The Unwanted Text

I wake up early, feeling good about the jump start I’d wanted today. With errands to run later, I want to get going.

But my phone dings as I walk into the kitchen for breakfast. I open my text messages.

It’s from my hair stylist. I’m surprised to hear from her—I’m scheduled to see her in two hours. I read the message to discover her throat is burning, she has a headache, and she feels nauseous.

She says she needs to stay home. And of course I agree. I express my sympathy for her and assure her we’ll catch up later.

But being honest, I also notice a pang of disappointment for myself.

My day is disrupted.

Filling in New Calendars

It was only yesterday that I’d decided to finally make time to fill in my new 2025 calendar, an annual ritual I’ve performed as far back as I can remember.

Armed with a box of markers, I sat at the table and transferred birthdays in orange, anniversaries in green, and “for-sure” appointments in black, flipping month to month from the old calendar to the new.

Filling in a new calendar brings me a feeling of certainty, seeing the rhythm of recurring events laid out neatly on those fresh, blank pages. Knowing there are things that don’t change from year to year.

When I finished, I had dropped last year’s calendar into the box at the top of my closet, on top of old calendars from previous years, and I hung the new calendar on the kitchen wall.

Done.

But, actually, not done at all.

Plan in Pencil, Not Ink

After the text this morning, I’m now pulling the 2025 calendar off the wall already. With a black pen, I cross out today’s haircut. One of my “for-sure” plans—written in ink—is inaccurate.

While I’m at it, I also strike through tomorrow’s lunch date and tomorrow night’s concert. Snow is in our forecast, and in Alabama, even a light dusting (or even the mention of one) cancels all events for a couple of days.

Drawing lines through my plans, I’m discouraged. I’m uncomfortable when life is so unpredictable.

The ink we use to write our “for-sure” appointments can’t hold up to the reality of life’s ripples. I had already been reminded of this when I was filling in birthdays on my calendar, having to halt at certain names because the person had died in 2024. On the 2025 calendar, this loved one would no longer age another year.

And now my stylist’s illness has rippled into my own morning, canceling not just my haircut but also the errands I’d planned around it, further rippling through my entire day.

A Life of Ripples

Life is a giant pond of ripples. We’re all more interconnected than we realize. Your life ripples into mine, and mine into yours.

I didn’t write it anywhere on my calendar, but one goal I have for myself this year is to be more aware of these ripples. And instead of resisting them or falling apart at their disruptions, I want to stay open to them.

My contentment level often depends on my ability to adapt to the unpredictable ripples.

The future isn’t meant to be written in ink. It’s too unpredictable, too uncertain. It’s best to write our plans in pencil. So when the ripples come—and they will come—we can be fluid enough to ride the waves instead of being overturned by them.

By December 31, 2025, nearly all 365 squares on my calendar will be filled with the story of a year, one day at a time. Several of those squares will likely contain appointments for haircuts. But just not today’s square.

So for today, looking at the blank spaces ahead, I take a deep breath and remind myself: stay open to life’s unexpected ripples.

My One Word for 2025 is Ripple. Are you choosing a word, too? How has your week already been changed by ripples? Share your thoughts in the comments.

MONDAY

Guess what I just saw?

Not the green of a mallard
Or the mottles of a muscovy
Or the black & white of a Canada goose
(Yes, I saw them too)

I just saw a white duck swimming in our lake

Are your sure?
It’s been years

I’m sure

It wasn’t the neighbor’s white chicken?
Impossible
It was a white duck swimming in our lake
Definitely
Likely
I think . . .

Was it?

Maybe I presumed it was in the water
But it really stood on the shore
Maybe I glanced too short a moment
But I didn’t stop to stare

Perhaps it was a white chicken in the grass

Assuredly no white duck was swimming in our lake

TUESDAY

Hello, white chicken in the grass

WEDNESDAY

Hello, white chicken in the grass

THURSDAY

Hello, white chicken in the grass

FRIDAY

A flash of white out the window
Glistens off the water
Must be the white chicken in the grass

I’ll leer instead of look
I’ll step outside instead of in
I’ll use binoculars instead of 20/20

The head? Rounded
The feathers? White
The location? In the water

Guess what I just saw?
A white duck swimming in our lake

Are you sure?

