This past spring, when we were all hunkered down at home and anxiously awaiting a bit of good news about the Covid-19 pandemic, I often found peace just outside my back door.
I’m a homebody, for sure. A gardening homebody, on top of that. But it’s been many years since I made it a near-daily springtime practice to wander around my yard and check up on the progress of all the growing things.
I haven’t made it an official goal or anything, but it seems 2020 has gradually become The Year of Trying New Things for me.
I’ve written about some of that here, and I hope to continue the conversation in the coming months.
This week, though, I’m trying something new in this space—I’m joining a linkup hosted by blogger Heather Gerwing that encourages writers to share “Four Somethings” from the past month.
I don’t know if this will become a regular feature or something I post only when the mood hits. Either way, it’s been fun to come up with this first list of something loved, something read, something treasured and something ahead.
When it comes to places to live, Kansas is not very glamorous. Nobody has ever said, “Wow, I bet it’s beautiful there,” or “I’ve always wanted to live there,” when they find out where my home is.
I get it. I’ve been around the country, and Kansas is a bit boring compared with the rest of the states. One thing I do love about living here, though, is the fact that we have four distinct seasons.
There it was, in the subject line of a promotional email from the photo company we’d used to print Lilly’s senior pictures: “Don’t forget about dad.”
The timing made sense, given that Father’s Day was less than two weeks away. But when I read it, I couldn’t escape the irony.
Of course the message wasn’t directed at me specifically. It’s been a year since my dad died. This will be our second Father’s Day without him, although just barely.
Still, I couldn’t help but take it a little bit personally.
I was already feeling the weight of the world that day—sadness like I hadn’t experienced in a long while, an overwhelming ache for one more conversation with the man who always made me feel better, just by being there.
Forget about dad? I couldn’t even if I tried.
Girls need their dads. It was true in my own life. I see it being played out again with my husband and daughters.
Boys too, just as much (though perhaps in different ways).
My oldest brother expressed it well when we were putting together my dad’s obituary: “I will be eternally grateful to have had him for a father,” he wrote.
What a blessing to be able to express that about the man who raised you and then grew into a dear friend over the course of your adult life. I know not everyone is able to say this, and my heart aches for those that cannot.
My limited understanding of the fatherhood of God has always been a spiritual anchor in my life, probably because of my earthly father’s example and influence. Since his death, I’ve been busy with estate duties and working through grief and tending to my own family, so I haven’t spent a lot of time contemplating God’s role as my heavenly Father in this new, parentless season of my life.
Now, though, those responsibilities are wrapped up—save finding one missing safe-deposit box key (or paying $20 for a replacement). After that, all that remains are my dad’s writings—a collection of children’s stories, Bible study notes, thoughts about all sorts of things scratched out in miscellaneous notebooks—for me to go through, one page at a time.
I’m looking forward to this process. It will help me stay close to him, I think. It will enable me to keep learning from him, and about him.
In a way, I have this same opportunity with my heavenly Father. We all do, actually. We don’t have His thoughts and stories in boxes in our basements, but within the pages of scripture, we have all that we need to learn from Him, and about Him.
What this should look like—what it will look like for me in the coming years—remains to be seen. God isn’t a substitute or replacement for my human father, but certainly, the older I get, the more I hope to depend on Him for comfort, wisdom and stability, much like I depended on my dad over the years.
Unlike my dad, however, God is all-sufficient. He truly is all I need, and I hope to spend the rest of my life to learning to live like I believe it.”
♥ Lois
This post is part of a collection called Help for Parent Loss. To read more, please click here.
God is all-sufficient. He truly is all I need, and I hope to spend the rest of my life to learning to live like I believe it. Share on X
Last week, I wrote about metaphorical wake-up calls—how they don’t have an expiration date, and how responding to mine involves learning to be OK with not knowing how the story is going to end.
I don’t have a tried-and-true strategy for doing this, of course. But right around the time I decided to get serious about confronting this life-long struggle, I also started tackling some projects that I’ve always wanted to do but never had the gumption to try.
Surprisingly, the process of doing that is helping me answer my wake-up call.
For example, I decided this was the year that we were finally going to dig up, divide and replant a large-but-rapidly declining patch of ornamental grass that anchors the front corner of our house.
At our house, we have one daughter who usually gets up in the morning before her alarm goes off, so she rarely needs a wake-up call. Meanwhile, just down the hall, daughter No. 2 hits snooze numerous times and often doesn’t actually leave her bed until we throw open her curtains or shout up from the first floor, “Molly, it’s time to get up!”
Whether a soft alarm is enough or it takes bright light in your face to rouse you, all literal wake-up calls have one thing in common: Yesterday’s call won’t work for today. I can’t call up to Molly this morning and expect that it’s going to get her out of bed tomorrow—she needs a new wake-up call every morning.
