Releasing Has No End

Interestingly, being willing to release the need for certain things does not mean they are automatically released. Quite the contrary, actually. It only means that when these things surface, I must reassert my willingness to let them go.

I have become a willing participant recently in giving up the need for many of my old, ingrained behaviors and thought patterns. I initially thought that by releasing these things I was emptying the basket, hitting the delete button, removing the discomforts from my life forever. That didn’t happen.

Instead, I was bombarded by the very things I thought I’d released. I was headed for another meltdown when it suddenly dawned on me that the act of releasing isn’t a one-shot pony. Nope, it’s a continuous act of letting go.

I feel angry at my husband. The anger hasn’t disappeared but every time it surfaces, I am willing to let it go.

I get angry at my body for being so hungry. The hunger keeps coming but I keep letting it go. I eat instead. I am willing to release the need to punish myself and feel unworthy.

It’s been six weeks of constant repetition and letting go. Here it is and I let go. Here that is and I let go. Again and again and again and again and again. I am willing to release whatever it is that arises within me that makes me uncomfortable. And I’m willing to do it forever.

Surprisingly, I can vaguely feel this space opening inside me and allowing for the new to spring forth. The new scares me – tremendously. But I’ve arrived at the place where the old, the past, it scares me more.

Only by letting go of the past will I ever experience the new, the now. It’s here.

A Time to Live, A Time to Die

It’s been just a little over two years since my first blog post and I recall such a naivety within me.

I felt like I’d conquered the hardest thing I was ever going to endure and yet, here I sit, realizing that was only just the beginning.

Little did I know that it was a simultaneous ending and beginning.

That’s the funny thing I hadn’t known about creation. It’s cyclical and spiraling, not ever a closed process.

I thought my life had a beginning, a middle, and an end, that’s it. But I’ve since realized there is a beginning, a middle, and an end, and a beginning, a middle, and an end, and a beginning, a middle, and an end. I could go on but I think you get the picture.

Right now, I’m beginning again. There is no need to be frustrated, guilty, or ashamed. I am simply in the beginning stages of a new creation and laying the ground work, day by day.

I’m finally willing to let go of the past. I was caught in the last cycle, unwilling to move forward. It was terribly painful. But, now, I am willing.

It’s time to begin anew.


God in Zoloft

You’ve heard the story of the drowning man who prays to God to be rescued?

A rowboat sails by and the man refuses rescue saying that he’s waiting for God to save him. Then a motorboat comes by and he refuses that rescue too, still clinging to his belief that God will come to his aid. He refuses the helicopter rescue too before he finally ends up drowning.

Once in heaven, the man asks God why He didn’t save him and God replies, “I sent you a rowboat, a motorboat and a helicopter! What more did you expect?”

I am that man, drowning in my own misguided and maligned ideas of what rescue, grace and salvation should look like.

I am wholeheartedly, without a doubt, clinging to my own mind-made beliefs of who I am or who I should be.

Still struggling in the midst of the chaos, confusion and torment of a worsening depression, I contemplate what it would mean to re-start my medication.

I fear losing me.

The thing is, I’m losing me anyway. I’m like the guy drowning and passing up all the life preservers being thrown his way, waiting for something better.

…waiting for something better and ignoring the omnipotent, omnipresence of God.

The endless suffering is but a result of my own refusal to accept help.

Martin Luther said, “Until a man is nothing, God can make nothing out of him.”

I believe God can do more with me than I’ve ever attempted to do for myself and His grace can take any form.

I took my Zoloft this morning.





I’m a fighter. I always have been. Life has thrown me a lot of curve balls but I’m tenacious and persistent. I always seem to pick myself up and carry on.

I always thought my fight and ferocity were admirable qualities.

I wonder now though if the fight in me is the very thing that is holding me back, preventing me from realizing peace and freedom.

One step forward, two steps back. That’s what it feels like every single day.

I don’t know who I am or what I am doing anymore.

I feel like I’m making progress and then something happens that shows me just how broken I truly am. I realize just how many barriers I still have erected.

I talk about surrender but wonder if I’ve really surrendered anything at all.

If everything is just one fight after another, is that what I’m subconsciously seeking? Have I identified with the fighter and made that into me and so continually seek the next battle I can win?

I’ve never known rest.

Perhaps I must retire my fighting weapons now…

…I’m not sure I have any idea how to do that…


Humble yourselves before the Lord, and he will lift you up.

~ James 4:10

He pulled me out into the deepest center of the ocean, where the storm was the strongest. Then He let me go.

Why? Why would He do this? I wasn’t ready. I wish I could go back but it’s too late now.

He knew I was ready though. And He knew I wouldn’t drown.

I’m gasping for air but I haven’t drowned yet. I won’t.

But I still haven’t learned to let go completely.

As a child learning to swim, I first let go of the side of the pool for a mere second and grabbed back on. The seconds increased and eventually I learned that my body would float. I couldn’t drown. The inherent ability to stay afloat was in me. I would have to had forcibly held myself under if I wanted to drown.

Living is a lot like swimming. Yet as an adult the lesson is a harder one to learn.

It’s almost as if, at times, I am purposely holding myself under. Slowly though I’m learning to become childlike again, letting go of the external identity of how things should be and instead feeling the internal identity of how things are.

The eternal life preserver is reading and willing. Am I?