Hello, white duck in our lake

Have you ever doubted your certainty? Share in the comments.

Read more about uncertainty:

• When It’s More Than an Empty Hole
  They’re cutting down the tree today. But the sound I hear through my ears is different than the sound in my heart.
• 5 Ways to Stay Safe While Walking in the Dark
  Seeing clearly in the dark is an illusion not worth chasing. How do you make it through a dark night?
• Am I Really Just Stupid?
  Or is this just part of being human? We’re limited but full, vulnerable but safe, stupid but smart. It’s all okay.

But I *Need* to Know!

We’re hardwired to desire certainty. We actually need to know certain things to keep ourselves alive.

But when we don’t know something we want to know, we often feel anxious or we make up our own stories to fill in the gaps.

Both these options of anxiety and storytelling can be dangerous. They can cause great pain and damage to ourselves and to our relationships.

A healthier approach when we really can’t know something is to gently release our demand to know. To fight against our addiction to certainty. And instead to embrace a greater tolerance for uncertainty until we can know (if ever).

It’s not easy. I know because I’ve been wrestling with it all year. UNCERTAINTY has been my One Word for 2021.

I’m still not fully at peace with uncertainty (and likely never will be). But I am a little closer to calling a truce with uncertainty than when I started.

7 Tools to Overcome Your Addiction to Certainty

Here are 7 tools I discovered are helpful in overcoming our addiction to certainty.

1. CULTIVATE YOUR CURIOSITY

Instead of idolizing the knowledge you’ve gathered to downplay uncertainty, cultivate your curiosity.

The best way to get smarter is to keep an open mind. Continue digging for the truth. You’ll never know everything. Say “I wonder” more than “I know.”

[More: When History Makes You Sick]

2. KEEP YOUR OPTIONS OPEN

Instead of insisting your original plan be perfect or scrap it all, trust that a new plan will pop up when yours goes awry.

Keep your options open. Plan B might even be a better plan. There is always someone or something else behind the next door. Even if it’s not who or what you expect. End a few more statements with “Maybe.”

[More: How Does It Feel to Be Alone?]

3. ALLOW YOURSELF TO BE VULNERABLE

Instead of closing every gap so you can protect yourself from the unknown, allow yourself to be vulnerable.

(Only to a degree, of course; use wisdom.) Opening up your heart to others can make you stronger in the midst of uncertainty. You are more than what you know. Take a risk with who you are.

[More: I Wasn’t Sure, But I Did It Anyway]

4. TAKE THE GRACE

Instead of hoarding everything for yourself so you won’t run out, stay open to needing and receiving grace.

Eventually you’ll be caught flat-footed with your own resources. Look for the gifts of grace that have been planted ahead just for you.

[More: Is This the One Thing We All Need?]

5. EXPECT RESURRECTION

Instead of dreading the uncertainty of death, anticipate resurrection.

Face the certainty of a thousand little deaths along the way. But look for the experience of a thousand and one little resurrections.

[More: 5 Ways to Deal with Your Thousand Little Deaths]

6. ACCEPT MYSTERY

Instead of thinking you have to figure out how God works, just accept that God does work.

Foster humility and drop the arrogance about what you think you know of God. Trust not your thoughts about God; trust God, the very mystery of all good things.

[More: When You’re Not Sure How God Works]

7. STAY IN THE MOMENT

Instead of seeking certainty for the future, embrace the certainty in this moment.

Whatever your time or place, God is working to bring out the good for you in this moment. Engage what you’re doing right now. Don’t jump too far ahead in your thoughts. Now is always the time where God acts; here is always the place where God lives.

[More: Let God Bring Out the Good in You Today]

Who Is Stronger Than What

In the end, are these 7 tools just trading certainty for one thing into certainty about another?

I don’t know. Maybe?

