Job might have appreciated this joke, though I'm sure that after actually living out the reality of having everything taken away he might have given a half-hearted grimace to this joke...because even the country singers out there really don't understand all that Job lost. And it wasn't as simple as playing the song backwards to get it all back.
This past year I sometimes found myself identifying with Job. Feeling like so much had been taken away...so much loss. And I would entertain the question of whether that meant in the end it would all be given back (only better?!) But of course, my reality was so different from Job's. I still had my husband, my two boys, my dog, my house. Nothing materially had really been taken away. So where did my sense of deep loss come from? As I sat and reflected this morning it occurred to me that my loss was at an unseen level...but quite real nonetheless. What had been taken away from me? My illusions, my "gods", my securities, my worldview. And while these are not seen with our eyes, they are the wallpaper of our lives...the setting and the background of how we relate to our children, our friends, our spouses, our very own selves, and most of all--God.
Returning to the states from overseas was a loss. We chose to return, but it was a loss all the same. It was a loss of a dream, loss of an idea of how our lives would look. We had imagined ourselves living overseas ALL OUR LIVES...raising our boys there. And the reality was that it wasn't working. The better decision was for us to return to the states and...for a while...raise our boys in America. Loss of dreams. Loss of ideals. Loss.
For many years I have tried to figure out how to help my youngest son's skin to heal from eczema. And instead of watching it get better--no matter how hard I/we tried--I watched it get worse. I watched my son become moodier, more withdrawn, less carefree as his skin became redder and itchier and more uncomfortable. Loss of health. Loss of ideals of having a healthy child. Loss.
Then anxiety hit because my worldview was challenged. I had been trying so hard to search for answers. Trying so hard to fix my son's skin. And it just seemed to keep getting worse. Why wasn't God healing my son? Why was God allowing this? Why wasn't God answering my prayers for direction, wisdom, insight in how to help? Why was God (seemingly) silent? Instead of leaning into God and trusting Him regardless...I found myself like a rebellious child. Wanting to shake my fist at God. Wanting to ask why he was allowing us to suffer. Wanting to scream "enough!" to the darkness I was finding myself enshrouded by. I couldn't keep pushing through anymore. I couldn't keep trying to fix my son's skin. I couldn't keep living in the prison that I had created for myself. Waiting for my son's healing before we could really go on living. Waiting for all to be "restored" before I could be free and joy-filled. Loss of illusions. Loss of beliefs. Loss.
When anxiety hit this time, it came like a huge wave in the midst of a storm. I was hit hard, and I went down. I couldn't get up for air long enough to get my feet back under me. I was swept with the current, and everything that I had been standing on was swallowed up by the tsunami that overtook me. I tried my old ways of dealing with the anxiety, but this storm was too great for what had previously worked. My tool bag was useless to right myself up again. And so I was swept up into the storm. Loss of worldview. Loss of beliefs. Loss.
But in the midst of the storm, there was a sense that surrender and letting go was the only way forward. The person who tries to flail their arms and swim in the middle of the ocean will not survive. But learning to float...leaning back and letting the water buoy you up...that is the way to survive the storm. Loss of trusting myself. Loss of securities. Loss of control. Loss.
And while it was not that simple...it was that simple. Floating is relatively easy. It does not require that I am a strong swimmer. In fact, it really doesn't ask me to be strong enough at all. It requires me to stop trying, stop using my own strength, and to trust. And that is the very invitation that this loss has opened up for me. For SO LONG I have been trying to do it all with my own strength. And I have felt like a failure. And then I have tried harder. Only to hit another wall. When the tsunami hit, sending my world upside down, I felt completely disoriented. I was devastated. I couldn't see how any of this was going to be a way forward. But the more I fought it, the further back I found myself. Until little by little I would lean back in exhaustion and float. This was my first lesson of trust. And how loving and patient God was in teaching me this lesson. He did not let the waves crush me or swallow me up. He allowed me to try again and again to fight, and then again and again to let go and float. And each time that I would float, I would see that I was ok...that I was surviving!! And hope would begin to rise up inside of me. Loss began to birth something new. Loss opened up a doorway for restoration. Loss became hope.
I can only write from this perspective now...one year after the great tsunami hit. I could not have seen this lesson of floating along the way. There were times when to trust God felt like I was being asked to jump off the top of a tall building, not knowing if anyone would catch me. And the very thought of this would send me running (flailing) into the darkness of anxiety and fear. But slowly, so subtly, I began to learn to float. And then one day I began to realize that floating was the way forward...the way to heal.
I don't want to play this last year's song in reverse. I don't want all that I lost back. And then it hit me--he doesn't play the old song backwards. He gives us a new song. And that is what I want. A new song. The old song was getting me by, but it was holding me back from true life in so many ways. I was not free. I was imprisoned by my illusions, my beliefs, my "gods". The new song is one of freedom, life, trust, letting go. And it is his song sung over me and in me. As I learn to float (because I am still learning) I will come to know more and more the beauty of his song.
