Never the Same.

I will never be the same again

I can never return, I've closed the door.

I will walk the path, I'll run the race

And I will never be the same again.

(Lyrics by Hillsong United)

It's the end of July, the year is only a little more than half over, and yet all I can think most of the time these days is that I'm ready for 2017 to be finished so that I can put it behind me and try to forget it ever happened.

This year has already seen more than it's share of pain, loss, grief, and uncertainty, and all signs point to more of the same coming up in the months ahead. I'd just like to get it done, put it all behind me, and hope for better, brighter things to come in 2018. I'm tired of living in a pressure-cooker.

I feel equally bad for and blessed by the church I've been attending for the past year. I'm very aware that at no point in the past year that they've gotten to known me have I been truly healthy and at my best--way too many weeks I've left worship as quickly as possible, or regretfully turned down invitations, having simply nothing left to engage in conversation in this community I'm just getting to know. And selfishly, I wonder what kind of impressions they have formed of me, these kind folks who have only known me when I've been in the midst of what has felt like a fiery furnace so much of the time. And yet, I feel so blessed by these saints who have seen me at my worst, and embraced and welcomed me anyway--not for anything I have to offer, because I've had precious little of that, but because I'm beloved by God and that has been enough. Their warm hospitality, genuine caring, and promises of prayer have carried me through some pretty tough seasons this year, even when I have given them precious little background about what I'm walking through, and I'm so grateful. 

And yet, in spite of all this, the words of this song have been stuck in my head for more than a week now, returning over and over in moments of quiet. "I will never be the same again."

The strange thing is that, while "I will never be the same again" could be about damage done that cannot be repaired, I think it's actually about God shaping me into a different person through it all--a stronger, more compassionate, more loving person than I was before. Someone who is more confident in her gifts and who has a stronger sense of call and vocation than before. Someone who has discovered she's capable of things she could never have imagined--or, more accurately, who has discovered the truth that the power of God, working in us, is able to do infinitely more than we can ask or imagine. Someone who has seen the beauty amidst the brokenness, and been changed by it. Someone who has experienced God in ways that cannot, that will not easily be forgotten. 

I think these words gently planted within me by the Spirit are a gentle rebuke to the part of me that wants to find safety by running as fast as I can back to the familiar--to settle for a safe career, a 'good enough' calling, a life offering any kind of easy security. Most of me, in fact, longs for that kind of security--a security that's of my own making, that's built from analyzing plans 'b,' 'c,' and 'd' for potential pitfalls while plotting my escape, Jonah-like. These plans, not surprisingly, mostly involve tracing my path back to the way it was before God led me into parts unknown, before I let go of my white-knuckled grip on the plans, seduced by the voice of Love.

But as lyrics float uninvited through my head, to a song that's never really been a particular favourite of mine (where does this earworm come from?!), I know that these are words of truth. They slow me down, whisper promises of resurrection, breathe hope into the dark places and soothe the bone-tired parts and aches with promises of healing. 

I've been reading Eugene Peterson, who in his years of pastoral wisdom gently reminds me that Jesus' call to take up our crosses and follow assures us that salvation does not promise any us pain-free journeys through life. Healing takes time. I need to learn better patterns of self-care and develop better habits of rest, of remembering that I'm not God and therefore not responsible for shouldering the burden of fixing all that's wrong in the world. I need to learn to slow down. 

"Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." It turns out that I don't need to find the answers, fix the problems, or figure out the back-up plan. All God asks of me is trust. Trust that God is still taking care of me, still calls me beloved, loves me for who I am not what I can do. Trust that God is redeeming 2017--that this part of the journey, too, is part of learning to walk with God. Simply trust, learn to rest and just be held in the gentle embrace of the One who loves me more than I can possibly imagine. Who will never leave or forsake me, no matter what comes next.