I’ve learned that in making peace with uncertainty, Who is stronger than What. It’s more comforting to trust in the existence of a loving God and God’s loving people than to trust only in your plans, assets, and intelligence.

It doesn’t mean you shouldn’t make plans or collect assets or use your intelligence.

Just know that eventually some (all?) of your resources won’t work as scheduled. Instead, you’ll have more peace if you cultivate healthy relationships with other God-breathing human beings to walk you through the fog.

We’re never abandoned to figure things out alone. Humility and companionship are key components to making peace with uncertainty.

I still don’t like not knowing. But I must accept it for now.

I can’t wait for certainty to find happiness.

I can be confident in the gap. Not because of illusory guarantees, but because of God.

God is good. God is here. God is love.

We come from love. We are guided by love. We live in love.

I’m sure of this. Maybe that’s all I need to know.

Are you tempted to idolize certainty too? How comfortable are you with uncertainty? Share in the comments.

UNCERTAINTY segues perfectly into my One Word 2022. I didn’t see it coming. More on my new word in the next few days.

If you want companionship along your One Word journey for 2022, .

Here is a collage of quotes about UNCERTAINTY I shared throughout the year.

She’s Going to Fall…

Where is she?

I can’t find my little girl.

She was here just a second ago, but now she’s gone. I hear steps and look to my left. I see her blond hair swinging as she walks toward an outside staircase.

I begin running and call out to her.

But she doesn’t hear. She keeps walking.

Up the steps she goes. I know she’ll fall.

I must run faster.

The Invisible Nets

But she reaches the top of the staircase before I do. She does indeed fall, but she is caught. She is safe.

There is a net for such occasions.

I had not known of the net. It was hidden from my view.

I feel immense relief. Such as I’ve never felt before.

And I awake.

It has all been a dream, a nightmare, really. There was more (isn’t there always more in our dreams?), but the gist has stuck with me for over 30 years ago when I first dreamt it:

God has set up multiple safety nets around us, unbeknownst to us.

God is always loving our loved ones, even when we aren’t around. Our children, anything in our care really, aren’t our responsibility alone. They aren’t loved only by us. God loves them even more than we do.

And while yes, he primarily uses us to tend to those in our care, he also uses others. Sometimes we each step up and do our part.

But sometimes we don’t.

In those times, we pray the invisible safety nets will hold. 

Uncertain of What, Not Who

As I reflect this month on my One Word of the year, UNCERTAINTY, I am reminded of that dream I had when my firstborn daughter was a baby.

It has brought me great comfort in my life.

But has it not promised any guarantees.

Life still happens. And death. Many types of deaths. 

Sometimes someone has cut a hole in the safety net. Or the fragile body rejects being caught. Or we crawl out of the net ourselves.

Thus, uncertainty still frightens me (I believe; help my unbelief). I still long to fully understand each mystery, to find the complete instruction manual, to flood the whole path with light instead of one step at a time.

But I’m discovering my antidote to uncertainty is not more certainty.

It’s simply trust.

Not trust in what will happen next, but trust in who will be there when it does.

I can’t know the what. But I can know the who. 

As I flounder through my current season of uncertainty, I’m finding a measure of peace in knowing God throws safety nets out here. For me. For those I love. And for all those he loves, which is everybody.

Even when I can’t see him, I can see we are his safety nets of love for each other. 

May we each be found safe there.

Who are your safety nets?

Share your thoughts in the comments.

Read More:

• 5 Ways to Stay Safe While Walking in the Dark
• When You’re Not Sure How God Works
• 5 Ways to Deal With Your Thousand Little Deaths

sharing at these linkups

Cut It Down

They’re cutting down the tree today.

Buzzzzzz. That’s the sound I hear through my ears.

But the sound I hear through my heart is louder. Children laughing. Leaves tossing. Dogs being petted. Bubbles being chased.

All under the shade of that tree.

But now? Gone. Replaced with tears. Loss. Emptiness.

With every limb that drops, a memory drops with it.

But it’s more than the tree that’s breaking me.

