.004 Sometimes Making the Decision is the Hardest Part

I'm standing on the edge of a new threshold right now; the kind of place that knits fear and possibility together and smudges expectations. My future direction, the one I had so clearly laid out in my mind, has warped once again. I'm in a messy place full of decisions and I spend so much time wondering if I will do the right thing.

My sense of adventure and my sense of fear is split right down the middle right now. I'm taking a crazy step forward. I'm taking a calculated risk that could return great reward, but the road to that place looks tangled and ambiguous from this point of view.

I'm reminded again that I fear what I don't know, or what I think I can't do, and I wonder how often I've allowed this fear to govern me and cinch me into a place that was comfortable, but not necessarily right, or vice versa. There are many places that might not necessarily be noticeably damaging for us to live in, but it may not be the best place: the one we thrive in, the one where we are challenged and stretched and embraced and alive in.

In this place, I'm realizing that deviation and sketching out a new, and perhaps unconventional, path for myself is daunting.

Am I making the right choice?

Will I regret this?

Regret. The more I think about it, the more I realize that I don't often deviate from the norm because I'm ducking away from potential regret. I cringe away from mistakes. They are uncomfortable. They uncover weakness and often force me to admit I was wrong. Past mistakes have a way of sneaking into everyday thoughts like a constant hum in the background, and sometimes they rise up and pinch.

What I'm learning here in the process of making decisions is this: everything leading up to the decision is often the most exhausting part. Flopping between "should I?" and "shouldn't I?" is mentally exhausting. I catch myself in the tension of whether to listen to my head or my heart. I run in circles with my thoughts, trying to uncover the "magic" solution.

Sometimes all of that back and forth confusion is a sign that you just need to make a decision. You might need to go to a quiet place and and get really honest, or sleep on it overnight, and then ask yourself "what do I really want on a deep, real level, even if I know it is hard or crazy or unpopular?" or "is all of this back and forth just fear?" You might actually know what the "right" decision is, but you may not be admitting it to yourself because finality is weighty and commitment is just scary sometimes.

What if you regret it?

Sometimes it seems easier to stay in that place of back and forth because you're afraid of making the decision. You're afraid that going ahead and taking the step might be the wrong thing to do when, really, the restlessness you are choosing to live in is the very signal you've been praying for. It is the sign that is telling you that this is the wrong spot. You've grown out of it. You're restless because you aren't content here.

Maybe it is a sign that you need to make the very decision you thought you would never seriously consider.

Maybe it is a sign that you just need to make a decision and stick with it.

I often find that when I brush up against uncomfortable situations or issues or choices in my life (especially if they come up repeatedly) it is almost as if God points and says "ok- we're going there. I didn't make you to shrink away in fear."

That could mean staying where you are or diving into a completely new space. That could mean taking responsibility or handing responsibility over to someone else. That could mean dusting off an old dream or saying no to a new one. That could mean sticking it out or it could mean letting it rest. That could mean saying yes or it could mean saying no.

Sometimes the road to the decision is the most difficult part but the actual decision, even if it seems like the hardest way, might surprise you with freedom and beauty and possibility. It might offer blessing in the last place you expect to find it. Yes, it might be hard. You might wake up with huge questions and a wave of fear might roll over you from time to time. It might even seem like the "wrong" decision sometimes. However, there is a long, scenic road ahead and someday the knots will be kneaded out. Someday you'll look over your shoulder and notice the difference between here and there and, perhaps, you may even feel grateful for the journey.

Navigating the Sacred and the Secular as a Student

I'm writing an essay at the moment for an English class at school and the main themes of the essay, the main ideas that I've been kneading out lately, are the intricacies of the body, the spirit, and the mind. I've been thinking over basic questions like "what does it mean to be human?" and "what is this empty space in our spirit that propels us to search for meaning and fulfillment?"

Of course, as a Christian, I have the easy, Sunday school answer to these questions: Jesus.

And yet, I'm still wrestling with the themes in these texts I'm analyzing. There is a fundamental lack of hope and a cry of desperation ringing in them. They are wrung through with rebellion. The main characters are lost souls searching for love and fulfillment and meaning in all of the wrong places. The texts deal with a burning anger toward Capitalism, absent fathers, injustice, and an overall sense of numbness and despair.

I can't gloss over these themes and write an upbeat, optimistic essay that preaches "These people just need to become Christians and all of their problems will be solved." Of course I believe that Christianity and belief in Christ is what offers us hope and joy and life and everlasting peace. Of course I believe at the very core of myself that all these gaps are the absence of God, that these people are lost and searching and I know what they are searching for. I know what could redeem these stories, these poems, these films.

