"There came a time when the risk to remain tight in the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom."
To sacrifice oneself. The greatest gift we could ever give; to God, to others, and to ourselves is to let go of who we are and step into the light of who we could become. We spend our lives striving for security when there is no such thing on earth. Not entirely. There is no guaranteed security in anything. We are temporal. We are mortal. We can build security around our entitlements and what society tells us will keep us safe, but we'll never feel 100 percent at ease with what we attain. We may not have security, but we do have opportunity. Opportunity can breed creativity and with creativity, there are no certainties. Creativity takes courage. You can't think outside the box and be certain on the same token. It defies every sense of the word.
It's not so much that we're so in love with our "old ways" of doing things; our old jobs or our old relationships. It's the in-between that we fear the most. That seemingly grand-canyon leap of space that separates the vast valley's of holding on and letting go. In that moment we have nothing to hold onto; nothing tangible that comforts us, even if the comfort was an unhealthy or destructive one. It's like Mommy put the blanket in the dryer and we don't know what to do. We hold on because the great abyss before us is just too daunting.
In this space we can sink or we can sail, we can drop like a rock to the bottom or fly across. Sometimes it gets even trickier when we can't even see the other side. Is there another side? Risk is one of the few ways faith is grown. Faith doesn't just manifest itself in a comfortable life. You may think you have it, but you don't truly know its power, or your lack of trust, until you find yourself in the middle of some gap without wings and you start grabbing the air.
I fear risk most in relationships and now in my ongoing, prosaic career life (Pass the coffee).
Relationships are always a tough one and I don't think I'm alone in this. I've always constantly made checkpoints for myself out of sheer heart survival. I used to check-in with myself every handful of days, making sure I'm not investing too much (which means not investing at all, really). The checkpoints have never softened the end-blow, so I gave up on those. This area of life too often seems to be this world of white-water where we have to acclimate, adapt, and change just to survive them and then once we've done all that, the other person (or you) bails for whatever reason. I like to believe no struggle of mine has been in vain, in fact I know it hasn't.
Not being in a relationship for a significant amount of time has allowed me the space to risk in other areas. More so, it rebuilt my foundation in the Lord so that when the time came and He asked me to jump, I'd be well-equipped regardless of the ground-floor. That doesn't mean we throw ourselves to the wind at any new person who shows up, but it does mean we should be aware of the winds and discern accordingly.
We get so caught up in our routine. That routine of what we do, how we do it, when we do it, who's with us, who's not, on and on until any new person just kind of messes it up. It messes with your head and your way of life in a way you least expected. You weren't looking for it, you may have desired for it, but never sought it out. What's mind-blowing is when the state of my heart is content and when something that is last on my list suddenly becomes available, it's truly a miracle (for me) at how prepared I am for its arrival—and I didn’t even know I was. In the last 3 years or so God has prepared my heart and mind for loads of valley's, for grand-canyon leaps, and for ocean sailing without any sight of a shore and I hadn't even known it. He is so intricate and intimate that it all became a part of who I am. Had I continued on with my checkpoints this would've never happened. God is my checkpoint. Yes, I would have known (ahem) "security," but I never would've experienced life on the cliffs, the falling down, and the building of wings on my way across.
We cannot live life on the shoreline. We've got to get into the white-water.
Times of transition where we are in the middle of 2 ways of life, between the old and the new, this is the most fruitful place we could ever find ourselves. Here we are on our knees; we are vulnerable and susceptible to danger and to failure. We are willing to stretch, to reach out, reach up, and exhaust everything we are to make it to the other side. Picture yourself climbing a huge mountain. Running a great race. Paddling through the ocean. You've got nothing, but your breath and your thoughts hanging over you. Will you make it? You've got to dig and you've got to dig deep. If it burns you have to make it burn even harder to make the finish. You've got to throw your defeated mentality to the dirt, ram it over, and keep your head up. Suddenly, you become a warrior. You pass the threshold of your pain and reality and cross over into an existence that you swear is divine because you know full-well, you didn't have anything left.
We must sacrifice everything we are-the good and the bad-to find out who we could become. There is always more in you. Mediocrity is not an option. A stagnant spirit is a dead one.
