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| Find the support of my roots and the freedom of my seeds. |
My life feels like an exercise on a tightrope. I take the indecision between binaries too seriously.
As I tremble through this incomprehensible salvation between past and future, today, I sense that Christ retains the meaning of the struggle while miraculously cultivating me. Maybe he is the tightrope in this metaphor, the space stretching to connect me from where I came from to whom I become? He would be the best tightrope, never letting anyone stay fallen, ever empowering the challenge to overcome. I can cling to Him when I falter, yet confidently step when strong because of his everlasting hugeness across not only my life but all of time and space.
Now is between birth and death.
Eden and Heaven.
Resurrection and return.
Innocence and sin.
Sin and mercy.
Disappointments and hopes.
Wounds and scars.
Successes and humility.
Certainty and trust.
Childhood in Montana and settling in... Tennessee? This real-life example gives broad reflection for many griefs of mine.
We moved away from Montana more than twenty years ago, when I was 11. And I am still realizing how hung up my heart strings have been, like loops of a knitted sweater caught on a splinter, unraveling as time pulls me onward.
Yesterday my husband and I and our three boys headed to camp in North Carolina for fall break, and we are excited to see the coast, which sounds spectacular in recent readings of ours. And even though I’ve been east of Tennessee a few times, this time is different.
Last year, after a trip to my hometown in Montana for the first time with all my guys, my heart finally retrieved (most of) those hung up strings and brought them back to where I actually am. Maybe it makes no sense, but if i couldn’t be in Montana, then I’ve pretty much been uninterested in any person or opportunity God’s given me the past two decades, kind of like a ghost in my own life. At the time I didn’t knowingly refuse to engage life post-Montana, but looking back I can see a lot of my OCD behaviors and depressive anxiety were barriers against falling in love with any other home I might lose. I continue repairing the holes.
I’ve had to claim this big sin in my life, looking back, so I can find footing to move forward. From it stems guilt, fear, bitterness, envy, rage, despair, hate, and the reasons I bury the one talent I have out of fear of losing it, not loving people in the first place that I don’t want to lose, forsaking all the others I could possibly gain. If I’d invest in the exercise of drawing strength from my roots and flourishing from my seeds, I could let old things out of my opened hands and new things into them as God sees fit to give.
I used to be an either-or person, and I still have that tendency. The fresh mountain air of Montana has always been the very competitive and boastful winner over the deplorably humid heat of Tennessee. The northwestern sense of newness has always been preferable to codependent southern etiquette. My childhood seemed like the peak of life, and the rest would just unravel to nothing better. See how sinful that is; how I have missed so many relationships and experiences with that attitude? Ugh. Forgive me, Lord. Forgive me, friends.
But lately I can see the good in claiming all the homes I’ve had, leaving the future open to other directions God has in mind (or not). I have deeply caring friends of all generations all over the country who are already part of my eternity in Jesus, and I have new family and friends every time I turn around. I am blessed with a reasonable perspective of the nature of human groups to understand the similarities and differences between the subcultures of the northwestern and southern Unites States(, which helps me stay sane during political seasons).
Two steps forward, one step back. Sometimes I roll back down the whole mountain I struggled to climb. But I am gaining strength and resilience. And joy.
Since we got back from our Montana trip last year, I am struck every time I get home to our house on the end of our street:
It isn’t fancy, but it IS beautiful. In a world filling up with clutter, look at all of God’s things surrounding us? I get to see the sunrise, the trees, creatures, my kids can run wild and free. Justin and I have done a lot of unseen heart work on that acre. Thank you, God.
And as we drove through the Smoky Mountains this morning, no photo could justify their charming beauty. I am so sorry I have not claimed their significance, just because they weren’t in Montana. Here is an attempt at capturing a picture:
What are some hurts of the past that pull you out of today, preventing you from grasping strength for right now?
What’s your favorite part of the United States? Care to share? And why?
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