The problem with being a Christian at a secular University, studying secular literature with rough edges and gaping questions, is that not all the edges are pinned down so neatly. (Frankly, I don't want to pin them down so neatly, either). There is no opportunity for me to bend these texts in a way that points to Christianity and Jesus without sounding superficial or judgmental. It wouldn't be appropriate to slide in a "Christian perspective" paragraph at the end that neatly boxes the whole package into a compartment of hope and cozy theology.

This is an essay of analysis, not opinion. I don't write everything for school with a Christian slant by any means, but lately I've decided to critically look at how I can have a strong voice in the world of secular academics and literature without slipping into a safe category of "inspirational," or kicking every topic toward the same theme.

I believe that Christian literature and writing has its place (hence this whole blog and the foundation of most of my own personal writing), but I've also been thinking about how to expand my reach, my arena, my worldview. I don't think that every Christian has to get a Christian job or go to a Christian school. These are options that must be critically assessed. For some, these areas will be the perfect fit. That will be the place where they thrive and grow and bless and minister in the best way. For others, though, being strapped to the Christian bubble beyond their church community will be restrictive, unrealistic, or suffocating to them. Some people will weave in and out of both circles.

What am I trying to say?

As Christians, there is a delicate balance between becoming immersed and connected within a solid community of believers, and engaging beyond ourselves. Both are extremely important to pursue. However, there are sometimes grey areas between allowing our faith to propel our love, our values, and our opinions, and brushing up against, or creating the perception of, manipulation, judgement, or exclusion through our actions, our art, and our words, both written and spoken (even if it is unintentional). Is it fear or comfort that is binding us to our Christian circles, or is it the foundation of community, a passion that thrives best there, or a genuine calling?

As I said before, I don't write all of my essays through a Christian funnel, but I've been realizing that I am standing in a unique position right now as a student and a young adult. I should think about how my beliefs colour my studies, my relationships, and my work, especially my creative work. I've become aware that I have a voice and that is both a privilege and a humbling responsibility. I'm beginning to see this seam between the sacred and the secular more clearly than ever now. In some ways, I've witnessed a skillful and loving bridging of the two, in other ways, I still see a clear divide, and, in a few contexts, I've found a dilution of one into the other that mixes contradictions to produce a confusion of loyalties.

So this is the wild mess that I am picking through right now. I have a fairly clear vision of the road that I am personally walking, but I don't want to overlook new lessons I can learn here and now. I have no easy answers, except to navigate these issues through prayer and to continually align my focus through reading the Bible, becoming familiar with Jesus' character, and following in his footsteps. I want to remain discerning, malleable, open-minded, yet anchored, as I ask questions, press deeper, and wander through this journey we call the Christian life. It's a tangle of brokenness and hope.

Slow Release

Last week was a hazy sweep of work, laughter, emotion and action. The days smudged together and time warped and Friday night was so welcome. The week exhaled to a close.

I've been thinking about Lent in between all of the chaos. I have a few blog posts written and saved in a document on my laptop that wander through my thoughts about Lent, but none of them seemed authentic enough to share.

Last year, I engaged in Lent for one of the first times and it altered something in me on a very deep level. It taught me about looking outward rather than inward. It taught me about trust and prayer and walking on the edge of wonder and anticipation.

I prayed for five different people over the forty days of Lent. I didn't decide to do this because of Lent, but it happened to come up around the same time, so I ran parallel to it, grafting myself into the practice. The five people didn't know that I was praying for them, but I saw very direct and clear answers to my prayers manifested in their lives. Something fresh and rich grew up in me during that time and I point to that season as one of the most healthy and vibrant periods in my life.

I wanted to recreate that experience again this year. I wanted to have a focus and a direction and, to be honest, a cool story to tell about it. I've been trying to bend myself into Lent by attempting to find something meaningful to give up. Lent has already started and I still haven't pinpointed what to go without.

What is really resonating in my spirit right now is a quiet "wait for me." I think that I might simply need to use this Lenten season to sit and wait in expectation for God. Something in me pushes back against this. I don't want to wait. I want to see. I want to experience. I want the miracle and the transformation right now.

On the weekend, I engaged in a worship session that brushed up against a callous place in me. I realized that, somehow, I've been gripping burdens like a lifeline and their weight is pulling me down, suffocating my spirit, squelching my joy at times. I don't know what exactly I'm holding onto, but it is allowing fear and insecurity to seep in around the edges.

