Toes on the Edge

This week Saylah Leu is sharing her experience of saying yes. We worked together for three summers at Ray of Hope Summer camp serving disadvantaged kids who lived in poverty and/or faced difficult circumstances. Her courage and creativity shines through everything she does. below Saylah explains her own journey of  “Yes” – Katrina

Cropped SaylahCurrently I am writing a blog as I prepare to embark on a year of tent camping around the world doing mission work with an organization called the World Race.  Starting in January 2018 I will be living in a tent, sleeping on the ground, traveling from place to place every few weeks, getting on long flights,  while being surrounded by non-English speakers and non-potable water. I’m going with strangers, leaving my career job, and moving away from my friends in Spokane, WA. The transition between my current job with CPS and thinking about leaving it all behind has been one of the hardest things I’ve ever committed to. The best way I could relate my unease is to comparing this commitment with an experience I had cliff jumping years ago. The only time I every attempted to go with friends, I was a hot mess. There is something about heights, the act of jumping and fall, and losing ground that makes me petrified. All of those emotions I had standing on the edge of the cliff I’ve been experiencing now I march forward in preparation for next year. 

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Cliff jumping; what a horrible and terrifying activity. The one time I every attempted such an activity I can still recall the dizzying feeling of standing on the edge and gazing down. During this moment every instinct of survival goes on full blast, pumping adrenaline throughout my nervous system. I am pulverized by fear of every kind. Going through life transition feels the same as this act of cliff jumping. The act of leaping off the cliff, flying through the air, and landing in unknown waters, all of it is harrowing. But what is it about losing our grounding, our constancy, our comfort that unravels us humans? What is it about this act of transition that leads so many of us to have great anxiety, question our identify, and become paralyzed with fear? 

As I prepare for my upcoming transition I admit, I am ball of emotions. Any and all of my friends and coworkers can corroborate this. Just like the emotions that come over me when I stand on an actual edge of a cliff, I hear that inner voice screaming for safety “don’t jump, stay.” And with that voice comes the competing desire to grow, to risk, to dare to dream. 

The cliff jumping metaphor has helped me wrap my head around all these unruly emotions as I process just what it means to say “yes” and dive in to this next season of life. 

Toes On the Edge:

When we find ourselves marching towards the edge of the cliff what we are really approaching is the end of something. Transition starts at the end. It starts when our toes are on the edge of a cliff and we know the next steps forward are going to propel us into something completely new and unknown. When we find ourselves in this moment on the edge, violent emotions break over us; emotions of anger, doubt, fear, shock, and sadness. How could you not be rattled? How could these violent emotions not translate into profound pain? It’s no wonder it takes every ounce of our bravery to put our toes on the edge and leap off.

At some point in our lives, we all stand on the edge of what we desire most. We stand with our greatest hopes in view, but there is often a gaping space between use and what we desire most. We’ve all heard the phrase ‘taking a leap of faith.’ But what is faith but courage in its purest form, courage to believe and trust with certainty. Our greatest measure for courage what we do when we find ourselves at that ‘leap of faith moment.’ Remember, all those powerful emotions wash over you, what do you do? Do you jump?

The edge of a cliff is an ending of certainty. As we approach the edge and gaze into the abyss of uncertainty, the loss of solid ground is overwhelming. The knowledge, like a warning light, flashes across our mind: once I jump everything changes.

As humans we have instinctual impulses of fear that enable us to survive. But what makes us humans different from our animals friends is the ability to choose. On the edge of the cliff, in the moment of hesitation, we come to know who we are by what we choose. Because not everyone jumps. Some people live their entire lives glancing at their dreams in the distance. Some people never take the leap away from comfort to pursue something greater.

The Free Fall: 

If standing on the edge of cliff is the equivalent to experiencing the pain and confusion of losing what is known, than the free fall is that moment of transition. When you’re in a free fall, nothing grounds you, their is nothing to grab on to, the orientation of the world is unknown. And most of the time this moment of physical transition is brief (in the grand scheme of life). But even in its brevity, we can’t diminish the free fall’s the profound sense of bewilderment. When are toes are on the cliff, everything in us resists change. But when we make that leap and we fall through the air, its that moment of confusion and new stronger wave of emotions in which we start to question who we are and what we’ve done. 

To me, part of being a Christian is believe who Jesus is God and to believe he resides in my heart. That might sound clique, ‘Jesus is in my heart.’ But its not! In the world where gravity exists and you’re free falling through the air, having Jesus within you means you are tethered to something solid beyond the understanding of the physical world.