As I learned recently, however, that’s not necessarily the case with when it comes to metaphorical wake-up calls—those epiphanies that show people they need to change in some significant way.
In addition, “The actual wake-up call is not nearly as important as what happens next,” according to author and minimalism expert Courtney Carver.
“The opportunity to respond to it has no time limit,” she writes in Soulful Simplicity: How Living with Less Can Lead to So Much More. “If your wake-up call came years ago, this is the perfect time to take action and turn it into something powerful. You have an opportunity to rewrite your story and change things about your life, or your whole life.”
This struck an unexpected chord with me when I first read it a few months ago.
Randy had been going to work every day at his essential job in the commercial construction industry. But talk of a Covid-19 recession brought back memories of the Great Recession of the late 2000s, when he was laid off twice in 18 months.
As a result, the what-ifs were wreaking a bit of havoc in my mind.
What if that happens again? How long would it last? Would we have to spend all the girls’ college money on living expenses? Worse yet, what if one of us gets the virus and dies?
It was ridiculous, I know. But that’s where I found myself at that time.
My lifelong desire to know how the story ends had kicked into high gear.
I used to worry a lot more than I do now, but this part lingers. For me, it’s not about control as much as it is about security. And although I’ve had to weather a good dose of uncertainty during the last few years, those familiar feelings of dread can still settle like a lump of lead in the pit of my stomach at times.
When I read Carver’s words, however, something snapped into place deep within me.
My need to know how the story ends is so much a part of me that I actually include it in my writing bio. But I’m going to be 50 later this year. I don’t want this to be part of my identity for the rest of my life.
More immediately, perhaps you’ve heard that there’s a big election coming up—two days before my birthday, actually. Over the course of my adult life, few things have triggered this need-to-know-the-ending anxiety like presidential elections.
In the past, my dad—with his godly perspective and long view of history—was always a source of reason and comfort during these stressful times. But he’s not here anymore to tell me it’s all going to be OK.
I’ve had numerous opportunities to work on this over the years, but I never really considered it urgent enough to address it. I would simply feel anxious until the issue was resolved and then forget about it until the next uncertain event.
But what better time than now, when we are faced with an open-ended situation characterized by more questions than answers, to get serious about learning how to be OK with not knowing how it’s all going to turn out?
I’ve actually had a bit of literal practice at this lately.
When we replaced our treadmill last fall, I began reading books on my tablet while I ran because there was no way to attach my old book-reading stand to the new machine. While it’s possible to read ahead in an ebook, it’s not very convenient or safe to do while you’re running.
So I stopped doing it.
I’ve peeked a few times, but I’ve read several books straight through, without once looking at the end.
Maybe it’s just a coincidence that I started doing this a few months before my wake-up call. Or perhaps it’s another example of how God goes before us, preparing the way for the heart work that needs to happen next.
I wish I could tell you that I’ve come up with a five-step plan for overcoming my need to know how the story ends. Honestly, though, I’m not really sure how to go about it—except one day at a time.
When I feel that anxiety starting to rise, I say to myself, “Wait. Stop. What is the truth about this?”
If there’s no clear answer to that, I ask, “What is the truth about fear and anxiety? Where does my help come from?” (Answer: Not the “hills,” though I’m often tempted to look there first.)
Awareness, mixed with a newfound determination not to let this remain on my “that’s just how I am” list, pushes me forward. (Along with the need to be as emotionally and spiritually healthy as possible come November and the aforementioned presidential election.)
Next week, I’ll share a few more thoughts about what’s helping me work through this. In the meantime, I’m wondering if any of this applies to someone besides me.
Maybe the Covid-19 pandemic, your experiences sheltering-in-place or the George Floyd tragedy has led to some sort of wake-up call for you. Maybe you had a wake-up call years ago that you’ve never really answered.
Or maybe you’ve heard more of a wake-up whisper—a quiet realization that you’re not getting any younger, that you don’t want to keep on the way you’ve been, that with God’s help and a healthy dose of grit, you could actually make a change that changes your life.
It might have to do with a health problem, a relational issue, your attitudes, your work, your home or something relating to your character. If taken seriously, it could prompt you to seek counseling, change your eating habits, begin exercising, dig into scripture, reach out to your neighbor, forgive someone or seek forgiveness yourself, finish your degree or start cleaning out your closets.
Whatever it is, why not start working it out now?
It might take some planning or require financial resources that you don’t have right now. But heart work can happen any time.
Seriously. If I can do it, you can do it. And there’s no time like the present to start.
♥ Lois
I don’t want this anxious need to know how the story ends to be part of my identity for the rest of my life. Share on X When I feel that anxiety starting to rise, I say to myself, “Wait. Stop. What is the truth about this?” Share on XP.S. I’m linking up this week with Purposeful Faith, #TellHisStory, InstaEncouragements, #HeartEncouragement, Let’s Have Coffee and Grace & Truth.