surrender

I love coming off of the craze of the holiday season into the month of January. Back in the beginning of December, I loved putting out all of my Christmas decorations. But come January, I am so ready to put them away. They have become clutter, and I am in a new mindset to welcome clean spaces, empty tabletops, and a renewed sense of order.

December lacked routine.
January is predictable.
December revolved around us, and ourselves, and our holiday do list.
January can be less selfish.
December's schedule was packed full of parties and extra school duties and shopping for that last minute something or other.
January's schedule is crisp and clean and open.
December was the end of a year, and we crammed it full of whatever energy we had in us.
January is the beginning of a year and we start fresh.

December is that month when everything is so fun and so full that I lose track of where I am going and can't hang onto my priorities because they are trumped by the fun and the fullness. January is that month when I can re-calibrate my compass, find due north, and set myself on a path once more headed in the right direction. It takes the chaos of December to create desire for the peace and focus of January.

We came out of our December and left almost immediately for family vacation in Kauai. Of course it was a fabulous way to spend time with each other, at the beach, in the pool, sunrise to sunset, all the time together...
... all the time together, but no time to stop and process as I so desperately need in a January. Being together is a wonderful priority and privilege, but there is a lot of noise and chaos involved. Being together as a family often rules out thinking clearly.

Until this one glorious day when my husband released me to nature. My parents and a dear friend and I hiked 4 miles of the Kalalau Trail along the edge of the rugged cliffs of the Napali Coast to a remote beach. The trail begins where the island roads end. The only way to see this particular backdrop of turquoise water, green foliage, and deep red mud is by foot or by boat.

It felt like such a luxury to me to hike being responsible for only myself. I carried my own sandwich, bottle of water, and camera. That was IT! No snacks for days that no one will eat, or diapers, or wipes, or jackets in case of cold, or sunscreen or crayons and other forms of entertainment they usually don't end up using. I sure love my kids, but it felt right to soak up the blessing of being without them for a few hours.

My friend and I talked every step of the 3 hour hike, sharing our individual struggles, and what God has been doing in us over the last season, and what God is forming anew in our hearts. Every turn in the conversation was covered in truth and depth. I felt only mildly sorry for the strangers on the trail stuck in front of us while we possibly shared a little too loudly about our deepest passions. Only a little sorry for them. The rest of me hopes those individuals went home to find out more about this God who has changed our lives so dramatically.

The whole experience cleared a space in my head. Some puzzle pieces clicked into place about my past while a gentle lantern cast a glow on my future. It was a turning point for me in feeling ready to move into this new year.

Specifically, I felt the whisper of the word SURRENDER over my life... surrender. It's going to be my word for this year.

Surrender my dreams to a God who dreams bigger than I do.

Surrender the stereotypes of conventional Christian living in America to a God who created the very values themselves.

Surrender the lives of my family to a God who loves them even more than I do.

Surrender my idea of safety to a God who is most certainly wonderful and dangerous at the same time.

Surrender the fears I have... of failing, of working too hard for something, of disapproval in others, of being uncomfortable... of getting to the end of my life and looking back with regret over not having lived more boldly.

Surrender with open hands to the authority of a God who understands things I can never fathom.

It is a word that comes partially out of looking back at this past year we have had. It is strange to think that only one year ago in January we were just beginning to toy with the crazy notion that we should sell our lovely farm in the country with the historic red barn and acres of land where my kids ran free. At the time, I didn't understand how attached I had grown. It was a place we had revived from dirt and dilapidation, painting every surface, redoing every floor, reviving every bathroom. We had made it our own, but somewhere along the way it began to own us.

The process of letting go was both hard and healing at the same time (see the link to read that particular story.) It didn't fully become clear until later, but letting go of that place ushered in a kind of healthy freedom. The difference between saying that our things don't define us, and then acting on the removal of some of those things. It caused a weight loss of sorts.

Now there is this tug in my heart not to stop there. It felt so good to relinquish control of something big, but I realize that was only the tip of the iceberg. There is the reality of fear, and the conventional practical living details that are in conflict with a life lived in true surrender to a God who is never confined by convention. All this clutter is in my heart and I am clinging to it tightly. He is a gracious God in that He doesn't reveal it all at once, but slowly peels back the layers. Will I say yes to opening my clenched fists? Will my husband and I, together, say yes?

And still the whisper... to surrender. What if the miracle cure is in the letting go of more things that I love?

I am not sure where this journey in surrender is going to take me, and I feel a little nervous about my ability to remain faithful to this call. There is an understanding, however, that God wants to do something big with my life. The word "big" isn't going to be defined by the world necessarily... it doesn't mean fame or success or notability. Perhaps the word "big" is going to pertain to what God wants to do in my heart, and as a waterfall effect, the hearts of those around me including my children and family.

I will leave with this quote that someone recently reminded me about from C.S. Lewis' The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. It is said about Aslan, the lion who plays the part of Jesus in the allegory. It is a reminder to let go of what is safe and follow more closely after what is good.

"Safe?" said Mr. Beaver; "...Who said anything about safe?
'Course he isn't safe. But he's good.
He's the King, I tell you."

Surrender [suh-ren-der] :
1) to yield something to the possession or power of another. 2) to give oneself up. 3) to give up, abandon, or relinquish.
(www.dictionary.com)