The Messy, Miraculous Middle

If you’ve spent a significant amount of time in the Christian church then you’ve more likely than not been told how an 11-day journey turned to 40 years, in reference to the book of Exodus, where Moses leads the people of Israel out of Egypt and into the promised land. When I have heard this text preached it is often as a warning about how disobedience and idolatry will delay your promise but may I posit another perspective? As I reflect on the painful season I am coming out of I consider the people of Israel who left not only a place but a way of living that was all they knew. While most of us would emphatically declare that we would never ask to return to slavery/bondage as the children of Israel did on multiple occasions, how often have we, in the midst of closing one door and awaiting the opening of the next, returned to what we outgrew or what hurt us because “better the devil you know than the devil you don’t.”  

For me, I’ve found that the hallway between closing one door and walking through the next is usually split into two parts. First is the messy part of the middle that may come with regret, grief, confusion, and anger. Even if you made the choice to close the proverbial door, you may start questioning your decision-making skills, your capability to choose, do, or be different, or if better is even possible.  On this side, I learned I had to be radically honest with myself about what these losses/endings had me believing about myself, others, and God. The children of Israel had seen the miracle God performed through Moses when they crossed the Red Sea but on the other side, they were experiencing freedom for the first time and learning about a God they had never seen before. You don’t unlearn trauma in 11 days. You don’t stop yearning for a routine, no matter how dehumanizing, in 11 days. You don’t believe different, more, or better is possible for you in 11 days. You don’t understand grace, freedom, peace, or unconditional love in 11 days. So, when doors close and seasons end, why do we rush through the grieving process instead of sitting with the discomfort that growth and change requires?

In our rush to appear better or reach the next goal, what have we actually learned? What has actually changed in our beliefs and actions? Can others highlight the tangible evidence of your growth? What was actually uprooted to make space for what you’re hoping to experience in your next chapter? When you can answer those questions, you enter the miraculous part of the hallway. Once you’ve been able to extract the lessons from that last chapter, you enter the part of the journey where you start integrating those lessons. When nostalgia has you yearning for the past, you’re able to honor what was without sabotaging what’s to come. Guilt nor regret keeps you stuck in “what-if” spirals. Waiting no longer feels like a punishment and you become content with and embrace this new “normal.” On this side, hope no longer feels like wasted energy. Anxiety turns into anticipation, fear becomes faith, and joy comes mo(u)rning, after mo(u)rning, after mo(u)rning.

Don’t miss the beauty of who you’re becoming in the middle.