To sacrifice oneself. The greatest gift we could ever give; to God, to others, and to ourselves is to let go of who we are and step into the light of who we could become. We spend our lives striving for security when there is no such thing on earth. Not entirely. There is no guaranteed security in anything. We are temporal. We are mortal. We can build security around our entitlements and what society tells us will keep us safe, but we'll never feel 100 percent at ease with what we attain. We may not have security, but we do have opportunity. Opportunity can breed creativity and with creativity, there are no certainties. Creativity takes courage. You can't think outside the box and be certain on the same token. It defies every sense of the word.
It's not so much that we're so in love with our "old ways" of doing things; our old jobs or our old relationships. It's the in-between that we fear the most. That seemingly grand-canyon leap of space that separates the vast valley's of holding on and letting go. In that moment we have nothing to hold onto; nothing tangible that comforts us, even if the comfort was an unhealthy or destructive one. It's like Mommy put the blanket in the dryer and we don't know what to do. We hold on because the great abyss before us is just too daunting.
In this space we can sink or we can sail, we can drop like a rock to the bottom or fly across. Sometimes it gets even trickier when we can't even see the other side. Is there another side? Risk is one of the few ways faith is grown. Faith doesn't just manifest itself in a comfortable life. You may think you have it, but you don't truly know its power, or your lack of trust, until you find yourself in the middle of some gap without wings and you start grabbing the air.
I fear risk most in relationships and now in my ongoing, prosaic career life (Pass the coffee).
Relationships are always a tough one and I don't think I'm alone in this. I've always constantly made checkpoints for myself out of sheer heart survival. I used to check-in with myself every handful of days, making sure I'm not investing too much (which means not investing at all, really). The checkpoints have never softened the end-blow, so I gave up on those. This area of life too often seems to be this world of white-water where we have to acclimate, adapt, and change just to survive them and then once we've done all that, the other person (or you) bails for whatever reason. I like to believe no struggle of mine has been in vain, in fact I know it hasn't.
Not being in a relationship for a significant amount of time has allowed me the space to risk in other areas. More so, it rebuilt my foundation in the Lord so that when the time came and He asked me to jump, I'd be well-equipped regardless of the ground-floor. That doesn't mean we throw ourselves to the wind at any new person who shows up, but it does mean we should be aware of the winds and discern accordingly.
We get so caught up in our routine. That routine of what we do, how we do it, when we do it, who's with us, who's not, on and on until any new person just kind of messes it up. It messes with your head and your way of life in a way you least expected. You weren't looking for it, you may have desired for it, but never sought it out. What's mind-blowing is when the state of my heart is content and when something that is last on my list suddenly becomes available, it's truly a miracle (for me) at how prepared I am for its arrival—and I didn’t even know I was. In the last 3 years or so God has prepared my heart and mind for loads of valley's, for grand-canyon leaps, and for ocean sailing without any sight of a shore and I hadn't even known it. He is so intricate and intimate that it all became a part of who I am. Had I continued on with my checkpoints this would've never happened. God is my checkpoint. Yes, I would have known (ahem) "security," but I never would've experienced life on the cliffs, the falling down, and the building of wings on my way across.
We cannot live life on the shoreline. We've got to get into the white-water.
Times of transition where we are in the middle of 2 ways of life, between the old and the new, this is the most fruitful place we could ever find ourselves. Here we are on our knees; we are vulnerable and susceptible to danger and to failure. We are willing to stretch, to reach out, reach up, and exhaust everything we are to make it to the other side. Picture yourself climbing a huge mountain. Running a great race. Paddling through the ocean. You've got nothing, but your breath and your thoughts hanging over you. Will you make it? You've got to dig and you've got to dig deep. If it burns you have to make it burn even harder to make the finish. You've got to throw your defeated mentality to the dirt, ram it over, and keep your head up. Suddenly, you become a warrior. You pass the threshold of your pain and reality and cross over into an existence that you swear is divine because you know full-well, you didn't have anything left.
We must sacrifice everything we are-the good and the bad-to find out who we could become. There is always more in you. Mediocrity is not an option. A stagnant spirit is a dead one.
1 comment:
thank you for writing, revealing and being.
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