Across the Lake

That evening, Jesus said to his followers, “Let’s go across the lake.”
~ Mark 4:35 NCV

I watched as our youngest began pursuing the dog for the second time that morning. He'd been up less than ten minutes, and he was already looking to get into something. This time I corrected him, and he, of course, denied it. I sighed. What is it this time? I wondered. The reality is, it doesn't have to be anything, really. He has no idea what today will be like, it hasn't even started, and that's what terrifies him. And that's when I really saw myself in him. I've known all along, we're not very different, he and I, but seeing him actively working to "burn it down" made me realize what drives much of my bad behavior. Fear of the unknown. That old expression, Better the devil you know than the devil you may meet, has been something of a way of life for me. If I burn this relationship down now, if I ruin my day from the start, if I destroy my diet before breakfast... I never have to wonder how things will turn out. Will he cheat on me? Will the day end with me wishing I'd never been born? Will I eat half a box of Oreos? Done! Problem solved. Question answered. But... What if we fell in love? What if it was the best day ever? What if I felt great and slept more soundly? Is having the answers to everything worth the price of never watching the unknown gently, surprisingly reveal itself? Is knowing what will be as life-giving as discovering the possibilities? Is writing my own ending better than what is meant to be? I have, in far too many ways, opted for answers. Answers provide control. If I know what's up ahead, I can perhaps, take the detour I might choose. If I know things won't work out, I can refuse to try. If I know what lies inside all of those papered and ribboned boxes under the tree, I can prepare for disappointment and summon some fake joy. 

And yet, I've lived a good life, a happy life --I am O!K! That is, until I really start to examine what this means in terms of my faith. The morning I watched our son, God made it clear to me. I've left it no secret that I've battled addiction. My addiction has manifested itself in substance abuse and other compulsive behaviors, but the root issue itself is avoidance. I'm introverted, for sure, but I don't suffer from panic attacks or sweaty palms when I am in the presence of others; I simply don't want to be. When I am in my feels, I don't want to deal with voices or text messages or other people's problems or making breakfast for someone or traffic or even the effort it takes me to speak. In the words of a certain fictional ballerina, I want to be alone. When I'm overwhelmed, when I'm afraid, when I simply don't know, my go-to is avoidance. It would make sense to use my big words and ask for a few minutes (which, if I'm being honest, when I am not held to account, those few minutes could become months); or I could take a deep breath and whisper a prayer. Instead, I avoid; I hide behind a litany of excuses and invented obligations. Oh, I'd love to, but... And when avoidance is not an option, I burn the moment, the day, an entire relationship to the ground. Or, at least, I did.

I have found other ways to cope --not all beneficial. I eat. I scroll. I pace. I exercise --a lot! Do something creative! we encourage our youngest. Great advice; if only I followed it myself. Let's go for a walk! Let's play a boardgame! Helping him redirect his energy should help me develop the habit of redirecting my own. Do you need a hug? How about if I pray with you? Refusing to allow his fears to stir up my own, then squashing them all at once. It's a work in progress. And we are here to live. Jesus died that we might have eternal life; not a perfect existence or days filled with bliss or all of the answers. Part of life --at least on this side of heaven --is facing the unknown day after day, not having all the answers, but knowing we have been invited to cross the lake. And God, in His infinite mercy, assures us we are not alone, that He is with us and His Spirit dwells within those who plead the blood of Jesus. Life with Him is all about stepping into the boat and, maybe, sailing through a storm or two. It may not be easy, it may not be the path we would choose; it may make our flesh recoil and our minds swirl, but we'll never know what might have been --we cannot know what God will do on the other side, if we've used our vessel for kindling.