As the rain and the snow come down from heaven, and do not return to it without watering the earth and making it bud and flourish, so that it yields seed for the sower and bread for the eater, so is my word that goes out from my mouth: It will not return to me empty, but will accomplish what I desire and achieve the purpose for which I sent it. -- Isaiah 55:10-11

Thursday, March 22, 2012

Something That Feels Good

I quit my CERT class tonight.

I hadn’t planned to, not when I left the house, but as I drove over, all the things of the week rolled through my head, and by the time I arrived at the Law Enforcement Center I knew. That isn’t where I am supposed to be.

Then when I told my instructor, I felt my voice cracking. When another instructor asked if everything was okay and looked me in the eyes, I am sure he saw puddles starting to form. I simply said, “Life changes. I need to be home.”

Then a third instructor asked me if there was anything they could do, and I choked out, “I just need to be home.”

By the time I got to the truck, I was in tears.

I hadn’t expected that.

Honestly, I really didn’t know why I was crying. I loved the class the first time I took it, but this time it really was just a means to the end of becoming an instructor. I wasn’t enjoying it at all, and I was counting weeks until it was finished.

Still, I cried.

So I sat in my truck, cried, and asked God what was up with that.

And somewhere in the jumble of words and tears I understood.

With the first class, I had felt so excited, so alive. I wanted to feel that again. Actually, I just wanted to feel something that didn’t feel like pain. And, this didn’t hurt. But, it didn’t feel good either.

I wasn’t crying because I was giving up a class. I was crying because I was giving up something that had been important, that had been a happy place, and there was nothing to replace it. Once again, I was staring at what used to be a place where I felt connected and joyful and now was just an empty spot.

And empty spots are hard things.

They are scary things.

Because I don’t know just how deep they are going to go…

Or how long they are going to last…

Or what will fill them.

All I really know is
I refuse to let the fear of Nothing
compel me to hold on to a useless Something.

So I wiped the tears from my face and started the truck. I didn’t look back because I knew it my break my resolve. Instead, I looked forward and put the truck in drive, not really knowing where I was going or what I was going to do. 

But I knew I was headed in the right direction, and that was something.

And that something felt good.