Holding My Breath

I often don't know what my expectations are until they lay unfulfilled in front of me. I am surprised by their sudden appearance and nearly trip over them when I try to move forward. But when I take the time to closely look at them I realize how familiar they are. I molded them out of dreams, desires and destiny. But without the power to give them life they only bring me pleasure when I take the time to play make-believe with them and pretend they are something more than they are.

Some of these man-made dolls are small, but some of them are as big as the giant Oscar statues out in front of Hollywood's Kodak Theatre. I wonder how these expectations got so ginormous until one of them whispers to me, "You crafted us this way." These big ones can block the view of any forward movement and they can be hard to maneuver around. Somebody's imagination gave my Oscar statues some G.I. Joe Kung Fu moves and they have beaten me black and blue

I had an expectation, a big one, that during the first two months of the summer I would gain clarity, amass understanding, see the big picture and have several "ah-ha" moments about my forced (and undesired) sabbatical from organized ministry. It didn't come. At all. Not an ounce of purpose for my ponderings.

I got angry with God and had some Job moments with him about my job. And though He has been extremely patient and loving to me He wasn't manipulated by my tantrums.

He drew me back to a word-picture, given by one of those prophetic types at a holiday dinner (it hardly was the kind of Christmas cheer I expected). I was told I was like a boulder in a stream awash with the spring melt. The rock that normally stood safely above the surface was now finding itself pummeled with a rushing river. And everything that had attached itself to the rock was being stripped off as the water rushed by.

So I hoped, expected really, that this was just a spring cleaning of the clingings, and once they were pressure washed downstream the water would subside and I could go back to being everyone's steady rock.

But the water has gotten higher as the rain has continued to fall. And at the end of my summer months I realized I had been waiting too long to exhale. I thought I could hold my breath long enough for the storm to pass. But one can only hold their breath so long and then... so long.

And though the outcome is no longer in doubt I've thrashed about anyway, tying to keep my head above the water line. But I can not, as hard as I try, stay alive in this flood.

It is inevitable at this point. I am drowning. Or at least the person I thought I was is very nearly dead.

It is scary as hell. I tell God that this wasn't such a good plan. And I can see by the look in His face He doesn't like it much either. And that brings me some comfort- "the naked realization of love hanging over the abyss of death."

And I will let this false self die. Only God knows what will happen next.

One last thought. Sometimes, when I look in your eyes, dear reader, I see my pain mirrored there mixed with your own strong emotions. And though I'd love you to hold me through this cold, wet death, this is not a request for your attempts at my salvation or for your pity.

If you really want to be helpful, maybe you'd consider tossing in your expectations of me in this rushing river too. That could be very freeing, for both of us.