Have you ever held your breath? Sure, under water, in a tunnel, during fear, through a cemetery, in hope…but right now, I mean for as long as you can. Take a deep breath and now just hold it.
At first, it’s nothing. You don’t really notice anything different except going against the natural rhythm of your body. I’m having a hard time concentrating as I write this and try to hold my breath.
I feel like a balloon.
If you keep holding it, all you can think of is your need to release and take in new air. Fresh air. Must. Breathe.
Have you held it for so long now that you are beginning to be wildly aware of your heartbeat drumming against your lungs, demanding oxygen? I just did that.
You can stop holding your breath now, if you haven’t already!
A month ago as I prayed about what I would write for October’s personal prayer, I sensed that I needed to share about the process of letting go.
Between that moment and this writing, I’ve been dead center in some of the most painful letting-gos of my life (you may recall my tribute to my grandmother who recently passed away). So I feel like I can’t write this. It’s too raw. It’s too personal and it’s too close to my heart center. I’m not done letting go. I’ve forgotten how to exhale to then inhale again.
Actually, I don’t want to inhale.
Life is full of opportunities—some we’re meant to grasp and persevere towards while others are for the letting go. Some circumstances we can control, but some we have no control over. Until this point in my life, much of life has been on chartered water in a chartered ship with sure sailors and certain steering. The waters have been easy. It was easy to control, and it was easy to surrender to the course.
But what do you do when your sailors mutiny? Right in the eye of the hurricane when there’s still more to come? No stars to guide the way. GPS overboard. Main mast shattered. Extra baggage over the side. Ship’s as light as can be. Completely gutted.
And the storm only intensifies.
I still don’t want to inhale.
What if I breathe in water–the tsunami wave that’s been trying to choke me out all this time.
Letting go is not easy because when you let go your hands are empty and they will be filled again. And I think the real struggle is there. It’s not the emptiness. It’s not holding tightly to the thing that’s clawing to get away from you.
It’s the releasing. It’s releasing to move into something different than where you were. It’s the acceptance of the change: in yourself and your circumstances.
It’s a surrender to your reality rather than the “could have”, “would have”, “should have”, or “what if”. Being right in the present. There are moments for digging your heels in or bulldozing forward, but there are moments for letting go. Accepting what you can’t change.
I’ve been exhaling for a while now, and I’ve been lingering in the place of no breath. It hurts here, but I still don’t want to inhale. But I will.
God, I’m not strong enough to let go. I’ve been gutted and hang in the place of no breath.
I like it here. It hurts here.
But I can’t stay.
You’re not the type to leave me in this shadowy deathly valley.
You restore my soul, and you lead me beside still waters again.
Will you help me to be like the autumn trees that clothe the ground in colorful carpet because they let go?
Help me to inhale your grace and exhale gratitude.
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