It’s a Jenga block being slid out of the tower of your life in slow motion—anything new. One move could cause life to come crashing down, again, or it could leave an even more remarkable, miraculous structure. And all the strategizing in the world can’t guarantee the outcome.
When you have fought hard for healing and wholeness, anything that feels like it could threaten your resurrected and rebirthed life scrambles your brain; a feeling too painfully familiar.
For years now, you’ve unscrambled yourself. You’ve learned and chosen and trusted and forgiven. You’ve gone from a constantly precarious tower to a dependable structure. The Holy Spirit dwells in this tower. She is present in me and is as close as one quiet moment with my breath. My “gut” has a hard-earned wisdom. I am healthy and don’t have to lean so hard on others anymore. My voice is trustworthy.
But this week I can feel my body keeping the score. When something isn’t within my full control fear hits hard and fast, because I used to be out of control and it was scary. My whole being isn’t sure about this next move because when I used to move pieces around I was constantly collapsing, hurting myself and others. This still tower has healed me and I want to protect it, sometimes it feels like at all costs.
And yet life is fluid. Wholeness is a recurring invitation—a tower always asking to be built a little higher, asking you to move one more piece. My body, mind and heart are made for highs and lows. This is the reality of the human experience, and I don’t want to be so afraid of a past self that I miss freedom now. The freedom to lean into the moving pieces. The freedom to not be constantly holding my breath, waiting for the tumble.
The line between wisdom and fear is thin. I feel myself wobbling on the tightrope. A friend contrasted core values with core fears last night. We talked about how, when we lean into our fears, we lean away from what we value. And if healing has taught me anything, it is what I value and how much I want to live squarely in the middle of those values. If health is my value, losing control of that health is my fear. And of course, the absurdity in it all is that if I let this fear of losing control run my life, it will break my wholeness in the end.
What would it look like to let myself hold the joy of playing the game, of pulling the pieces and watching the tower with expectancy and not fear? What could I fully feel if I acknowledged that these moving pieces may go awry but maybe that doesn’t mean the whole thing comes down? And what if I remembered that even if the whole thing comes down again, I would be OK?
This week I am going to try and move the pieces with hope, to let myself imagine what a new tower might look like. When the idea of moving a piece feels good, I am going to remember that my voice is trustworthy. When my mind starts spinning with “what ifs,” I am going to try and return to what I know.
I am healthy. God is here. She is trustworthy.
Oh Holly-I wish we were next door neighbors! You and I speak the same language. Thanks for sharing your thoughts and your life.