I close my eyes. Water surges up to the doorstep. Wind howls outside, trees are ripped up from the ground. Branches beat brutally on the weak frame. The waves outside push against the window, glass shatters. I run up to it and press my bare hands over the broken glass. Stay put, please stay put, don’t break, don’t break. I plead with the forces of nature. Too late. I blink and water is flooding in, rising past my ankles, knees, waist. I blink. My family is floating all around me, rushing past, pulled by the uncontrollable water. Stop! I scream and scream for the water to stop. I blink. I’m crashing into the walls myself. The water carries me onto the freeway, lorries and cars race past me, skidding on the massive puddles. They all collide, cars topple, bodies fall out, people scream and cry and beg. I’m swept away, unable to help anyone, unable to even help myself. I open my eyes. The living room is in one piece. My husband is reading in a chair. Rain falls ever so gently on our windows, drops racing one another down the glass. No flood. No crash. No need to be afraid.
“We do not want you to be uninformed, brothers, about the hardships we suffered in the province of Asia. We were under great pressure, far beyond our ability to endure, so that we despaired even of life. Indeed, in our hearts we felt the sentence of death. But this happened that we might not rely on ourselves but on God, who raises the dead. He has delivered us from such a deadly peril, and he will deliver us. On him we set our hope that he will continue to deliver us.” – 2 Cor 1:8-10 (NIV)
At times anxiety can be crippling. It often creeps into my life just like the above story, I’m unassumingly going about my day and suddenly scenarios beyond my control (and at times beyond possibility) grip my mind. As a child, a vivid imagination was my best friend – now it’s a haunting picture book of horror. Slowly, with God’s immeasurable grace, I’m learning how to come to terms with anxiety – but when you prefer to be in control any thought or situation that boots you out of the drivers’ seat is unwelcome.
Recently, we’ve been through a long, difficult, exhausting season of uncontrollable circumstances. My husband, Jeremiah, was accepted into a graduate program for Edinburgh University in January last year. We were preparing ourselves for one year in Scotland. I have a sister and brother-in-law in the same city and was looking forward to spending some time near my family. Come early May, Jeremiah, received an offer for a four-year program in Cambridge. After some consideration he chose to take the offer from Cambridge. We were then preparing ourselves to move to a city to which neither of us had been and in which we knew no one. To say I was disappointed about the change is an understatement. My home town is only an hour and a half from Edinburgh – I was relishing the dream of being so close. I would be able to train up for a weekend to run familiar trails, have dinner with family friends, and be surrounded by a recognizable place. It would be vastly different from the past four years of making the unknown city of Jackson, TN into a home filled with friends. I was gutted at the thought of moving to England instead but what was there to say? No loving wife is going to tell her husband to turn down a PhD from Cambridge University?
We rallied after the change of plans were set. We spent several weeks having friends over, sharing last meals and final glasses of wine. Boxes were bought and filled, then unpacked and repacked, time and time again. Jeremiah spent hours working on his visa, only to find out we had the wrong paper work several times. There was no way to expedite the process – visas are objectively sticky. I worked on switching my U.S. nursing license for a U.K. one but soon found that it was nearly impossible to work, pack, say good-bye and plan for nursing exams. We moved all our belongings from Jackson, TN to Laurel, MS in a last-minute UHAUL. Jeremiah’s younger brothers helped arrange everything we own into a neat corner in his parents’ basement. We waited for the visa. Grandparents were visited, aunts and uncles were seen, siblings, nieces, nephews, cousins – all hugged goodbye. We waited for the visa. My father took Jeremiah to a consulate in Houston for a meeting. They returned just hours before Hurricane Harvey hit. We were in my grandmother’s Huntsville home – no electricity, no open roads, and no visa. We waited.