Two Trees

We have (well, had) two trees in our front yard. One is the required Yoshino cherry tree per our neighborhood’s original covenant. Everybody used to plant one. In the spring the neighborhood was lit up with beautiful light pink cherry blossoms. It was fabulous.

But times change.

As the years went by, either the neighborhood covenant was no longer passed around, or the residents discovered no one enforced it, so why bother planting a cherry tree.

There are still enough cherry trees in the older yards to make it worth your drive through the neighborhood though. I’m glad about that.

But the second tree in our yard was a water oak. It’s the tree nearest my daughters’ two bedrooms.

We bought the tree as a sapling when we moved into the house in 2001. It was a little crooked, a little malformed, so we got it cheap.

It started small, but after 20 years, it’s grown straight and tall and round. And big.

So big that its limbs brush against our roof. Its leaves clog the gutters. Its roots threaten the foundation of our house.

It took a lot of convincing, but I finally agreed. Okay. Cut the tree. Take it down.

No Turning Back

But now that it’s happening, I want to change my mind. I know it’s not reasonable.

Seeing the bareness left behind is too much because I’m in a season where other things have also been cut out of my life.

Things I didn’t agree to lose. Things I have no control over. Things that are far more important to me than any tree.

But now it’s done.

The spot where the tree once grew is now empty.

Empty is how my heart feels too. The front yard is a visible reminder of it.

In time, maybe we’ll plant something else. Something further from the house. Something that won’t cause us damage one day. Smaller. More manageable.

But today’s not the day. Today is the day we pay the tree trimmers our money and they take away our tree.

I feel the cuts in my heart. But my heart is still beating. I still have multiple joyful reasons to live and laugh and love.

I change my gaze from the front to the back yard. The back yard has so many trees I can’t count them. We planted very few of them ourselves. Most are here as gifts of time and grace and God. Strong, healthy, beautiful.

But one day they will be gone, too. Nothing here is forever except Love. Refusing to accept the impermanence of everything else in our daily existence only causes extra suffering.

As I grieve my losses, I’ll take in the fuller picture, both front and back, both things that have changed already, and things that surely will change later.

And say thank you for the blessings of today, the ones still here in this moment.

There are many.

Share in the comments.

READ MORE:

• When You’re Not Sure How God Works
• But It’s Mine! Why We Can’t Let Go
• 5 Ways to Deal with Your Thousand Little Deaths

I said it again.

“I just don’t understand.”

I’ve said it a lot the past few months.

When situations arise that aren’t clear, our human brains want to find answers.

It’s uncomfortable to not know.

But here I am. You, too.

We may know some things—maybe even a lot of things—but there are far more things we don’t know than things we ever will know.

Even when we live in our light, we have many nights we walk in the dark.

How do we stay safe while walking in the dark?

1. KNOW YOUR SURROUNDINGS

It helps to already be familiar with the terrain. You know the potholes on your daily path. Skirt around them in the dark, too. Be aware of obstacles when possible. Avoid spots you know will cause you trouble.

2. CARRY LIGHT WITH YOU

Even the darkest dark can become illuminated with a little light. Turn on the light of presence in the form of hope. When the darkness threatens to overcome you, light up your hope from the inside.

3. STAY CALM

When the lights go out, you might be tempted to panic. But staying calm leads to wiser decisions. Solutions arise easier from a calm head than a flustered one.

4. REMEMBER IT WON’T ALWAYS BE DARK

Be patient. In confusing circumstances, remember a brighter light will eventually shine again. It won’t always be dark. The sun will rise again as you await another rotation of the earth.

5. DON’T WALK ALONE

It’s comforting to have a friend along when you’re walking in the dark. Stay with your people. Together is better than alone in dark seasons.

Yet Even…

Yet even with the best precautions and preparations, bad things can and do happen in the dark (well, also in the light). There are no guarantees.

Perhaps we have to redefine what “safe” means.

Here’s what it does not mean.

• Safe doesn’t mean we’ll never have pain.
• It doesn’t mean we’re immune from danger.
• It doesn’t mean our bodies will never die.

So what does safe mean in the ultimate sense?

