In His Chrysalis

My daughter has a fuzzy blanket that she loves. It was gifted to me, actually, years before she was born. But it sat neatly folded up at the bottom of our blanket pile. I wasn’t a big fan of the color pattern, and I am privileged enough to have enough blankets to be picky. One day, somehow, it caught her toddler eye, and perhaps because of its colorfulness, she knew it was hers. It has been her companion since then. Not like a Linus sort of way where she carries it everywhere. It’s just her constant first choice. AND, she can’t sleep without out – or so she tells her weary and bemused parents. It goes with her to overnights with her grandparents. It went with her on family vacation to Mexico.

Buuuuuut…. she sleeps on the top bunk. As with old-school bunk beds, she has to climb a ladder to get to her bed. But the blanket never stays in her bed during the day. She uses it to make forts or her “nests”, and it’s the only blanket to curl up in and watch an episode or two of Bluey or Clifford. So, when it comes to bedtime and it’s time to climb the slippery, wooden, ladder, she’s left with a bit of a scary conundrum. How to get the blanket up the ladder without tripping over this blanket, or it causing her to tumble and fall? It is, after all, a blanket large enough to cover a twin bed, with space to spare. It gets underfoot easily.

Sometimes, if she’s tired enough, she’ll let me put it on the bed for her. Sometimes I sneak it up there while she’s doing her bedtime routine. But, often, she has the blanket and refuses to let anyone help her. And so she treks up the wooden, slippery ladder, holding on with one hand, while the other wrestles with her beloved blanket, dragging it up beside her.

A couple nights ago, as I watched her, I wondered what I’m carrying up my ladder that either I don’t need, or that my heavenly Father would place in my bed for me so I didn’t have to risk my limbs getting it up there.

I’m a fiercely independent woman – I had to learn to be growing up, and I haven’t figured out how to give that up yet – even after five years of being married to a wonderful, patient, incredibly smart and competent man. It’s not that I don’t want to give it up, it’s that doing something by myself is such a part of me, I don’t realize I’m pushing him away until after.

But, even if it IS after, I AM beginning to realize, and apparently that’s “half the battle” as the saying goes. But…I need to realize it in the moment. And then, I need to have the space within myself to take the breath and ask for help. These are huge steps for me. Steps I want to take to let go of my blanket, but steps I am not exactly sure how to start. Prayer, of course. And surrender. And thankfulness. I’m starting there. I guess we’ll see what God asks after that.

Father God is, after all, a wonderful blanket holder. I know I can trust Him and those He’s placed in my life (like my warrior husband) to hold my blankets. But I have to learn the discipline of letting go.

Mush. When the caterpillar is in transformation, wrapped up tight in its hard-shelled chrysalis, its body literally becomes mush. Totally melts, with the chrysalis keeping all the goo inside, in order that the tiniest drop of sacred goo be kept, that it might become part of the soon-to-be-formed butterfly. The caterpillar mush-ifies and becomes a butterfly. Nothing is wasted. Every part of the inching along, worm-like little creature becomes part of the beautiful butterfly. Okay – not ALL of it, there’s a little bit of waste sometimes that looks oddly like blood – though it’s not – that dries off the butterfly once it’s emerged. But most of it is re-used, repurposed, in such a way that the casual onlooker would have no idea what the original fuzzy creature looked like.

I knew- in theory – when I left Bahrain and after, when I was processing all that I experienced that year, this would not be the only “chrysalis” spiritual season I would have in my life. I knew it was a hard year, and that it would not be the last of my hard years.

But I also LOVED who I became after that year.

I, however, certainly did not expect early motherhood to be another chrysalis season. I mean, I thought I was going to love it. I’ve always loved kids and gotten along with them well. Kids of all ages, from newborn to teenager. Plus, I knew a lot about kids – I have regularly babysat since I was 13 (I’m well past that age now), I have taken classes for my degrees – degrees plural – and I’ve nannied. Sooooooo… I thought I knew what I was getting into.

Silly, arrogant me. Knowing about children (even just knowing children) is one thing, experiencing the 24/7 life of a mother in our modern, isolationist, media-driven world is something else entirely.

I know I’m in a chrysalis season. Often the world around me, my little world full of snuggles, blankets, toy explosions, and peanut butter, feels dark – not depressing dark (well, sometimes that too), but dark as in I don’t know what’s coming next, and there’s no escape. Suffocating almost – sometimes. I love my kids, and I love my husband, but sometimes – especially when it feels like I’m their whole world – I want to scream. There is absolutely nothing in me that feels able, prepared, or desires being their entire world. In those moments of their need, I need to release all the expectations, energy, and frustrations that are handed to me. Screaming feels like the only release (that, or a large ice cream sundae, which is not the healthiest choice). But my heart screamed so long, so furiously the year before I got married, the year in Cincinnati, that my heart’s voice is gone – still, years later. My screams are hoarse at best – most often, they are silent. Intense, full-body, silent screams. There is no voice left to push out.

But this will not be forever. And there is SO much about my life that I love and I wouldn’t change. And while I can’t see the end, nothing inside is saying that it’s time to start bursting forth from my chrysalis, I can tell things are changing. I can tell I’m being re-formed into someone new. I have no idea who that is going to be (other than lover of God, wife, mother, daughter, friend), but I know she’s going to good.

