Day 1. I have chosen to live intentionally toward the goals, dreams and desires God has placed on my heart for the last 90 days of this year, pressing past fear, excuses and discomfort toward fullness of life as we countdown to 2020. Day 1: intentional living
As I stood in the confetti and debris of the first 9 months of 2019, I struggled to make sense of its polarity. My body, mind and soul ached from cognitive whiplash. Life was filled with both beauty and devastation in their extremes. I was profoundly aware of one thing: I had stopped feeling as a way of coping.
It was practical. It allowed me to be a workhorse—something I am very gifted at in healthy and unhealthy ways. It allowed me to keep moving when stopping meant I would have to acknowledge my grief, powerlessness and empowerment. But sadly, it also prevented me from being totally present to God, others and myself. (I say this without condemnation or shame, as we truly do the best we can in any given moment. It had simply become clear that I was no longer doing my best, I was really avoiding life and ducking for fear more debris would come flying through the air.) So after listening and prayer, I chose to “wake up” and be present—to live each of the final 90 days of 2019 on purpose.
My goals were my own: write more, be present to my body and soul, be present to children and husband, and feel my feelings all the way through. Outside of these goals, I committed to keeping my hands open to what God would place before me—to listen and respond, being present to God.
When this started, I wasn’t sure why I felt such a strong invitation to write. What did I even have to say? “I am pissed with God right now, and I don’t freaking get any of this!” The truth is, 90 days ago, that is where it began and ended for me: anger and confusion. Words on the screen were often typed on a tear-soaked keyboard at 3am when slowing and reflection allowed my true self to emerge and guttural groans and tears carried my prayers. I began to slow, awaken to the present, to God, others and myself, and reflect on my day, week or month in ways my soul desperately needed. Through imperfect grammar, misspellings, punctuations areas and intentional fragments, the devastation didn’t always make sense, but I began to awaken to what I felt about it. Sometimes I found deep sadness and confusion, sometimes anger or grief and at times, even hope. I began to find God in the mess.
As writing helped me awaken to my feelings, I began to get out of my head where I lived trying to make sense of the confetti and debris, the joy, and moreover, the injustice and loss. I lived in a constant flurry of thoughts trying to fix things and make everything “okay” in a season where things would never be “okay” as I had envisioned. Writing became a sacred practice, through which God helped me to embrace reality. Accept what was/is, and let go of that which was out of my control.
Awakening to my emotions and surrendering all that which I was working so hard to control and fix, opened my hands truly be present to my children and my husband. I began to hear their words…fully. We began to laugh together, grieve together, dream together, pick through the confetti and the debris together. In surrendering and feeling, I began to regain my capacity to be present to those who matter most in my life and grab hold of the power I do have to love them imperfectly, but well, each day.
We often forget about the physical aspects of joy and devastation. They are two extremes which evoke an embodied response. We jump for joy, and we are overwhelmed by grief. We feel them in our bones. They require energy. They take all our attention, and they demand rest and recovery. So, I cancelled meetings, stayed in, went out when I needed company, listened and responded to what would bring me life. In returning and rest, I indeed found peace and energy for another day.
I am still sorting through the confetti and the debris of 2019, and 2020 will certainly come with its own. Many nights, my keyboard or pillow are still soaked at 3am. That is a part of this season, but 90 days later through the joys and devastation, confetti and debris, I am more aware of my limitations and God’s limitlessness. My hands are more open to receive love and give love through surrendering that which is out of my control, and I am more present to my husband and my children. Importantly, I feel less alone, as I now see God with me more often than not in my anger, grief and confusion. Amidst all the confetti, joy, loss and debris, I am finding there is really a lot of love and life being given to me. I end these 90 days with gratitude for the journey, and once again I’m finding the God who seemed so far away is still right here with me.
May your eyes be opened to see the God who is with you in the confetti and debris, in the joy and loss, who is big enough for your anger and questions, is ever-present to you in 2020. Peace, love and care for your New Year.
