Change is a constant companion in our lives. Like the ebb tide of the waves, the new washes up and the old is swept away. It is relentless. When we are young, this feels slow, as if we will be children forever; remember when summer felt like it would go on forever? One sandy beach day disappeared into the next, marked by dripping popsicles in the hot sun and counting fireflies in the evenings. I never once thought about change on those long carefree days. But change was always there, with me, even when I was unaware. Now as a middling adult, I’m keenly aware of change and the passage of time. My childhood seems a lifetime ago. The changes I have gone through are staggering. The hardships and the growth that followed has formed me into an entirely different person.

As I write, I’m perched at the window bar of a coffee shop and my view consists of blowing leaves and pumpkins on hay bales: it is autumn. This is my favorite season. I identify with its many layers—a clear sun followed by unexpected clouds, cold rain and gusty winds. I have often wondered what our favorite seasons say about us. Fall is a time of change, cooling temps, tall boots and burnt orange sweaters, The days are short, but bright. It is the last brilliant moment before the world resets with a long sweep of cleansing cold, unforgiving air. It is change wrapped around me like a scarf, held in my hands like hot apple cider.

The older I get the more I realize that change is part of the game; it’s not going away. I’m constantly growing and learning. And in that growth, I must face the fact that there needs to be growth, because I’m still not there yet. I see this in my marriage. After 15 years together, we are still figuring it out. Our partnership, all and all, is fairly smooth, but then last weekend we had a fight about a juicer. Yup, a juicer! So guess there is still room for growth there, or at least a glass of carrot juice.

Parenting is arguably the biggest vehicle of growth around. Having a baby is like an instant death to your old self and born in its place is this soft squishy person who cares about bizarre things like the shape of pacifier nipples and who keeps a journal of wet diapers. Who is this person? And in a way you relive your childhood all over again with all the great things, like reading Make Way for Ducklings, but also all the hard things, like when your first fish dies (R.I.P. blue beta fish). And you change. . . you are a parent to a baby and then a toddler and then suddenly the baby is driving. And while you were fine to drive at 16, surely that cannot be true today!

Twisting in the Waves

Change also comes in the form of hardships. Tragedies like divorce, loss or severed relationships that can close off parts of us until they shrivel up and die. We can’t even access that part of our heart anymore. Maybe you have lost someone or perhaps your marriage feels like far more of a struggle than it’s worth, a needy child is chipping away at you and there is no time for anything you enjoy. The grind of life . . . has well. . . ground you up. Those long easy days of summer are a distant memory that play in your head like a movie you watched once. Ten-year-old you would never recognize your life now. Your dream journal seems completely unrealistic. Obviously, you are never going to work for SeaWorld at this point (although, the Blackfish documentary really finished off that dream).

Blackfish aside, I don’t know where you are at today. Perhaps life has come up roses with a few thorns or perhaps it’s thistles with a few flowering weeds. Life is always in motion, the waves are always reaching for us, trying to push us forward or pull us back. Sometimes there is little we can do about our circumstances. My childhood was punctuated with tragedy, there were long summer days and nights on the porch counting fireflies, but storms blew in unexpectedly. Loss and tragedy are big part of my identity. Of who I am. They shaped me young into twisty ways that are taking a lifetime to untangle. But I’m working on it.

The enemy has spent years whispering in my tender ear that this is who I am. That these knots cannot be untangled. The blood supply has been cut off and growth cannot take place. And you know what? In many ways it’s easier to let these areas lie dormant. I’m strangely comfortable in it. Like when your foot falls asleep and you are unaware until you try to move it and as blood flows back into those veins, it is painful. As I have reopened some of my past, it too, is painful; but I no longer want to be pushed into a shape that God did not intend for me.

So I look back at things that happened to me and I start to look at it all through the eyes of the Lord. Sure, He can use these things and He absolutely does, but also He does not want me to be bound up in my losses, my hurts, my disappointments.

When the waves reach for me, I start to sink in the quicksand of my emotions, being sucked under by the past. Bound—unable to swim; sinking into depression and despair. At times, the Lord sends others to swim along side of me to encourage me to keep swimming; but more so, Jesus Christ, my Savior, wants to see me unbound, free to swim over the surface of what tries to pull me down.

He will Walk on Water

When our minds turn to depression/anger/bitterness/ apathy, we start to feel the weight of our past, our pain, the things that haven’t worked out. It’s too heavy, we are tempted to stop swimming and just sink. We look away from God and we start to go under. We are trying to swim with broken legs and twisted arms. If we are standing on the beach and we see our child or a friend struggling in the water, would we not rush out to help them? Of course! And God our Father does the same. If we cry out, He will walk on water to save us from sinking. But more so then save us from drowning this one time, He wants to teach us to keep our eyes on Him so we don’t sink; showing us how to navigate rough waters, to swim because He knows storms will arise often in our lives. While I want Him to remove me out of the water altogether and put me up on dry land, He knows the world we live in and that it will never stop trying to pull us out to the depths. In John 16:33, Jesus says, “These things I have spoken unto you, that in me ye might have peace. In the world ye shall have tribulation: but be of good cheer; I have overcome the world.”

The waves will roll over my head, the enemy will try to convince me to stop swimming. But the Lord, the Lord Almighty will teach me to swim. The Holy Spirit will buoy me, the Great Physician will heal me, the power of Christ will strengthen me. We will face my crippling hurts together and He will breathe new life into the dead parts of my soul. He will unshackle the weights the enemy has chained to my limbs, and teach me to use them again. I will keep my eyes ever on Him—reading His word to renew my mind and speaking His truth to my hurting spirit. I pray in the power that changes things, changes me; I try (in His power) to cast off the old weights and get my stride. It does not come easy, it is work. I’m fighting the current. But the more I immerse myself in the things of the Lord, the stronger I become. I can only write about this because I have lived it. I have been bound up and I have been set free. Matthew 11:28 says: “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest! “ The ebb tide will never stop, but the difference now is that (in Him) I can navigate the rough waters—I can swim..

