The other day I received a text from a friend:
“Hey how’s your day going? Interested in being an editor today? If you have time, I would love any advice you would give me on this short piece I wrote…”
How’s my day going? My day is going horribly. Virtual learning is not working today; the news is driving me bonkers; and I can’t get a thing done! I started to type all my woes, but then… backspace… backspace… backspace….
“I’d be happy to.”
I clicked on the link she sent me, choosing to help, rather than wallow. The blog post was all about the space she had created in her home to allow the creative process to take place. At the top was this photograph of a picture-perfect space with the most beautiful mural as the backdrop. She painted it herself, of course! I knew that as I read, all three of her children were at school and she was sitting there, in that beautiful space, coming up with these beautiful words.
It was then that I looked around at my space.
A year ago, I had done the same thing. When our boys decided they wanted their own rooms, we moved one into the old guestroom and made our third-floor playroom into what would secondarily be our guest room, but on most days would act as my office; my studio; my sacred space. While I did not have the artistic ability to paint any beautiful murals, I had painted the purple walls a shade of blue that made me immensely happy. I had removed almost everything and started fresh, creating a space just for me.
Writing started happening in that place. Retreat planning commenced. I had a huge chalkboard that would be my prayer board. I even created magnets with the names of hundreds of special women in my life and put them on that board. The board books that lined my bookshelf had been replaced with all of the books that had shaped my spiritual life over the decades. Scripture was everywhere. Trinkets lined shelves that stirred up different spiritual movements and practices within me.
And this space was even more than that. It was a place of dreams. Throughout folder after folder on my computer were visions of how this very space could become a place of retreat. I had stations plotted out in my mind—for prayer, for meditation on God’s Word, for soul-searching and even for napping because I firmly believe that rest is a deeply important spiritual practice. I envisioned women leaving their chaotic lives and entering into this place of peace to soak in the love and Presence of Jesus.
As I finished reading my friends post, I lifted my head and looked around the room about which I had dreamed so many dreams.
In front of the laminated prayer practices in the basket hanging next to my desk were my hand-written notes: “First Grade Standards.” Next to my computer, my Bible was buried under “Notes about Virtual Learning” and spelling words to work on. On those bookshelves sat a Ziplock bag filled with the magnetic names of those women I love. And on my computer screen was a blog post not even half-done that I was totally stuck on because of all the unexpected and uninvited distractions of homeschooling.
Many things sprung up in my spirit: envy, bitterness, anger, sadness, resentment…. I recalled how I thought the fall of 2019 was leading me into a new season—a season where all of my children would be at school and I would be free to write, to work, to dream. And here I was a year later with two out of those three children in this very room with me, while the other worked downstairs. And in that moment, it all felt cruel. It all felt wrong.
As I looked at my friend’s words, at her current experience it looked like everything I wanted. It looked like flowers and fruits and flourishing and harvest. As I looked at my life, it felt like the opposite. It felt barren and cold with no signs of life. And in that moment, I realized I had two decisions to make. The first decision was this:
Will I be happy for my friend because she is in the season of fertile soil and growth? Or will I hold onto my anger about being in my own cold winter?
I recently listened to an episode of the “For the Love” podcast in which Jen Hatmaker talked about a similar moment. A short while after meeting with an aspiring writer in which Jen talked about how hard the publishing process could be, she got a phone call from a mutual friend telling her how this woman had just received a book deal, on her first book, that was bigger than Jen, accomplished writer that she was, could even comprehend.
She shared how taken aback she was by her own bitterness and anger in that moment. Instead of being happy for this woman, she was jealous and resentful. She said in that moment of coming face-to-face with her shadow side, she made a decision: from that point on, she would choose to celebrate wildly the successes of the people, and especially the women in her life.
So, as I felt those gross feelings inside me, as I came face-to-face with my own shadow side, I made a decision to celebrate. I made a decision to not let resentment and jealousy have the last word. And as I sat in that decision, that was contrary to every feeling, I recognized that I could celebrate genuinely and with great hope, because our God is a God of abundance, not scarcity. There is no cap on fruit. This friend’s harvest would in no way affect the things growing in my own fields. And more than that, I knew that her words were words that would feed the souls of so many people, many of whom may never come near my fields.
