On 5 August 2011, I boarded a flight to America: Trip Willow Creek. It should’ve been the trip of a lifetime – an absolute dream come true. And in many ways it was indeed a trip I shall never forget. It came at a tricky time though: A short time after it felt as though the world’s rug had been pulled from underneath my feet. A time during which all illusions of living the reality of a quote I recorded many years ago, seemed an entirely absurd thing to do: Instead of seeing the rug being pulled from underneath our feet, we can learn to dance on a shifting carpet. (How ridiculous the quote suddenly became).
Almost a year later, I realize how quickly - in some ways - time seems to have passed. While in others, it seems as though there were moments it had frozen in some dismal place of emotional disarray. Regardless the pace, though, I stand amazed at the depth of what has happened in the space of a year. Most of the change (or at least, the significant sort), having taken place on the inside of me. Sure – I’m not ‘through the woods’ just yet but I’m still breathing. I’m still standing. And I think I’ve still somehow managed to hold onto hope (however loosely the grip may seem at times).
I could hardly sleep on 4 August 2011, the night before my trip. Truth be told, I hadn’t been sleeping much since mid-July (and I hadn’t realized, at the time, that there’d be many more sleepless nights to follow) but this specific cause of insomnia was slightly different: It was an insomnia of the ‘What on earth are you doing, Michelle?’ sort; the ‘You don’t have what it takes to make it to America and back right now. What are you thinking?’ sort. That brick of anxiety that weighs as heavily on the heart and mind as your reserve is able to keep at bay… and when your reserve is at its lowest, the weight is at its heaviest (until we realize that His faithful hand has been underneath the brick all along).
The point is – I made the trip. I did it! I went to America, somehow floundered through the days, and got back home largely unscathed (and in some ways, richer for the experience).
So, in celebration and thanks, I have a rather intriguing (dare I say fun) idea. One that I am hoping will serve as a reminder of His undeserved grace, His unfailing love, His incomprehensible peace and His unwavering faithfulness: Every year, between 5 and 15 August (the time during which I was away), I resolve to do something that I feel almost certain I am unable to do. Something a little scary, something out of my comfort zone, something that keeps me awake the night before (as result of wondering whether I have what it takes). Something that makes me feel just a little bit anxious.
This is not to be confused with my bucket list, which – though certain items are indeed a little scary – is largely a list of complete delight and wonder. No. This is a ‘Phew – this is just too far out of my comfort zone' list (within reason of physical survival, of course). A list that could range from anything as seemingly insignificant as wearing that ‘heeled boots and shift dress’ outfit Pam always tries to persuade me to wear (hugely uncomfortable in the world of Michelle and definitely not something that would ever appear on my bucket list)… to paragliding (eek!!)
I am strangely excited. I have a few days to pick my 2012 August feat and have a number of (rather daunting) ideas whizzing through my mind. By that time, I also need to have come up with a decent name to call this list (for it cannot be given just any old name).
And so I have found I can smile at this quote again: Instead of seeing the rug being pulled from underneath our feet, we can learn to dance on a shifting carpet. Only, this time, I can bear testimony to the words.
Almost a year later, I realize how quickly - in some ways - time seems to have passed. While in others, it seems as though there were moments it had frozen in some dismal place of emotional disarray. Regardless the pace, though, I stand amazed at the depth of what has happened in the space of a year. Most of the change (or at least, the significant sort), having taken place on the inside of me. Sure – I’m not ‘through the woods’ just yet but I’m still breathing. I’m still standing. And I think I’ve still somehow managed to hold onto hope (however loosely the grip may seem at times).
I could hardly sleep on 4 August 2011, the night before my trip. Truth be told, I hadn’t been sleeping much since mid-July (and I hadn’t realized, at the time, that there’d be many more sleepless nights to follow) but this specific cause of insomnia was slightly different: It was an insomnia of the ‘What on earth are you doing, Michelle?’ sort; the ‘You don’t have what it takes to make it to America and back right now. What are you thinking?’ sort. That brick of anxiety that weighs as heavily on the heart and mind as your reserve is able to keep at bay… and when your reserve is at its lowest, the weight is at its heaviest (until we realize that His faithful hand has been underneath the brick all along).
The point is – I made the trip. I did it! I went to America, somehow floundered through the days, and got back home largely unscathed (and in some ways, richer for the experience).
So, in celebration and thanks, I have a rather intriguing (dare I say fun) idea. One that I am hoping will serve as a reminder of His undeserved grace, His unfailing love, His incomprehensible peace and His unwavering faithfulness: Every year, between 5 and 15 August (the time during which I was away), I resolve to do something that I feel almost certain I am unable to do. Something a little scary, something out of my comfort zone, something that keeps me awake the night before (as result of wondering whether I have what it takes). Something that makes me feel just a little bit anxious.
This is not to be confused with my bucket list, which – though certain items are indeed a little scary – is largely a list of complete delight and wonder. No. This is a ‘Phew – this is just too far out of my comfort zone' list (within reason of physical survival, of course). A list that could range from anything as seemingly insignificant as wearing that ‘heeled boots and shift dress’ outfit Pam always tries to persuade me to wear (hugely uncomfortable in the world of Michelle and definitely not something that would ever appear on my bucket list)… to paragliding (eek!!)
I am strangely excited. I have a few days to pick my 2012 August feat and have a number of (rather daunting) ideas whizzing through my mind. By that time, I also need to have come up with a decent name to call this list (for it cannot be given just any old name).
And so I have found I can smile at this quote again: Instead of seeing the rug being pulled from underneath our feet, we can learn to dance on a shifting carpet. Only, this time, I can bear testimony to the words.
Very intriguing idea Mish! And if 2012 is the year of heeled boots and shift dresses, then you had better put some pics up on this blog.
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