The Watery Landing

And just like its over. Your plunge feet first through the water’s surface and your whole body is momentarily underwater. The feeling all around you is markedly different but you’ve landed. You swim up to the air and take a first breath. All of the emotions from moments before, their imprint is still there but weight of them has been lifted. Some of the sadness is still there but its replaced by the immediate task of treading water and trying to make sense of this new world. The watery landing is a new beginning, a chance to grow, traverse across new landscapes, and do great things. 

Its not to say the watery landing is always a blank slate. I would venture to say, when we hit the water we are typically greeted with unknown creatures and circumstances. Sometimes on the other end of the free fall is calm waters, and sometimes there are rapids, choppy waters, or outright storms. Sometimes on the other end of what we desire most, is more unforeseen journey.

The Mechanics of Courage: 

We dive off these metaphorical cliffs in order to live lives of greatness. But greatness is pricy. To live in this way it requires the desire and willingness to take risks even in the face of immense suffering. People who decide to live this way are called not to dive off these cliffs blindly or spontaneously, but with full intention to swim. 

 What do you call a life on stormy seas? Hardship.

That moment when you choose to leap off the cliff’s edge is pure courage.  This moment marks a decision to abandon your security, comfort, predicability, and risk for everything for the unknown in front of you. It’s the moment of Yes. It’s the moment when everything changes. 

As I stand on the edge of the cliff now I know my life is about to change drastically. I am deeply mournful. But I am in this place now because a while back I decided to leap off a different cliff years ago. Four years ago I left beautiful Bellingham, WA, the place that was my comfort zone and my home. I left to go to graduate school and I landed in a sea of wheat and sage brush in Cheney, WA. It took time accept and love my new home, But I did. And I came to love it deeply. I got my degree, a job, a community. Even though my job working for CPS caused me to experience great pain, my heart grew bigger for the world. It was jumping into this place, Eastern Washington that changed me once again. But my time here is ending. I am bewildered as this transition approaches, I feel like it snuck up on me. But its happening. And when the moment is right I know I will jump. Because that is who I am.

 

If you’d like to continue to follow Saylah’s around-the-globe journey, you can read more on her blog here! 

(Up)Rooted

I’m very excited to announce that several of my friends will be contributing this summer to my blog. The theme is “Summer of Yes” and I have asked them to share a little bit about their own experiences saying “yes!” to something and how it changed their lives. This week Sarah Mittelstaedt is sharing (pictured left). Sarah and I were roommates in college, and now she is a campus pastor in Eugene, OR. Sarah has always been a very faithful friend, and I appreciate her wisdom and compassion 🙂 Enjoy!

 I honestly never thought I would leave home, home being the “City of Subdued Excitement,” Bellingham, WA. There is an extravagant beauty in the PNW, in general, that tends to bring wide-eyed expressions to visitors from the South and the Midwest parts of the country, where a slight incline is referred to as a hill and a hill is referred to as a mountain. Western Washington has mountains, real mountains that tower above you as you drive north on your way north up I-5.

And if the mountains don’t draw awe, then the ocean certainly will. My happy place is one where I can sit by the ocean (or any particularly large body of water) and just be. Though, if we’re being honest, I fear the ocean and have no desire to be in it, but being at the edge of something so vast and unknowable brings a strange calm to my spirit. I respect it. In Ancient Israel, when the ocean is referenced it is used to invoke the idea primordial chaos. When the “spirit hovered over the deep” in the beginning it was the Word that brought order out of this chaos. This is by no means a theological statement—more of a musing—but sometimes I feel as though when I’m by the ocean I’m able to sense the lingering presence of the Word. God’s voice, that which brought forth order out of the chaotic waters, is especially present to me. The coastline is a boundary made for our good.

I now live further from that boundary line than I ever have in my life. Though according to the “mega-quake” theorists, I’m much safer inland, moving to Eugene, OR was one of the hardest decisions of my life. I am not much of an adventurer and I’ve never had any significant wanderlust. Would I like to travel more and see the world? Of course! However, I would be perfectly content going for a visit and then returning to my home. I wasn’t the kid on the youth group mission trip who, after a week, wanted at least two more weeks and was ready to move there once they turned 18. I was the kid who, after working hard and having fun, was ready to go home.

I’m someone who roots deep. I don’t do things half-way and relationships are not excluded from that. Bellingham was where my community was. I had lived in the area my entire life, went to college there, and completed two years of a college ministry internship there after receiving my degree. When the time rolled around for me to decide what was next, it wouldn’t be too dramatic to say that the mere thought of leaving my home caused what felt like a tearing in my soul. The picture that would come to mind was that of a plant being yanked out of the ground.

