is rampant inside his heart, the truth waging war with his betrayal.

“You are the Messiah, the Son of God.”

“I do not know him.”

His mind is tortured as his answer to the question replays 1,000 different ways.  The panic at his betrayal paralyzes him, and his self-hatred only grows. Why did he say that? Why did he have to do that? Coward, the enemy laughs.

The moment Jesus caught his eye haunts him. His eyes deep with heartbreak and love. The paradox drives him further into despair, and the emotions of that moment come flooding back: hurt, failure, guilt, hopeless.

Maybe I could’ve saved him, he thinks. Or maybe, I would’ve just been one of the two hung next to him.

How he wishes he could take it back. What he would give to have a second chance.

A twinge of hope creeps in as he remembers Jesus’ words. Maybe… maybe what Jesus said was all true. Maybe, he will rise on the third day. Maybe he really is the Messiah. But even if he is, would he take me back? Will things ever be the same as they once were?

……….

It’s cloudy outside. A cool breeze shifting the fresh spring leaves on the trees. John peeks through a window from the place they have all gathered, and marvels at how everything appears so normal.

Nothing is normal.

As he watches the branches sway in the wind, he can’t ignore the feeling that something is shifting. It’s more than a feeling, really. It’s a slow, rolling thunder in the depths of his soul.

He hesitates to speak of it, for fear that saying it out loud might be the most foolish thing in the world after what he witnessed yesterday. His best friend, his Lord, the one who loved him, killed in the most brutal way. The sight of his dripping blood, the sound of his agony haunts his memory. Jesus’ last words, “Tetelestai,” replay in his mind, as he tries to discern whether this soul thunder is leading to life or death.

The questions are many. What does this all mean? Were the last three years a waste? Why did this happen? Is this what being the Messiah, our Savior, really looks like? Death?

Where is my God?

……….

She tries to ignore the emptiness in her heart as she carefully gathers the burial spices. She’ll be up before the sun with the women, as they walk in the darkness to honor their Lord.

Her stomach churns at the thought of seeing his lifeless body. She clenches her eyes shut and violently shakes her head, trying to make the stabbing pain in her heart subside.

It doesn’t feel real. How could this man, her Savior, who rescued her from seven demons, be murdered for crimes he didn’t commit? This man who had defended and protected her from death, where was his defense?

In the stillness of night, the questions ring loud. She stares up at the sky, searching for answers, wishing to sit in his presence again. The wind has blown the clouds away, and the stars are twinkling now.

In a few hours, the sun will rise and tomorrow will be a new day all it’s own.

The tiniest twinge of hope rises up within her, like a sprout poking up through the soil of pain and despair.

She counts the days, fights the lies telling her she’s being foolish, and clings to her last bit of hope.

On the third day, I will rise again.

Sunday is coming.