I thought I was done with this. I thought that I had found freedom from all of my fears already. I can't believe I've come full circle. I didn't properly guard myself against relapse. All of these thoughts caved in on me as I realized how heavy and ingrained these burdens are. They have begun to grow and intertwine like vines to build up a protective layer, a shield, a wall of distance.

A constant unclenching of the fist. Really, isn't that the essence of Lent? Isn't it about giving up, about going without, about regaining focus and grasping meaning in the hollow space that has been channeled into your life? What will fill that gap? Will it be new truth, or a conviction, or simply some air for breathing room?

Maybe, instead of giving up coffee or committing to a different way of prayer for Lent, I need to wait and reflect and begin to loosen the knots that have blunted my spirit and my trust. This whole season must be a slow release, an uncurling of the fingers. It takes time to pull away the layers. The deepest lies are not easily redirected. The heart of a burden is buried deep.

Rather than letting go at the beginning, this Lent will be a journey of release.

What you should know about my story

 Two years ago, when I was sixteen, my family and I uprooted our lives and moved from a rural country town to the city. I've been thinking back to that lately because it was a tipping point in my life. It broke all of the shaky foundations I had been leaning on and shattered me. I don't talk about it often and I think it's because I learned too many things the hard way. I'm still emerging from, growing from, the wreck that used to be me.

Recently, I found a short-term "bucket list" of sorts that I wrote in youth group when I was fifteen, standing on the brink of that life-altering change:

1. Push yourself to do things you think you can't do
2. Blaze some new trails
3. Read the Bible more intentionally
4. Don't be afraid to be genuinely, authentically yourself
5. Stand up for yourself
6. Be artistic in different ways
7. Invest in relationships that count
8. Rest your brain! (aka- quit overanalyzing everything)
9. Invest in prayer
10. Keep laughing-keep telling stories

I couldn't have known what was ahead, yet I've grown in every one of those areas over the pat two years (and I'll expand on these in future posts). It was a process of relinquishing old ideas and misconceptions about myself, life, God and rebuilding again around my identity in Christ. It hurt. It still hurts at times.

A buildup of callous will numb feeling; moving ripped away all of what I thought were the most important pieces of myself, my identity, and constantly threw me in the face of all of my pent-up fears. I needed it. My security had been wrapped up in my friendships, my grades, my church, affirmation from others and so many other things that were not God. I knew my Bible and my theology well, but I had a  shallow relationship with God. When all of my "security" disintegrated, I became an open target and fear pounced; I became incredibly insecure because I had no identity left. I became afraid of rejection, failure, honesty, close relationships; things that had been laying hidden and dormant in my life until my support system collapsed.

Fear is a strangle that steals joy and the sense of a deeper meaning in the experiences of our lives. It keeps us riding a hard edge and we could reach out and into all we have been called to experience and to be, but fear draws up a barrier. It has the ability to keep us safe in a fundamentally destructive way. What you've missed, in the end, will cheat you out of  what you could have been. Change, surrender, is an avenue of faith.

It isn't easy. It's a long journey and the tearing away may leave some scars. Surrender is painful, but necessary in order to experience God fully in your life. I'm still walking my own journey and sometimes old fears creep up to confront me, but I'm more grounded now, rooted in faith. I can't stress enough the impact and importance of prayer and surrender during that time, and always. Praying through the fire, keeping eyes locked on Christ, builds trust and deepens relationship. God can handle anything you have to say, anything you are struggling with. That said, don't wait until the fire to pray. Build a strong relationship with God now so your foundation will be firm. Don't allow open, unguarded loopholes for fear to crawl through.


And so, I'll end with these words, which speak better than my own:

"Finally, be strong in the Lord and in His mighty power. Put on the full armor of God, so that you can take your stand against the devil's schemes. For our struggle is not against flesh and blood, but against . . . the spiritual forces of evil in the heavenly realms. Therefore put on the full armor of God so when the day of evil comes, you may be able to stand your ground, and after you have done everything, to stand. Stand firm, them, with the belt of truth buckled around your waist, with the breastplate of righteousness in place, and with your feet fitted with the readiness that comes from the gospel of peace. In addition to all this, take up the shield of faith, with which you can extinguish all the flaming arrows of the evil one. Take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the Spirit, which is the word of God.

And pray in the Spirit on all occasions with all kinds of prayers and requests. With this in mind, be alert and always keep on praying for all the Lord's people."

Ephesians 6:10-18, NLT