Becoming

I kindof hate the sentiment that if your faith feels very comfortable and easy then it’s not really working. I wonder how much of that is a Western cultural pattern of try harder, do more. But, I would also have to say that this season of change I find myself in, post divorce, re-entering full-time work, defining the parameters of life and family as a single mom, I can’t escape the notion that hard is good, and becoming hurts.

Even before life became innately hard, I felt the need to step into painful situations in order to work out my salvation. Sometimes I did choose to enter into other’s pain and sometimes I didn’t. The part that was really unnecessary was the layer of guilt that laid over everything that measured in as “not enough” which unfortunately was everything. I especially disqualified any sacrifice required of me by those closest to me. The sacrifices I made for my family did not count, were of no value, and were often resented the most because they sapped my energy for all the other things I thought I should be doing.

The biggest difference I am experiencing now that I am fully submerged in the process of a painful becoming is that it is finally enough. Everything is a win. I remember shortly after my husband left, I celebrated successful moments, that turned into days one at a time, and then it lengthened to celebrating each month. I suppose I’m at a quarterly celebration now. Let’s be clear, we’re talking celebrations of life here. Raw survival is worthy.

Interestingly enough, I’m still choosing to enter into others pain as well. It feels much more like brothers in arms now than before. A camaraderie that I previously viewed but didn’t really understand. Within that camaraderie there seems to be a root system of joy holding it all together. I know that’s not always the case. I’ve seen other root systems of decay and pity that hold pain too, but in celebrating the pain of becoming, not resisting its accompanying grief or lying about it, but sitting face to face with all of it, we can feel the movement of it and recall that we’re going somewhere.

It’s a choice. I have to deliberately access this. The sinking pity party is always one breath away and there are times where there is a fine line between pity and grief that is indiscernible to me. So I go there, because how else and I supposed to do the grieving unless I try. It has to take you sometimes.

Dear reader, I feel like you are here. My sharing is for me of course. but it’s also for you. I’ve never been one to hide and all of this raw exposure has got to be for something. I am one that likes to watch and copy. It’s like I’ve always needed a million guides but have found very few that are willing to open wide the curtains without shame and say this is what this looks like without packaging it in some marketable notion that makes it completely useless. There’s un-health in it I’m sure. A checking in with everyone around me to make sure what I’m doing is okay. A cherished boss I once had at a residential facility I worked at used to say, if you’re going somewhere bring someone else along. Live life alongside others. Be with.

Psalm 91 in the NASB reads, “One who dwells in the shelter of the most high will lodge in the shadow of the Almighty.” It’s the word lodge that grabs my attention as an accurate description of my felt experience, not in a lovely Colorado mountain home, more lodged as immovable, shoved into a crevasse of security incapable of my own release. Both uncomfortable and comforting at the same time, within the peace generating machine that is the heart and mind of God. This stuck and immovable space a shadow full of all God is and has made. I am made to lie down here and rest in wide open spaces the size of which I cannot begin to comprehend. My slavery to God is my freedom. My pain and grief become doorways to comfort.

I’ve often thought with respect to Sabbath, that it is best enjoyed at the end of a long week, or that a hot chocolate with fresh floofy marshmallows tastes yummiest when I’m thawing out from outdoor revelry in the cold requiring all my layers and a few high speed downhill bumps and bruises. What is it about the deep betrayal I endure that brings about the mortal cherished sweetness of every affection?

It is only and ever good to be in Christ. Seasons of rest more restful, seasons of pain more purposeful, seasons of grief more cleansing. This is a washing I would return to in my darkest moments, bath of light to see my salvation with the clearest vision. No cover for my brokenness or my Savior’s ready remedy. He sees my scars and shows me His. He said yes to his betrayal and was revealed to be something else as a result. I guess what I’m saying is this is the path I am on. This is the person I follow. The pain of the becoming is a birth pain. No one would deny how bad it hurts but we’re going somewhere. We are becoming something.