Partly to encourage myself that I am not alone in this early-motherhood journey, I listen to a couple mommy podcasts. They often talk about not losing yourself in motherhood. That a woman can have – should still have – her own identity while being a mom. That it’s important for her to know herself, and share that self with her kids. They need HER.

Maybe that’s true. Maybe I just did the first four years wrong. But I have no idea how on earth I could have done it differently. And really, knowing the metaphor of the caterpillar-chrysalis-butterfly that God gave me years ago, I don’t know if white-knuckling onto my identity would have been healthy – at least for me. Losing it has been painful, but some of it needed to go to make room for the new, mom part of me. And, at least for me, I’m not sure I could let go of just part. I won’t know until I’m on the other side of this season. But I suspect that, like a caterpillar, I needed to allow myself to completely become mush, so that God can use every part of the caterpillar to form the butterfly through this season.

It’s overwhelming, and so painful, and often feels a lot like being buried. Or like a candle that’s been burning for so long that only the outer shell exists, and the wick is illuminating the empty shell of what was once a strong, thick pillar of a candle.

Please don’t hear that I regret having children. I love them with all of me. They’re the best, and I am so excited for the years ahead of watching them step into their own journeys. I am so honored (and a weee bit scared) to be their mother. But right now, the constant, “Mommy I need you” and needing Mommy to help them sleep at night, and the constant rejection of whatever I cooked, and the forever – the FOREVER, all consuming mess that is childhood – often feels like too much.

When my Warrior Husband and I got married, we heard a lot that marriage is a tool God uses to help a person step into holiness and righteousness, and that has been true, but I feel like parenthood is that multiplied by a thousand.

So I am mush. God is gently, sllllooowly reforming me into something new. I am excited and honored about this. And, while willing to patiently wait on God’s timing – I am SO ready for this season to be over (for now).

I can’t wait to see who I am becoming. I know I will still be me. My love of Him, of beauty, of precious moments, of people, will still be part of me – it’s just going to look different. Those things might have gone from being my fuzzy legs, to a color highlight on my wings, or to my antennae. I don’t know. But I’m excited to find out.

I should be sleeping. I don’t get enough of that these days – haven’t in years really. But, for whatever reason my mind won’t shut down tonight after the 1 am wake up call by my youngest. It usually does, but not tonight. Tonight it runs in the circles I find familiar, though a little dusty.

I find myself reminiscing about my life. I’m not really sure why I’ve been doing that recently, and I haven’t really liked what I’ve found. Looking back, I wasn’t the girl I thought I was in college. And I wish I had pursued the friendships offered to me rather than the ones I desired. I think I lost a lot of time and heart those four years. I did not treasure what I should have.

I left college and went to teach overseas for what ended up being a year. I was crushed in many ways, which I needed. I needed to see the world differently than when I was handed that college diploma. I needed to be reminded of who God was and who I was to Him. And God knows I listen best in crushing times. But I came home from that time overseas with wide eyes and dreams. I wanted to write (even now the race of my fingertips across the clicking keys trying to keep up with my thoughts is so satisfying); I wanted to write a book that would change life for the teenage girls in the self-focused American church. I wanted to reach out to women hurt by Christian institutions like I have been (and, spoiler – would continue to be – No, I’m definitely NOT talking about my current position; I’ve never been in such a healthy, Christian workplace. I’m talking about my history, and my parents, and places that continue to hurt those who are loyal. But that’s beside the point.) I wanted to be a voice for the voiceless (though I don’t think I would have known enough to be able to use that terminology at that point) – or maybe I simply wanted a voice myself. I wanted to start a women’s ministry that wasn’t all pink and crafty and Proverbs 31-y. I wanted to be BIG, like speaking-to-stadiums-of-women big. Really. I wanted that.

So I wrote the book (still unpublished, which might be a good thing. I haven’t read it in 10 years and who knows what’s in it.) And I dreamed. And I started working with the youth group at my church. And then I went to seminary, all the while sitting on Facebook. And walking into bookstores.

And began to hear the legion of other voices screaming into the digital void, demanding to be heard, demanding to be recognized, demanding to be unaccountable for the fallout of their words, demanding to be right, demanding to be BIG. And years of that can stifle a woman – or at least this woman. Or at least change her dreams – my dreams.

I realize this is a bit…ironic? (I never use that word correctly) since I’m writing this in a public blog – my first in what? Five and a half years? But more voices yelling into the digital void doesn’t feel like what this world needs. More people telling women how to be women or how to be healthy women doesn’t feel like what my little world needs. Another voice telling the Christian Machine that it’s wrong, and hurting others, obviously isn’t what this world needs. Another voice putting words in God’s mouth doesn’t feel like what those around me need. And so I’ve been silent, and probably will continue to do so except for when my brain won’t shut off at 1:30 am after nursing my youngest back to sleep.