In that suburban home, nestled next to a golf course, I was struck with the reality of how little control either of us had. We could not even turn on the lights, much less produce a visa for Jeremiah, money for tickets, or a job for me. While I wanted to hold every task in my hand, line them up in neat little rows and knock each one down as we completed it – I could not. Not only was it nigh impossible to complete our tasks, at that moment I did not know the extent of our to-do list.
I did not know that when we finally arrived in Cambridge, after receiving the visa on a Thursday, flying on Sunday, quick good byes to siblings, and a long drive from Scotland, it would be lonelier than any other experience. I could not have prepared my heart, with all the task lists or post-its in the world for the sense of total loss, confusion, and despair that were to come.
Pridefully, wrongfully, I had believed being an MK would have prepared me for another move. I thought I would excel at transition by now, my adaptation would be stellar and I would be able to comfort Jeremiah in all his inexperienced despondency. I was incredibly wrong. Rather than enforcing my ability to accept change, this move illuminated all the changes I have not embraced. Through it Angola resurfaced, the move to the Middle East, each good-bye from boarding school, each good bye from university, each manipulation, however slight, to my life over the past 23 years was brought to the surface with overwhelming force. England is lovely. A bit dark but charming nonetheless. I have no reason to fear this change other than the fact I haven’t dealt with the previous ones. Why?
I want to be in control.
I want to be the one calling the shots, cueing the lights, writing the lines. I want to be the one in the know – and I’m not.
And what a relief it has been, after sleepless nights and anxious days, to finally realize this truth. I am not in control – but I believe in the One who is. I am not privy to tomorrow’s realities – but I pray each morning to the One who’s mercies are new, the One who holds my path, the One who has ordained my days. So often we find ourselves trying to over prepare our earthly lives for the next great change instead of preparing our hearts to serve Him fully. I could wear a bullet proof vest, carry two hand guns, own a garage of dry goods, and wear a N95 mask and still I would not govern my next breath.
He does. He always has and He always will. The moment I stumbled on that blessed reality the clearer my life became. Once I can let go of my pride, I can enter more fully into His grace. Once I can relinquish my selfish desire to be in control I can enter more fully into His sovereignty – what a blessed, lovely thought.
C.S. Lewis writes in The Weight of Glory “The present is the only time in which any duty can be done or any grace received.” On reading those words I palpably felt my heart ease, my very spirit relaxed. Far too often I spend my days thinking how I will accomplish something – whether it is motherhood, a career, continuing education – whatever it may be, when I should spend my time praising the Lord for the trials He has already brought me through. So much of my day is spent begging for grace for tomorrow instead of looking at today and seeing that He has already provided for me, why would I doubt His provision for tomorrow?
As we find in 2 Corinthians 1:8-10 times of uncertainty or troubles, are brought upon us so that we may rely fully on the Lord’s provision – nothing else (Paul was speaking of troubles much greater than moving to England). In these months of change I have had everything I relied on stripped away. I no longer have a steady job, my friends are in a different country, the pastor who married us is in Tennessee, and though this is trivial, I really miss having my own car. These cornerstones of my life in Jackson have been removed, leaving me with my husband and my faith. The past few months have pushed me to the brink of loneliness and anxiety – requiring me to seek solace in Christ with a fervor I never had before. It has been wondrously frightening to feel my faith in the Lord strengthen with each day I spend in His word. I shudder to think what would have become of me if I had carried on as before – never allowing the Lord to shake me, move me, deliberately force me into His Presence so He could work on the very intricacies of my heart. He has been gracious to me and allowed me an opportunity to develop faith I did not know I lacked. I can only imagine the amount of growth in store for the years to come.
And you? You also could carry all the guns in the world and never be safe from violence – or death. You also could take all the vaccines (or take none!), follow all the right diets, always wash your hands and still you will not be free from your broken, fallen body on this earth. Only death, the death which leads to life, will draw us into a perfect eternity. Until then, we can only live our lives day by day – in faith that He who is the God of Jacob is also the Lord of our lives now. And isn’t it much better to live resting in His hands than fearfully fighting with our own?