Start of this series—> Flying Lessons
Captain’s Blog – Earthdate 12-03-2018
[A crash course – not even now.]
“…More of you Lord, less of me
The more I learn, the more I seek
The more I find, that I thirst for the truth
To know and to keep, to honor and do
Your will is my hearts call
Your love my hearts cry
With these wings that You’ve given
Lord teach me to fly!
So I’ll soar like You’ve given tomorrow new life!
Like the old is now new
Like there’s Hope in the strife!
Lord even when these wings are tattered
From the storms that have battered
And the winds that have blown
I pray even then I’ll hold to the truth
For I know that you’ve said
That you won’t let me go.”
September 5, 2009
When I originally wrote this poem, little did I know that I’d be quoting myself, but because I was feeling so warn, those tattered wings were on my mind once again. I apparently needed this reminder, and so I rifled through each page of poetry ’till I found “Even when These Wings are Tattered.” I didn’t know that it would bring me comfort, but it did. It certainly didn’t occur to me that I’d be reliving this feeling again, but once again I found myself feeling like I had come in for a crash landing, and I needed that reminder of hope.
I haven’t been doing great. Life got rough. For the most part things became a struggle because my health took a turn for the worst. Suddenly everything was making me feel anxious, and my nerves got bad. It discouraged me. I’d been waiting on God, and I was dreaming big. I felt like I’d been side swiped. I didn’t recognize what was happening at first. I thought things were just getting a little stressful and challenging.
Well, things indeed were getting stressful and challenging, but it wasn’t really what was going on around me, so much as what was going on inside of me again. Hashimoto’s Disease threw me for a loop. New medication was going well–that is, until it wasn’t going so well anymore. Now, I really don’t know what’s next. I’m decreasing my medication and waiting–hoping and praying to feel like myself again soon, (or even better than the norm might be nice too).
Last week Andrew and I decided we could no longer manage our business anymore. (Both my husband and I have autoimmune diseases.) We’ve been holding on to it for as long as we could. (I was probably the one holding onto it the tightest.) Slowly but surely though it’s become a struggle to keep up with, and slowly but surely we’ve been producing far less.
Andrew’s health had also taken a turn for the worst, and getting out of the house became even more of a challenge for both of us. The last three months we haven’t been able to produce a thing. Any progress we started to make kept getting interrupted and stalled, and putting off our very patient customer was getting to be stressful in and of itself. So we finally conceded that holding onto our business just wasn’t working anymore.
Part of me was almost relieved (almost), but the following day reality set in, and the shock of letting it go hit me like a ton of bricks. I kind of panicked, and then I became depressed and headed under covers. Suddenly I felt like everything was up in the air. How is this good!? God’s good–I believe that, but how is this going to be good!? Suddenly I felt like I had absolutely no control over anything. (Surprise, I never truly had that control, so why is now any different, right?) Letting go, and letting God can be difficult. It’s why we held on so long and tried to keep our business going. It’s the control–or rather the feeling of some sort of control–that keeps us tied to the things we need to let go of.
Friday I didn’t handle the day well. I crawled back into bed, only coming up for a brief moment of air to make something to eat. Our two kitties snuggled up next to me in bed, and kept me company as I tried to sleep off my grey mood. Andrew checked in on me from time to time as well, to tell a tale–or two–about this and that. When I finally was ready to voice my feelings, he listened and spoke to my insecurities. (They didn’t initially listen. They stubbornly wanted to hold onto the truth as they saw things).
The last time we were faced with this sort of scenario (and any other time we’ve been faced with this sort of scenario) I panicked too. Panicking is apparently something I’m quite good at executing. I execute it with precision, and wouldn’t you know it, fear leaps out at me like an old familiar friend. Not a good friend. The kind of friend you don’t really know why you keep around, and you’d like to throttle. Of course I don’t have any true friends like that, but metaphorically, fear is a lot like that– you hold onto it for far too long like it’s your only friend–sure that you are far safer with the old and familiar.
Though those old and familiar feelings aren’t so welcome here, but suddenly my comfort zone was being upset. It’s easy to trust God when you’re comfortable, not so much when the “unknown” is glaring you straight in the eye again. Not so much when you suddenly feel like you’re free falling.
The thing is, I know me, and I know this panic is nearly always how I respond to change. (With far too much fear and trepidation.) Especially major changes, even if they are–or will–pan out to be good changes. It’s a knee jerk reaction that I really don’t like, but thankfully I’m already getting over the initial shock of things, and loosening my grip on that fear. Instead, I’m feeling like an insecure spaz for assuming that this is anything that God couldn’t handle.
Today (Monday) has been a gorgeous warm sunny day, and thankfully I felt well enough to take a walk around our neighborhood. I saw “my eagle!” (That will need some future splainin.’ I’m borrowing a “flight” buddie’s “splainin’” because it’s the simple things that make me smile.) I thanked God for the sunshine, as well as “my eagle.” I felt energized again, and hopeful. Nearing the end of my walk I sighted three more eagles soaring the skies so free and energized. My heavenly Father never fails to remind me that I’m not alone, and I’m so thankful for the company.
Oh, and Andrew–he’s happy. (lol) He apparently handles change a whole lot differently than I do. I guess we have different insecurities. He wasn’t happy to see me go under covers, but he’s seen it before. He knows I bounce back, because I know my God, and in the end I always remember what I remembered when I originally wrote that poem, that God won’t let me go–not even now.
So why should I let fear steal my joy?
Not when I know the Answer.
“And my God will meet all your needs according to the riches of his glory in Christ Jesus.” –Phillipians 4:19