In the midst of that process, however, the Lord gave me a new image. When you’re transplanting a plant, you don’t just grab it by the stem and rip it out of the ground. There are some plants that can survive having their root system destroyed (having the ability to regrow it), but many can’t. Instead, you edge around the root ball and take the whole of it. The Lord showed me that in the midst of my experiences and conversations with him, he was edging around the root ball. Each time I submitted to his will, in spite of all my emotions telling me no, he would stick his shovel in the ground and loosen the earth around the roots.

When the time came for me to move, when the Lord “lifted” me from my home, I realized I was okay. I wasn’t going to fall apart, I was intact. And though the transition had its challenges, and even a year later I don’t think I’m done transitioning, I have learned a deeper level of trust in the Lord. Each time I said “yes” and took a step of faith, I chose to trust the Lord and that has had a profound effect on my relationship with him. Psalm 1:2-3 has never made more sense to me than in this season:

Those who… “delight in the law of the Lord,
meditating on it day and night.
They are like trees planted along the riverbank,
bearing fruit each season.
Their leaves never wither,
and they prosper in all they do.”

I still miss Bellingham, I miss the people, the ocean, and the mountains—I probably always will. But if I had the chance to do it over again, though there are some things I would do differently, I would still choose to take the move down to Duck country. This is where the Lord has me in this season and that’s exactly where I’m supposed to be.

Finding your Flow

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My college professor used to talk about a term called “flow.” She explained about how in rock climbing you find your “sweet spot” or the moment where you think you’re going to break, and you find the strength to keep going and you feel the rush of adrenaline. She talked about finding your “flow” where all the little pieces come together and you are able to climb and block out all the other worries or fears you might have in your head. I found I have a similar experience when topping cheesecakes at work. Somedays the topping is lumpy and my hands are unsteady. It’s a chore. Other days, I find my “flow” the cream is at the right temperature, and the decorating wheel that my cheesecake rest upon seems like an extension of my arm. Heck yes! The cheesecakes are even, smooth, and beautiful. I can’t hear the bakers stacking cake pans in the back, or the door ringing up front. I’m in perfect and complete uninterrupted flow.

What happens when your flow is interrupted? All your worries and fears are all in front of you demanding to be paid attention. You’re at the top of the rock wall and your muscles seize up and you realize just how high you really are. And how far you could come down. You realize just how far you can fall, just right as you’re about to reach your goal. Your final destination and prize. Flow meets panic. Panic leads to discouragement. It’s always darkest before the dawn. In the devotional I’m reading right now, one of the author’s bluntly states this phenomena:

“Have you ever noticed that people are often the most tempted to quit right before a breakthrough? I believe this happens because there is an evil one who desperately wants to keep you from experiencing God’s best for you.” Amanda Jass, In the Wait. 

This summer, I’m saying “Yes” to perseverance. To strength. To not quitting. It’s not quite as glamorous as rock climbing, creating beautiful desserts, or moving to a different place. In fact, most people don’t really acknowledge faithfulness until you’ve finished the race, am I right? It has to be tested over time. You have to finish what you started. The two year anniversary of my Mom’s death hit me like a tidal wave. The brunt force of grief swept me up and took me out to sea. But I swam. I put each arm in front of me and pulled back against the water. It doesn’t seem fair to get discouraged and attacked during times when you need strength and comfort the most. When you can’t see what goodness might be around the corner. It’s too hard. This isn’t a fight I have chosen, but I hope to have the strength to finish.

I find comfort in a Jesus who preached from a boat in the water (Mathew 13:1). His audience saw him talking to them in midst of the sea, which to them represented chaos. God’s voice came through the fear and the chaos of their time. God’s voice comes through the static and the waves, and says “Come to me.”

Matthew 11:28 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.”

Let’s be real, my own strength has some serious limitations. I put my bowl in the dishwasher last night and Jesse was like “Why didn’t you put the spoon in there too?” and in my tired brain, I was like “It was. Just. Too. Much.” Oh dear. I’m in desperate need of a God who embraces the burdened. The weak. The ones struggling with melting whip cream.

Who or what helps you push through the last milestone before the celebration? Who or what gives you a final push right before the breakthrough?

Perseverance gives us the ability to “flow,” to feel like our tasks and the goals before us are a sweet choreographed dance that we learned a long time ago. Strength tells you to not let that wobbly cheesecake wheel get you down forever. That your identity is not formed in how well you top a cheesecake. I’m saying yes to strength, to perseverance, and to God never, ever quitting on me.

 

 

 

p.s. This is the first installment of this summer’s theme “Summer of Yes!” You can read my last blog for more info about my heart behind it. I have started assembling (yeah, like superheroes) a team of several writer/adventurers who will contribute guest posts in July and August.