For me, safe means I’ll never walk totally alone. I’ll always be loved. I’ll always be guided. Whether it’s light or it’s dark.

I’m reminding myself of that, even as I say, “I just don’t understand.”

Keep moving forward, dark or not. Keep living, keep loving.

Seeing clearly in the dark isn’t an illusion worth chasing. Seeking clarity can become an idol.

Maybe one day I’ll understand; maybe I won’t.

In the meantime, I hold tightly to others, and to the Spirit inside me.

That’s where my true security rests, in the light and through the dark.

How do you make it through a dark night?

Share your thoughts in the comments.

The Bad News

We have 40 boxes of hot dinners in the back of Jenna’s car. We picked them up from the cooks at Manna House. We have 40 people on eight floors we want to give them to on this Monday afternoon.

But our cart is missing here in the lobby of the apartments. We need the cart to load the boxes on, so we can make the room-to-room meal deliveries.

How are we supposed to make this happen without a cart?

I already begin to sigh.

Then Marty, one of the residents, comes around the corner. With a cart. He says he saw us coming and knew we’d need one, so we can borrow his.

We thank him profusely for his graciousness, borrow his cart, and make our deliveries.

On Thursday morning, I get a phone call. It’s from another resident where Marty lives.

She says, “I have some bad news. Marty died.”

Bring Out the Good

It’s too shocking. I doubt her word. “Are you sure? I just saw him Monday and he was fine! Marty has died???”

Yes. She said they found him this morning on the floor, dead from a heart attack.

We go back the following Monday to see our friends, and everyone is talking about Marty. They all are sad.

• One neighbor says Marty is the one who took her to her doctor appointments.
• Another says Marty fixed their neighbor’s TV troubles a day ago.
• Another says Marty was going to take him fishing on Saturday.

Death stripped away all these things.

No one can replace Marty.

As I reflect on UNCERTAINTY (my One Word for the year), I’ve particularly focused this month on the uncertainty of death. Rarely can we predict how or when we’ll die.

I certainly couldn’t have predicted Marty’s death.

The only thing I can predict is that while we are still here in the flesh, still moving and breathing, God is working to bring out the good in us.

I am certain of this: God wants us to live with love toward others. He will help us with this mission every opportunity we’ll give him.

And we have daily opportunities.

I’m grateful for the opportunities that Marty took to help other people. I felt loved by him and so did others.

God brought out the good in Marty while he was here.

May we let God bring out the good in us, too.

Featured Post

For our featured post this week, Karen tells us how the Lord’s Prayer can help us resemble Jesus. If we don’t look like Jesus while we’re here, we’re throwing away opportunities to show who God is.

Read all six of Karen’s points here at her blog, then add your own links in the comments.

“HOW THE LORD’S PRAYER HELPS US RESEMBLE JESUS”

Have you seen God bring out the good in someone this week? Share in the comments.

1. Share 1 or 2 of your most recent CHRISTIAN LIVING posts. (No DIY, crafts, recipes, or inappropriate articles.) All links are randomly sorted.

2. Comment on 1 or 2 other links. Grace & Truth linkup encourages community.   

3. Every host features one entry from the previous week. To be featured, include this button or link back here on your post (mandatory to be featured, but not to participate).

We encourage you to follow our hosts on their blogs or social media.

MAREE DEE – Embracing the Unexpected
Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest

LAUREN SPARKS
Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest

LISA BURGESS – Lisa notes
Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest

TAMMY KENNINGTON – Restoring hope. Pursuing peace.
Blog | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Pinterest

Now Let’s Link Up!

Audacious Prayers

It’s Sunday morning, 10:30 a.m. We’re crammed in the choir room after first service is over but before second service begins (pre-Covid days).

Someone closes the door. This is serious now. A choir member has asked for prayers for healing. It’s time to get down to business.

In the church I grew up in years ago, we weren’t bold with our prayers. Sure, we asked God to help us…if he wanted to, if he didn’t have anything more important to do, if he thought us worthy enough.

It felt a little flimsy.

But the prayers in this choir room are of a different flavor.

