Friday, December 8, 2017

Transitions

Room with a View

Room with a View #2


Today is idyllic. It's Friday and it's snowing but the kids still went to school I'm perched on the sofa in our kitchen with our snow-laden deck to my right and our lighted Christmas tree in front of me. I'm wearing a flannel shirt, cozy socks and cozy slippers and I'm sipping hot cider. A snapshot of this moment suggests a Norman Rockwell painting, blanketed in the quiet only snowfall can create, anticipating Christmas. Despite appearances however, there are invisible jumping jacks that seem to be happening on a cellular level inside of me. There's that itchy kind of anxiety that's taken root in the pit of my stomach compelling me to determine the next step in the continuing saga of our transition to this new life in Georgia. It's not necessarily bad anxiety - if that's such a thing - a better description may be my body is telling me to wake up and pay attention to the signs of life around me and hop on the train to embrace them. I'm not entirely sure what that looks like. Commercials for 'transitions lenses' have started making me chuckle when I see them. Wouldn't it be dreamy if all our beginnings and endings were as simple as lenses automatically adjusting to light without us having to do anything except step into wherever we're going next?  Maybe that's the secret - stepping out and into where we are and allowing light to direct our paths.

I'm not good at trusting paths to reveal themselves. I'm an event planner by trade married to a problem solver by trade and we're better versed in the anticipation of risks and planned mitigation of them. The planner in me often gets distracted by the task list of a situation to the point I can lose sight of its feel. Recently, a wise friend counseled me to consider the question, "What do you love?" The question stopped me dead in my tracks because I realized I'd never considered approaching a discernment process regarding the next right thing from such a basic place. Initially, I didn't know if I could even pull together an answer - I've been so busy planning and preparing and settling and adjusting that I've lost touch with myself to the point that my first answer was, "I don't know." That was kind of scary - it was easy for me to define who I love and how I love but what I love had me stumped. If I'm honest, this is my M.O. It may be a parenting thing, it may be a coping thing, it may just be a Meri Kate thing. I find myself laser focused on tasks in the midst of life's upheavals, plot twists if you will, and once everyone and everything around me seems to have found a level of calm, I lose mine.

I've sat with his question for awhile now and answers are slowly forming - I had to reawaken myself to the notion of pondering with my heart. Once I started making that an intention, the seemingly cellular anxiety began to calm. Maybe that's what Advent really is - making space to feel very basic mutterings within our own souls so we may prepare every year for our own rebirth. This year, I'm resonating mightily with image of an infant born into new life, allowing myself time to experience the world anew. In some ways I'm deciding to encounter the world like a new baby so I may better understand the mutterings of my soul as our transition to this not-as-new place moves to a different level. For me, that means practicing listening to and patience with myself. It means creating space for holy events to unfold - knowing sometimes that means making difficult decisions. It means setting my task list aside for a moment to allow myself to sit with feelings around opportunities and really discern what the next right thing is/will be.

In the end, transitions are every day - some are just more obvious. As this Advent season marches on, my hope and prayer is for a new vision, a fresh approach and openness to what is next. May the paths reveal themselves clearly and may Light be our guide.




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