It’s been an interesting journey – this life. And I have no idea what’s ahead, obviously. And I am a very different woman than when I started this blog an eternity ago. But, I guess I wanted to yell into the void* that I’m here, silent, listening for those that need to talk. And I’ll do my best not to interrupt, or tell you a story about how I can relate to your suffering, or tell you what I think you should do (oh how I love to tell people that one!).

I’m just here. Trying to live out the life God has given me, as faithfully as I can. Trying to learn from my mistakes, and move on. Trying to listen better. Trying to be a better friend, a better wife, better mother, daughter, sister.

I’m just here.

*(yes, I realize I’m stealing that line from “You’ve Got Mail”, and I’m realizing it’s been years since I’ve watched that movie)

Love never failing, however is different than love “winning.” Indeed, I do not think love – real, actual love and not something else masquerading as love – can “win”. Love, at its very nature is uncompetitive, and wants what is best for the other person.

Love invites. It creates an atmosphere where the one loved can, if they so choose, have the freedom to figure out and express who it is exactly that God originally intended them to be. But it is the choice of the loved one to enter into that space; it is not up to the lover whether or not the loved one enters. This is what is scary about love – developing and opening up that space for another without the guarantee that the loved one will enter, or respond the way the lover expects or hopes.

Saying love “wins” is like saying ice cream makes an excellent public speaker – the two don’t even go together and are nonsensical when put together.

Love cannot “win”. Love, real love, however, never fails. It is always there, creating that inviting space, no matter what.

This means love looks different in every relationship. For a loving mother, loving her son means giving him the space and opportunities to figure out his strengths, passions, and desires without her forcing him to become the man she envisioned. For a friend, it means listening and go on adventures, helping that loved friend process who God created them to be. Sometimes it means telling a friend or a sibling or a teenage child that the way they are living is not helpful for becoming the person they were created to be. Love can be hard. Loving often is, actually. But, it has to be to be life-giving, life-calling.

And real love, no matter what, is always willing to create space for the loved one. A space where the love one – and hopefully the lover too – can continue in the process of becoming all that God created them to be. A space where there is room to heal from a deep wound, a space where laughter and tears and joy and adventure are welcomed. A space where risks are invited.

A space such as that will never fail a person. It will change the loved and the lover, but it will never fail.

I was underlining verses in Bibles today, getting them ready to hand out to my youth group high schoolers, and as I underlined 1 Corinthians 13:4-8, the line, “love never fails” jumped out at me.
Sure, I’ve read that verse I don’t know how many times over the lifetime of being a believer, but somehow, before, it was always just words. Never a promise. Never a “this is how it should and can be.” Maybe because I’ve been thinking recently about love and relationships and how much God likes to heal them or maybe it was just something I needed to focus on, but “love never fails” hit me hard today.
I mean, if that is true, if we really believed and acted on that, if we didn’t give up on relationships when they were hard and painful knowing that, in the long run, we would pass through this hard time, than divorce wouldn’t ever really need to be a thing, would it? If love never fails, than all parents are forgiven for just being human and messing up. All kids are forgiven for being frustrated with parents. All workers work to forgive grumpy or unreasonable bosses.
If love never fails, than love, true love, changes the world. Unreasonable bosses are, over time and with a lot of prayer, tears and patience from their workers, changed. Children begin to understand that their parents are just broken adults. Adults release their children to be whoever God created them to be, and not the person the parent thinks they should be. Parents see their kids as imperfect humans too. They understand – a bit more – each other, and forgiveness happens.

If love really never fails, the world is changed. Not quickly, not easily, but through following the example of the One who loved best. Through blood, sweat, tears and lying down of personal rights. Through meeting people where they are, and not where we think they should be. Through prayer, so much prayer and faith that God hasn’t given up on them yet (Phil 1:6).

Love never fails, guys! Isn’t that so incredibly encouraging!!!!!

I have been overwhelmed recently – by words. Words to be written, words to be said, words spoken around me to be ignored, words spoken to me that must be remembered, words to be pondered, words to wound and words to heal. There is so much clatter and clamor that I have not been able to put down my own words. I have not been able to process. I am in desperate need of silence. Of Harry Potter’s Pensieve, or memory thing that holds your memories for you. I cannot form sentences to write papers, or blogs, or journal entries.

I need stillness. I need silence. I need it around me, but mostly I need it in me.

There have been so many words this semester, talking about God, about who I think (or should think) how He works. And the more I learn, the more arrogant about my knowledge I become, the louder the clamor of knowledge and words becomes, the less I hear.

This is something I need to work on – being still.

I don’t know what this has to do with Easter. Probably not much, except that because of what Jesus did for me on this day we celebrate, I have the gift of being still at times and simply basking in His presence. This is a gift I need to participate more often than I do.

There are days when I’m like,”God, what do you have for me today?”

And there’s silence.

And yet, today anyway, there’s also a deep, gentle peace. Peace like a momma holding her two-year old sleeping baby girl.  Peace like a man holding his woman’s hand and just watching the sunset.  Peace like  quiet.  Peace like flowers silently unfurling.  Peace like a hug, or cookies and milk, or a beloved stuffed animal (or, in my case, pillow) snuggled tight.

Peace.

Be still. Breathe it in.  Hold it close.  Rest.

God is good, all the time.