As God revealed these things to me, a reluctant applause turned into a genuine, true, deep celebration in my soul. When I was able to see beyond myself, I was able to see the bigger, far more beautiful, far more colorful picture of the abundant blessings God wants to pour out on all people. And I had a true vision of how much more complete the kingdom becomes when we link arms and when we step back so others can rise.
But God was not done with me there. There was a second decision that I needed to make:
Will I continue to wallow in this season? Or will I receive it as a gift?
As I looked around that room, with these new eyes, I started to see things in that space that my cold heart had prevented me from seeing. As I thought about the things written in the journal on my desk and the things I have written and shared on this very screen, I realized that this season has not been as desolate as I am tempted to believe it has been. While the sense of lack may be most overtly tangible to me in this moment, I know that God is still at work. He is still speaking to me. I think He is still using me. I know He is still refining me.
I am just in a season where God is working beneath the soil.
Do you remember the pea plants we all planted at school as kids? You know: put a bean in some dirt in one of those little dixie cups? Every day you would walk over to the window and look for the cup with your name on it. Day after day you would approach expecting to see a big plant with pea pods hanging off of it. But what you found more often than not was a cup full of nothing but dirt. Maybe the plant next to yours had sprouted and you felt that same kind of jealousy and despair I felt in my “woe is me” writing moment. What was the point? Was anything even happening?
Of course, it never felt like anything was growing. After all, it looked exactly the same on the outside as the day you jammed that bean down with your chubby little kid thumb. And sometimes it was true. You kept forgetting to water it or maybe you just got a dud of a starter. But usually things were actually happening that would blow your little six-year-old mind. What was growing could not be seen from above the soil, but the future health and vibrancy of that plant were utterly dependent upon the roots that were developing beneath the surface.
If I am honest, before the events of the last 7 months, I thought my roots were quite solid. I thought they were quite strong. But this has been a time of stripping, a time of exposure. I feel like someone dumped out the contents of that little pea plant and exposed the withered and weak roots of a plant that would not sprout. I think in this time I have been replanted—better soil, more water, a fresh start. Stuff is happening—important stuff. It’s just happening beneath the surface.
But, as I looked around again my eyes fell on something that helped me realize something else:
I am also in a season where God is growing different things.
You see, when my office was transformed into the homeschool room, some things (like those prayer magnets) were put away; but most things remained. Most things were transformed to serve a different purpose for a different time. And this time, instead of seeing this solely as a loss, I was able to see it as a gain. The prayer shawl I intended for those personal retreats, I now wore at I wrote to clothe myself in prayer and to tune out the infinite distractions. Layers of blankets now covered the new chair I bought for meditation and prayer, as it had become my daughter’s “cozy chair” for reading.
But the biggest epiphany came as I looked at that big chalkboard I told you about. On the top are written the words: “may they be Freed to Soar.” What used to come under those words were the names of women I was praying for—for freedom, for purpose. In their place are now calendars and schedules of my three beautiful children. I put them there simply because I needed to put them somewhere and space was limited. I actually had no idea the significance of this placement until this moment of asking God what He was up to.
And there it was. I was still fulfilling my purpose. I was still opening myself to be an agent of God’s freedom, an instrument of unveiling and pursuing purpose. I haven’t forgotten about my calling; and neither has the Lord. My audience is just a little different in this season. In this season, God is calling me first and foremost to the three people in this world who need me most; who need to know that they are safe, that they are capable, and that there is great reason to have hope for the future.
There will be a season that comes when those three precious gifts are all back in their classrooms. There will be a season that comes when the writing will flow again, when retreats can be planned again, when this room will once again belong to me and to these women I have dreamed it into existence for. But for today, I will focus on the different plants, the beautiful plants He has given me to tend in this season.
I don’t think many are in the seasons we would have naturally chosen for ourselves in this moment in time. Just as we don’t control the physical seasons we live in; so, we don’t control our spiritual seasons. All we can do is live into them well. So that is my prayer for you today: that you would know your season, that you would receive your season, and that God would bless you exactly where He has and where wants you. Be well, my friends. Be free.