I was going to share my chore charts (come back next week, and I will).  I could share about failing and flailing as a mother and mothering on.  I could write about bathrooms or bedrooms.  Designing your home.  Designing your life.  I could work out my words in my journal.  Write.  Wonder. Rant.  Repent.  Record.  But, instead my fingers feel like pecking at punchy keys.  Click click.  My thoughts shared, splattered on a glowing screen instead of tucked away in the turn of a page.  And, as I click, click, peck, punch, I’m really not sure what it is I have to say.  Click, click.  But, what I’m stewing on, what’s simmering away somewhere deep in the pot is something a friend said to me this week.

I was going to share my chore charts (come back next week, and I will). I could share about failing and flailing as a mother and mothering on. I could write about bathrooms or bedrooms. Designing your home. Designing your life. I could work out my words in my journal. Write. Wonder. Rant. Repent. Record. But, instead my fingers feel like pecking at punchy keys. Click click. My thoughts shared, splattered on a glowing screen instead of tucked away in the turn of a page. And, as I click, click, peck, punch, I’m really not sure what it is I have to say. Click, click. But, what I’m stewing on, what’s simmering away somewhere deep in the pot is something a friend said to me this week.

We aren’t shoot the breeze kind of friends.  We walk face first into the heavy winds.  We don’t have a lot of time together so we usually we skip the surface and dive deep.   Neither of us are sweet on small talk, anyways.  And anyways, I asked for an opinion on something I may not have really wanted an opinion on.   My words had wondered to a weighty something heavy, for me.  Maybe I didn’t want an opinion, but a breezy “what do you think?”  With a “you go, girl!”  Instead of a, “whoa, wait, girl!”

She told me what I didn’t want to hear.  Why did I ask?  I knew what I wanted to do.  What I thought was OK to do.  Although, maybe somewhere deep down I didn’t think it was the right thing and so I asked.  I’m still not sure.  And, I still kind of don’t like her answer.  She would say it is just her opinion.  And, that is what I truly wanted….her opinion.  Only her opinion was a mirror that revealed something in me.

Beyond the opinion, and the answer, and the advice she continued on and said that, “I was still holding the rope.  And, she just wished that I would drop it.”  I knew what she meant that day, but today I’m certain it means that….I’m still holding on.  I’m holding onto something that is clearly not holding me.

This morning, I found this quote, by Deepak Chopra, that probably found me:

“In the process of letting go, you will lose many things from the past, but you will find yourself. “

Sometimes it takes more strength to let go, than to hold on; Because we are convinced that it feels heavier to hold nothing, than to carry everything.

I suck at letting go.  If there is anything in life that I really excel at, could maybe win a gold medal at, it would be holding on.  Holding on to what was or how I want it to be.  Always and forever.  Except always and forever, in this life, many times turns into sometimes and for never.

I’ve had a long, few years, in letting go and I’m finding letting goes comes in layers.  That there is a good chance we aren’t just holding onto one giant, gym class, sized rope but that we are clinging to many.  I’ve willingly dropped some ropes, had friends help pry other ropes out from my fingers, and have heard God whisper loud, “I’ll hold on now.  Let go, I hold everything together.”

It’s hard to let go of those ropes that you have a death grip on.  Your fingers cramped and calloused, almost form and conform right into those frays.  If you let go of the rope, you might loose some of you.  Its likely to be painful.  How will you treat the wounds?  Will you have scars that remind you, daily?  What will your hands hold now?  Who will catch or carry the rope?

Yes, you will lose some of you.  But, if that quote is right, then you will also find you.  The you you’ve been too pre-occupied to see.  The you that arrives after you let go.

Your hand will be free to hold onto the hand of God, who with His other hand will hold onto the rope.  He will carry the person it may represent, the past that is no longer present, the dream you dreamed of doing.  He won’t pry one finger away or grab the rope from you, when you least expect it.  He will just kindly keep reaching out and offering His open hand.

The aroma of that conversation, a little sour, a little sweet, is still simmering as I click click, peck and punch at the keys and this letting go life.