My attitude about being where I am really stinks. Sometimes I just want “out”. Anywhere but here. Not that I know where I would actually go. But it would be someplace quiet…that much I know. Where I could collect myself. I am haggard from the perpetual problems and complexities of life. I think it is hard enough to live honest before God yourself, but then you throw in all these other people. Chaos. Craziness. Especially the little people, who need so much of us. More than I feel I have to give most days. I feel myself slipping beneath the enormous weight of it all. Moms, you know what I am talking about. At least, I hope you do. I hope it’s not just me who feels somewhat daunted and dismayed in the daily care and feeding of a family.
I have confessed my rotten attitude to God. I’ve asked, pleaded actually, with Him to change me. Fill me. Fix me. Do whatever needs to be done to make me wholehearted in serving Him; here and now, in my actual life.
Not in the life I imagined, or even wanted. Not the fair weather fairy tales I have about what my life should look like. Not the escapist fantasies concocted in my own idealistic mind. But in my real life family. The life God has given me. Where storms are common; blood, sweat, and tears required. A place where we stumble and struggle together. Where we hurt, hope, and hold fast to one another.
I hear a whisper in my spirit, “This is losing your life, Robyn. You must lose your life to find it” (Luke 9:24).
Yes, Jesus. But how do I lose my life without losing my mind? Don’t you see me, Jesus? Don’t you see all that is asked of me? It is too much, Jesus. I can’t do it all.
And therein lies the real problem. This be-all-end-all person we try to be. Jesus doesn’t put that on us. We put the “all” on ourselves. And suddenly, when the whirling slows to a dull hum, I can hear…really hear this today: Stop looking for an out. Stop trying to hang on to the past you. The one you constructed. The one filled with vain, selfish ambitions. The striving one, driven to distraction. The one who works tirelessly to meet expectations I have not placed upon you. Let it go.
Let it go….
Segue to the song from the movie Frozen: “Let it go, Let it go…can’t hold it back anymore”. Chloe has been rehearsing the song endlessly around the house, like most girls her age right now. The other night, on our drive home, Chloe was singing her song. I became troubled in my prayers; driving and crying seem to go hand in hand with me these days. I didn’t think Chloe noticed because she was preoccupied in the back with the song. But then she asked me what was wrong. I told her it was nothing…just my usual crying jag. No need for alarm; Mommy is fine. She sings out to me in response, “Let it go, Let it go…don’t worry about that anymore….Let it go, Let it go, God’s going to take care of that”.
How do you like that? A budding back-seat preacher. Her solo surprised and delighted me. What a sweet ministration to my spirit! Her childlike faith amazed me. She sang so loud and sure; unruffled by my crumpled emotions. God is going to take care of that. Simply stated, beautifully believed. And right there, I caught a glimpse of this lost and found life. I breathed deep and laughed out loud in unexpected joy. I gladly let go to embrace all God had for us in the moment.
That night, Chloe and I sang our way home in a poignant mother-daughter duet. We belted out, “Let the storm rage on, the cold never bothered me anyway.” What an anthem to take to heart because this life often feels so bone-chilling cold, hard, and long. Unrelentingly so. We struggle to breath in the frigid air of circumstance; our hearts numbed by the harsh realities of pain and sorrow in life. The sadness threatens our undoing; as we slide down the slippery slope into despair at times. Now I know why Jesus said to be like the little children. Chloe’s song instantly thawed the jagged ice piercing deep into my heart. Her simple, unbending faith melted away the anguish of my soul. Chloe led the way up, above the storm; where I could suddenly see, with clear-eyed beauty, the truth of my life. A rare contentment blanketed my restless soul, and I knew it, sure and loud: there is no place I want to be more than right here… losing, yet finding my crazy-beautiful life.