And they make me nervous.

They’re outrageous. They don’t just ask for future healing; they declare it to be so. And further, that it’s already occurred.

Everyone in the room needs to agree.

I’m not used to this.

Um, should I walk out if I don’t fully believe that the healing has already occurred? I don’t want to be a hindrance.

But my leaving would be quite noticable. I would be embarrassed. I would be pegged an unbeliever.

Is It Okay to Ask?

But I can’t fully convince myself I know what God will or won’t do.

And I further can’t convince myself that if God DOES want to heal, my belief or unbelief wouldn’t outstrip his ability to do so.

Does that make me a heretic? Of little faith? A lesser believer?

Are questions a bad thing?

I understand how more certainty and less doubts can bring more peace, less stress.

Science agrees that those who regularly participate in religious practices with strong beliefs report greater well-being than those who don’t, for a variety of reasons.

Psychologists also examine how certainty comes into play.

“With belief—that God will intervene, that a ritual will heal—comes certainty. And with certainty comes a kind of inner peace.”
– David DeSteno, How God Works

People who are more certain that God is at this moment killing all the cancer cells as they pray are more likely to be calm. They’re more at peace. They have less stress.

I’m Not Convinced

But my questions remain.

What happens if the choir member finds out at next week’s scan that his cancer has not gone away, but in fact has grown? What does that do to his faith? To the faith of those who prayed away the cancer already?

Start the process over and believe even harder next time?

I’m not convinced this is how faith works. I’m not convinced this is how God works.

And I’m not convinced that God is bothered by my questions.

God created some of us more inquisitive than others. My dad was that way. He was always asking questions. Always curious. Always wanting to learn more. Maybe I am this way, too.

I don’t think it’s a negative. Or a sin.

It doesn’t mean I love God less. Or trust God less. Or have less faith. It just means I’m inquisitive.

God is stronger than my weakest doubt. My faith isn’t dependent on my certainty about how God works.

I’m not even capable of understanding how God works anyway.

None of us are.

Uncertainty Is Uncomfortable

As I walk through this year of Uncertainty as my One Word, I’m learning that making peace with uncertainty is both harder than I ever imagined, but also more necessary than I thought.

Because, after all, if I’m never uncertain about anything, I’ll never change. I’ll never grow. I’ll never move closer and closer to actual truth.

I’m not saying it’s wrong to be sure about things. There are plenty of things I feel sure about. And yes, it comforts me (or, depending on what it is, it disturbs me).

But we can’t be sure about everything. Too much of life is volatile. It’s unpredictable.

When I am positive I already know everything, I shut myself off from learning new things.

And I can’t afford to do that. There is always more to learn.

I need to learn new things. I need to grow. I need to be transformed more and more into the image of Christ by experiencing him in new ways and by thinking new thoughts and by learning new behaviors.

Better ones. More accurate ones. More godly ones.

I believe it’s what God wants me to do. He wants me to keep searching for him. And he’ll keep providing evidence to prove his presence.

Uncertainty can be a bridge between here to there. It requires humility to cross over. It requests arrogance be left behind.

Am I wrong even now about some of the things I’m certain are true? Most assuredly so, even though I can’t see which ones yet.

I trust God to continue revealing truth to me all my life, if I’ll remain open to receive it.

But Uncertainty Is Okay

I stay in the choir room that Sunday morning. It feels rude to leave.

But I pray my own prayer, my honest prayer.

Like the others in the room, I want to believe God has already stripped away the cancer cells from my friend and that the doctor will find nothing on the next x-ray. I ask with audacity for complete healing. I’ve done so many times in the past and will continue to do so in the future. 

But I just can’t demand God to do it.

And I can’t guarantee his answer.

Uncertainty is okay. Even good. It leaves space for God to show up in unexpected ways.

Even when it’s uncomfortable.

How does God work?

I can’t say for certain.

I’ve just seen that he does.

Even if I don’t understand how.

Share your thoughts in the comments.