In what ways is the ebb trying to take you out? How are your limbs bound up?

What would it look if you let the Lord unwind the areas in your life that are twisted up?

Are you being called to help someone else learn to swim?

Bins of teeny-tiny Perler beads awaited us at the elementary craft night at our library. My child had been begging for these minuscule beads for over a month. In case you missed it, check out my last post on How I Melted the Dog’s Face to see our first round with this craft. I avoided them for about two years, but my number had been called. We are back for more, but fooled not by their cheerful riot of colors: neon, pastel and sparkly. I know exactly how this was going to go down. There will be certain colors needed, tiny beads stuck to sweaty little hands, all going everywhere except the peg on which they are supposed to land. Tables bumped, tears (mostly mine), and this just a night of fun crafts with kids. So as you can see, I went into the event with the right attitude.

I had brought along my computer to hopefully catch up on some work, thinking I would sit in the hallway and not necessarily participate in this struggle, I mean craft activity. But I could quickly see, with the time restraints, that parental participation would be needed, if I ever hoped to make it out of here before bedtime. So without much deliberation, my son chose to do a wolf and of course would need mostly grays and whites. It became apparent to all the parents that we would be the one digging out colors, that is, if we didn’t want to spend the night to finish this project. While an overnight in the library has its appeal, those bean bag chairs in the corner looked suspiciously like some place I would not like to lay my head.

So, I sorted through hot pink, clear and royal blue beads to hand-pick the desired hues. It was a full-time, absorbing job that had me glancing longingly at my computer. But I resigned myself to my task as his beaded Minecraft wolf began to take shape before my eyes, along side the other creations of butterflies and puppies. As moms asked their kids what colors they needed next and grey, white or pink was called out, something interesting began to happen. One little girl delivered a handful of black beads that she had sorted out for a boy at her table. I thought, well, that was sweet and carried on plucking out our needed colors. Soon another girl delivered a small cache of white to someone else at our table. We all looked up and acknowledged her thoughtfulness.

Next, an adorable little girl delivered an offering of gray to my son. He was thrilled and touched by her kindness. Such a little thing I thought, but it seemed to ignite something at our table. My son asked the dark-haired girl across from him what color she needed and started searching for her orange beads. My rational mind thought . . . well, what’s the point? If we all look for our own colors it would be just as effective. But that’s not the point, is it? While these kids showed up to make Perler bead creations, they were actually participating in a big life lesson. Kindness was being passed out in tiny beads. It was catching!! Most of the kids at our table were actively looking for colors for other children, eager to show a complete stranger that they cared enough to help. They did not know each other’s names or backgrounds; they had no idea if that child had a good day or a bad day, they were not doing it to win favor or get a prize. They were simply being kind.

Our lives are so busy and harried we often don’t take time to show each other kindness. We are always on to the next things, running late, forgetting something, needing to make a phone call or send an email. I think if I just keep my head down and keep typing and posting and emailing, I just might be able to get my work done. I plan my days so tight there is no breathing room for say, a break-down (I usually have those in the car or the shower) or to lose my phone, panic and then realize I’m talking on it (you guys do that, too, right?). I often go to bed the night before already overwhelmed by the day to come. Meetings follow meetings, I dive through the grocery store on the way to something else and vacuum just the parts that show (please don’t look behind my couch or under it!).

I tend to work in coffee shops (big perk of freelance) but one issue is running into people I know when I’m under a deadline. We will say Hi and I try to show through the frantic look in my eyes, that I have just this little window of time to get my work done. I must be doing something wrong because this seems to invite them to sit down at my table and tell me what is going on in their lives. While I feel like I don’t have time for this, I am also quite certain this exactly what I am supposed to be doing. You see, I pray in the morning that the Lord will use me to encourage others, help others and be someone that can show God’s love in a tangible human (although, flawed) way. And then, I promptly act put out when He actually does. People—why are we so ridiculous?

We can all stay in our own lanes, getting our work done, finding our own beads. But is that the point? Maybe part of this time here on earth is helping others find their beads and letting them help us find ours. Not one of those kids was worried about getting their own project done. They were not hurried or stressed. Remember those days? No? Me either. Yes, I need to post for work, and make that phone call and write that piece and there is a time for that, but there is also a time for kindness. There is time to listen and time to do someone a favor and time to pray, and you know what, I never regret it. There will always be another thing in my work inbox and more dishes to wash and somehow we are always out of essential staples, like bread or butter or dark chocolate. But I want to look back and say, I took time to show kindness to the people God has put in my life and the stranger he often sits next to me at a coffee shop.

Although kindness doesn’t cost money, it often costs time. My husband says time is money (when I want him to cut the lawn or wash the windows), but time does not seem to cost as much when there is a baseball game - hmmm? So, there is a cost. When I take a phone call at an inconvenient time because someone needs to vent or when I linger over coffee with a downhearted friend because they need a soft place to cry, I never think . . . well, that was a waste of time. No, I think that it is what I was supposed to be doing. But now, when will I edit that copy I wrote for a client? The time it takes to show kindness is not free, but I count the cost and find it worth every penny! And you know what? Others do the same for me—they listen, they bring meals, they encourage, they let me cry and they give me rides. I don’t usually stop to think that this cost them something; they started dinner late or didn’t make it to the store or lost a precious time to read before bed, but they counted the cost and found it worth their time.

If life is an exchange of colored beads, I want to know what color you need.

Write about an instance where you made time to be kind. What did it cost you? Was it worth it?

Journal about how you can make a change in your day and outlook that will make more time for kindness.