99: Choose To Be Continued

Last September, one of our wonderful dear neighbors, Madrea, passed away. She was 99 years old and lived in the house directly across the street from us. In the roughly 5 1/2 years we were able to know her, I admired her lively, fun, and determined attitude. If life knocked her down {literally or figuratively}, she always seemed to find a way back up, even if it was slow going and even if it required the aid of a walker.

The house she lived in was built in 1961, and stepping inside always felt like decades of backward time-travel. The carpet, the light fixtures, the wallpaper, the tile—even the floor-plan—all of it was a total blast from the past. So when the time came to put it on the market last fall, as you might imagine, the people who bought it needed to have some big vision and big plans. Plans that, at the time of this recording, are still very much in progress.

The new owners actually aren’t planning to move in. Instead, they are doing a deep renovation to the house, and plan to put it back on the market once it’s flipped. It’s been kinda fun to track all the changes from my kitchen window, or on my way to check the mail, day in and day out. Although, if I’m being honest, from my point of view, at this point the progress seems to have slowed considerably.

When they first began, it was like there was something new to notice each and every day. A new roof. New front door. New windows. New paint. The removal of old shutters and drywall and carpet and shelving and appliances. Fast-forward several months, and they’re still working every day, but I’m seeing little to no noticeable changes. And while I am nothing more than a mere bystander in this whole situation, I must admit that a part of me is growing impatient and a little frustrated by the process. I’m ready for the finished product, the open house, the for-sale sign, and the new neighbors who will officially call this house home.

I guess I’m finding that a one-hour flip on HGTV is not exactly an accurate portrayal of a home renovation. I’m learning that realistically, more often than not, good work is a process that takes more time.

Whether it’s flipping a house or meeting a goal or living a life, it seems we do our best to avoid being “in-process.” We prefer a quick fix, a finished product, a smooth arrival. We want life and circumstances to feel complete, whole, move-in ready. But the more life I live and the more stories I bear witness to, it seems we’re fooling ourselves; our experiences are never quite as put-together as we’d like.

Instead, our actual lives often feel more like the middle. The so-close. The almost. The to-be-continued.

This is a reality I’m learning in real-time, and it’s something I’m trying to make peace with. What if we never fully arrive? What if we’re never fully finished, but are always becoming? What if, in the midst of searching for the significance of a period, we are instead companioned by the dot, dot, dot of an ellipsis {thanks to Emily P. Freeman and Mark Batterson for that image}? What if fullness isn’t something we have to force?

This reality can be frustrating and even more disorienting—when the dream won’t come true, the relationship falls apart, the grief won’t subside, the problem isn’t solved, the pain doesn’t pass, the project isn’t finished, the question goes unanswered, the to-do list lingers, the goal feels just out of reach. On and on and on. We know all too well that it can be exhausting, to say the very least.

But one shift I’m *slowly* learning to make is to look for pockets of possibility in the midst of the disorientation. Not to negate or downplay our experience of the middle, but to welcome it in a way that doesn’t feel completely hopeless. It’s considering that maybe we aren’t alone where we are; maybe God meets us, loves us, even here; maybe, it’s safe for us to lean into the dot, dot, dot…

What if we could learn to let ourselves be unfinished? What if we could choose to move through the process without a particular agenda? What might that look like?

Well, like I’ve said before and like I will probably say again, part of making that shift means practice. And so I wonder if you can identify maybe one low-stakes thing, one menial part of your life, whether it’s for today, or the next week, or the whole summer, that you can *intentionally* leave unfinished? Incomplete? Not as a form of irresponsibility but as a sort of real-life reminder that we are all in-process, that sometimes slow progress and even no progress is okay, and that God is with us every step of the way. So how might you intentionally choose to be continued?

Maybe, today, you choose to leave the sink full of dishes or unfolded laundry on the couch. Great choice. Go you!

Or maybe if you exercise, this week, you intentionally don’t do the full set of reps or go the full distance on the trail or treadmill. Maybe this week, 1.91 miles is just as good as two.

Maybe there is a minor goal at work that’s on your to-do list, but it can wait another month. What if you don’t check it off just yet?

Or, maybe you’re like the new owners of Madrea’s house, and there’s a home-improvement project you could probably complete in a couple weeks; maybe you slow your progress so it takes til the end of the summer. What might you notice along the way?

For me, here’s how I’m choosing to be continued:

This is remind{h}er 99. Remind{h}er 100 is within my grasp, right around the corner, so very close. I’ve quietly held a 100-episode goal for quite some time now, and here we are. But I’m deciding not to rush it. Not to force it. Instead, I want to give it some space to breathe, some time to become, as a reflection of the life I’m living.

Now, I have absolutely no plans to permanently close up shop on this podcast. But I do sense an invitation from God to press pause on my creative output for a bit. Whether it’s crafting a podcast episode, writing a paper for school, preparing a message for a speaking engagement or planning a lesson for church, I need some time to rediscover who I am without a deadline for my creative work. That’s one part of this decision.

The other part is that I want to let my podcast-progress linger for a bit. I want to intentionally not reach my goal yet, so I can develop a new sense of patient trust. And in the process, I want to dream about how this podcast can continue to grow and how I can continue to serve you through my words, my voice, and my creativity in fresh ways.

That being said, I’m taking the rest of the summer to do just that. I can’t wait to celebrate remind{h}er 100 with you in August and I’m excited to explore what that’s going to look like {I already have a couple things in the works}. And I look forward to stepping into triple-digit territory with you going forward after that. I’ll still be sending out my monthly letter, The Re{collection} throughout the summer, so if you’re not signed up for that and want to be in touch the next couple months, that’s a great option. I’ll link to it the show notes.

And I also want to say, I don’t make this kind of decision lightly—there’s always some worry and doubt and insecurity swirling in my soul around the decision to go off the air for a bit. But, as always, I’m grateful for your support and the way you trust me with 10-15 minutes of your day every couple weeks. Truly, it’s an honor, and I can’t wait to continue sharing that time with you after this break. So, thank you, thank you, thank you.

Before we break, though, I want to leave you with a prayer written by Jesuit priest and paleontologist {who knew that was a thing?!}, Pierre Teilhard De Chardin. It’s called, Patient Trust:

Above all, trust in the slow work of God.

We are quite naturally impatient in everything

to reach the end without delay.

We should like to skip the intermediate stages.

We are impatient of being on the way to something

unknown, something new.

And yet it is the law of all progress

that it is made by passing through

some stages of instability—

and that it may take a very long time.

And so I think it is with you;

your ideas mature gradually—let them grow,

let them shape themselves, without undue

  haste.

Don’t try to force them on,

as though you could be today what time

(that is to say, grace and circumstances

acting on your own good will)

will make of you tomorrow.

Only God could say what this new spirit

gradually forming within you will be.

Give our Lord the benefit of believing

that his hand is leading you,

and accept the anxiety of feeling yourself

in suspense and incomplete.

Today, together, may we choose to be continued rather than complete. May we come to know and feel ourselves in suspense and unfinished. And may we know the faithfulness of God even in the middle of the process, as we continue to become the people God created us to be.