Still W(rest)ling

It was just today that I noticed that the word wrestling has the word “rest” in it. That is significant to me, perhaps because I’ve been getting an average of 4 – 6 hours of sleep per night and am feeling tired all the time. It is not that I can’t get to sleep or can’t stay asleep . . . I’m choosing to stay awake until ungodly hours because this journey of mine has me unhinged.

Like a swinging door tossed back and forth by massive gusts of wind.

I’ve been talking to God a lot via story and imagination lately. Near the start of my counseling journey, I started writing a story loosely based on the concept of the movie Inside Out, in which I interact with personified different parts of myself (anxiety, hope, anger, etc.) I’ve been asking the Holy Spirit to speak to me there. Though I realize it can’t come close to authoritative Biblical truth, I believe He is revealing wisdom to me in these messed-up pages that I bring to my counseling sessions unceremoniously wrinkled and folded and crammed in my purse.

Today I read a part of the story to her that I’d written over the weekend. If you’ve been following my blog or know me very well, you will know that I have often referenced where I’m at these past several months as wrestling God “at a crossroads” (sarcasm alert: Don’t you love the nebulous, noncommittal nature of that statement?).

Well, in this chapter, I meet with God in a garden that . . .

No matter the season, every flower was on the cusp of blooming. In my entire twenty-four years, not one flower had opened up its petals to display its full beauty. Not one flower had wilted and died, either. It was a premature beauty, this garden—full of a lingering, just-out-of-reach promise, like so many of the places I traveled and lived. It was an infuriating and comforting place all at once, and I would come here when I didn’t know where else to go.

When God comes to meet me at the garden, the flowers blossom at His touch. And at the end of our conversation, I am stunned at how He has also given me the power to reveal beauty–to release the flowers and trees into full bloom.

Spoiler alert: at the end, I find out that the garden is actually the crossroads.

What does all this mean?

It means I get to talk with you in more nebulous metaphors.

Actually, it simply means that I can rest.

I have mistakenly made the crossroads where I must make my monumental decision seem immediate and inescapable and impossible.

In truth, the crossroads was never meant to be just a place of wrestling. It is also meant to be a place of faith, of growth, of beauty in the confusion and indecision.

So here I am, resting in the wrestling. I’m getting a chance to drink some Gatorade and stretch and take a nap and talk with my competition. There is no need to rush to move past the wrestling match. There is no need to panic at my vacillating feelings. God will not be surprised at what path I choose, and if a wrong choice is made, that does not reflect upon my identity. As God’s child, nothing can take me out of His hand, not even myself.

 

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