Swinging into surrender

I close my eyes and suddenly I’m 5 years old trying to conquer the swing set. Jesus is there. I want to make the process as efficient as possible, so I start my mental calculations of exactly when I need to push off the ground, what angle I should be leaning back, how to combat the wind – all to achieve the greatest velocity. Having finished my methodical planning process, I carefully get situated on the swing. My young face is twisted in concentration as I cling tightly to the swing chains. Better do this right the first time so I can move onto my next childhood milestone already.

Oh yeah, Jesus is there. He was behind me all along, watching sadly as I stripped what could have been a beautiful and fun experience down to a checklist of striving. Effort. Control. Maybe if I had lightened up a bit, Jesus would have given me a joyous shove to send me soaring freely – but safely – into the air. I can only imagine the surprise and delight on my little kid face as I pretended to be a bird, or Wonder Woman. Suddenly my calculations and performance anxiety melt away. I’m shining with a big toothy grin, and so is Jesus.

This is a scene that has played out in my mind a lot when I ask Heavenly Father about my healing process. One thing you should know about me is that I would prefer to attack my “issues,” surgically. Remove my pain, as quickly as possible. No matter what it costs me – time, money, emotional energy, maybe even my sanity. Once I’m aware of a hurting piece of my heart, I want it fixed immediately. Otherwise I’m walking around broken and “in process.” No one wants that, right? I want to arrive at a place where my past sorrows, traumas, sins, mistakes and the lies I’ve believed are all settled. Then I can finally relax and enjoy my life.

I’m slowly learning that I will never “arrive” at full healing in this lifetime. Despite my best efforts, I will never be able to root out every single lie. A piece of my heart will heal – hooray! – and not long after I will discover another part that needs a breath of life again. This sounds pessimistic, but it lifts a heavy burden of pressure for me to “accomplish” wholeness in my own strength and timeline.

My job is to trust my daddy as he lovingly pushes me on the swing. Breathe. Laugh. Cry. Get angry. Surrender. Take a break. Cry again. He’s leading my healing process, and the God of the Universe has got it covered.

Swing on.

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