My thanks to NetGalley for the review copy of How God Works: The Science Behind the Benefits of Religion by David DeSteno. It’s a fascinating look at how religious practices themselves affect our lives from birth to death (but it’s not about how God does or doesn’t act through the practices).

I’m sharing at these blog parties

“If you’re suffering, it means you have a heart. Suffering is evidence of your capacity to love, and only those who understand suffering can understand life and help others.”
– Cuong Lu

A Thousand Deaths

I’m weary from the losses.

And all the things that go with it. Sleepless nights. Lots of crying. Multiple prayers. Endless questions.

In my circle, no one has died or moved far away lately (those are big deaths). We understand the grief left behind with big deaths. Intense pain is normal. It can last a long time.

But smaller changes can leave big holes, too. They also are painful. And these smaller deaths come more frequently. They add up.

It’s painful to let go of things we want to keep. But deaths keep coming. Change keeps happening.

My latest small death is a crushed dream. Like many small deaths (and sometimes large ones), it’s cloaked in uncertainty, especially in these early stages.

Some cuts are minor and heal quickly. But others slice deep and leave scars.

New pain can also trigger old pain. It mixes and mingles and we have trouble sorting it out. The small death I’m handling now is sending me back to past big deaths. The suffering in increased by the memories.

I don’t know yet if this cut will be resolved quickly and heal. Or if it will dig in and last a long time. I’m praying for the former. 

5 Ways to Deal With Small Deaths

So what do we do with these thousand small deaths we experience? 

Here are 5 ways to handle small deaths before they squeeze the life out of you. 

1. EXPECT DEATH

Isn’t the worst thing about loving a pet knowing it will likely die in a short span? It sounds gruesome, but just as we understand every living being will die a physical death, we also should expect other small deaths along the way.

It helps to accept death. With the uncertainty of life, we can never predict exactly which deaths we’ll experience. But it’s guaranteed they will happen. They all come: Good losses (sometimes we WANT things to die, such as a negative circumstance), bad losses, and neutral losses.

Change is a constant. Expect it. Experience it. Grieve it. Go to its funerals. 

And know that another change will soon take its place.

We can understand life better when we understand death better.

2. LET THINGS DIE

I have a hard time deciding when to clean up my flower beds at the end of the summer. As long as there’s one sickly bud hanging onto one sickly stem, I hold on to hope.

But sometimes it’s healthier to let things die in their appropriate season and be done with it. People drift away; circumstances change; seasons shift. It helps no one to hold on to dead things. If nothing died, what a mess we would be in. 

When a natural life cycle is complete, let it die. Something new is waiting to grow in its place.

3. GIVE THINGS AWAY

Other times, things may need to change, but we refuse to let them go. I’ve developed a bad habit of putting clothes I no longer wear into the spare bedroom closet. But do I ever return and wear any of those clothes again? Not yet. I need to just give them away to start with.

We often hang on too long to a toxic work situation or an unhealthy church or an abusive relationship because it’s painful to imagine life without it. But isn’t it more painful to stay?

Making an intentional decision to walk away feels like a death. But until we do, we continue to die ourselves. Giving up on a bad situation allows breathing room for new life.

4. HOLD THINGS LOOSELY

Researchers says we hold tightly to a possession once we own it, even if it’s just a free tote bag we were handed from a job fair. Because it’s now “mine,” I need to keep it.

But maybe life would be easier—and thus death easier, too—if we’d hold things loosely to start with, instead of clinging so tightly from the beginning.

Don’t grab hold and claim complete ownership of children, of money, of beauty. Keep an open hand. We can still love strong, but hold on loosely.

Recognizing we’re just temporary stewards of God’s good gifts, not permanent entitled owners, is a healthier way to pass through this world.

5. BE WILLING TO START OVER

Don’t outrun your grief. Give it its holy time.

But eventually after every death, start again. Return to life. As Sharon Salzberg says,

“The healing is in the return.”

Salzberg says not only can we learn how to start over, but we can do it with more compassion for ourselves and for others, with less judging and harsh treatment. (Listen to Sharon Salzberg’s amazing interview here with Krista Tippett on the On Being podcast.)

We can make a course correction to begin again after every death, when the time is right. And begin again and again and again. 

A Thousand + One Lives

I’m still in the middle of uncertainty with my newest small death. As I mourn, I’m trusting God with my grief. I throw myself on his mercy and goodness.

I cry the tears out; God pours fresh grace in. I fall apart; he puts me back together. (And he often uses my husband and others as his instrument; thank you, Jeff and others). 

I’m not happy about it. But I have to accept death, even the smaller ones, as they come. The uncertainty of death is a given.

Don’t underestimate death. But don’t let it dominate you either. Grief is often the beginning of transformation. Release things as they die in preparation to receive new things as they rise up.

Resurrection is as guaranteed as death. We see resurrections every day, too.

God always empties the tomb.

Resurrection might not look like we expect. Or come when we want it. Most things rarely do. But that’s okay. Each resurrection is beautiful in its time. Watch for it.

“Resurrection will always take care of itself, whenever death is trusted.”
– Richard Rohr

Accept the inevitability of a thousand little deaths. It opens into a thousand and one new lives . . . if we’re willing to start over, receiving each new life slightly different than the one before.

Somehow God is with us in each individual death. And in each new life that follows. Show up for both.

Love is always stronger than death. Love is forever.

Share your thoughts in the comments.

I sometimes regret choosing UNCERTAINTY as my One Word this year. It’s been uncomfortable. (Maybe IMPERMANENCE would have been more palatable?) But it is reality. I’m processing it here today.

How are you coping with the large and small deaths around you this past year? What are you afraid of losing? Share in the comments.

Share your thoughts in the comments.

2 RECOMMENDATIONS

1. I realize this is an odd recommendation. This free app, WeCroak, sends you five short quotes per day related to death.

It’s inspired by a Bhutanese folk saying: to be a happy person, one must contemplate death five times daily. You’d think it would be depressing, but it’s actually a great way to refocus on what’s important. I’m testing it out this month. 

2. A second recommendation: Feel deeply to know deeply. Richard Rohr sent beautiful daily emails last week on “Everybody Grieves.” See all the devotionals here. “All great spirituality is about what we do with our pain.”

But What If. . .?

I’m in the car. Chicken tortilla casserole and a lemon pie are resting hot and cold respectively in the backseat. I’m looking forward to seeing my newborn great-nephew and delivering the meal.

Except for one problem.

I have a runny nose. I’ve had it for a week. I’m 99% sure it’s just sinus drainage. I’ve had a bad season of allergies. I’ve been fully vaccinated against covid for weeks now.

But what if it’s not just allergies? What if it’s more?

I want to help my family. But I don’t to make a newborn sick.

The uncertainty of what if can wreck my good intentions. I sometimes have great plans to love well.

But the what if’s often step in and hijack it all.

Trust God More Than His Answers

When I take my what if’s to God, I sometimes get clear answers.

But more often, I don’t get the clarity I want. I have a hunch God wants me to trust him more than his answers.

But in this situation with the baby and the food, God gives me a solution. It’s a solution I wouldn’t have thought of 18 months ago. But now it’s an easy and ready option.

Put on a mask.

Many Ways to Love a Person

Before the pandemic, I’d rarely worn a mask (not counting the hard plastic Halloween masks of my youth). And I certainly didn’t have a stack at home, washed and ready to wear, available for any outfit.

But now masks are just another handy tool we ordinary people have on hand, ready for easy use whenever we have a doubt.

I pop on my mask, take in the food, and ooh and ah over the baby. I still don’t hold him; I don’t get too close.

But at least I’m not afraid that I passed along a germ that could be harmful.

There are many ways to love a person. We have more options than we realize. I’m thankful that wearing a mask when needed is now another way to show love to each other.

Thank you, God, for helping me with this what if. Now how about those others on my list. . . .

With my One Word this year, I’m learning that God has more to show me if I’ll stay humble, giving him the UNCERTAINTY of my what if’s, instead of jumping to the same old conclusions.

What has God taught you lately? Share in the comments.