Dear Friend: when limits become an invitation
the struggle of a recent mini-retreat, showing up in the midst of transition & 5 recent glimmers of goodness
Dear Friend,
We’re nearing the start of school for my kids, but we’re also still in flip-flops & Chacos, taking trips to the pool, and eating ice cream bars after dinner. I can feel the transition coming as we near the end of August, not merely in the beginning of new grades for my kids, but a baby girl this fall, job shifts, relational shifts, just to name a few.
I often think of the picture of transition that William Bridges came up with for the business place. It’s been 10 years since I was introduced to this simple workplace model, but the factual nature of it has been tremendously helpful as I process my own personal transitions. I have found the simple 3 stages to be a gift in noticing and naming the transition in my own life: ending, neutral zone & new beginning.
I find that the first stage of ending & loss and the final stage of a new beginning tend to be easy for me to identify. When a transition is fresh, it is easy to see the pain or loss innately woven into what it means to be experiencing a change. And once I’ve found a bit of a rhythm or have unpacked the boxes, it is not much effort to notice the signs of a new beginning and the energy of making it to our new normal.
But the gift often comes for me in noticing and naming neutral zone. This is the messiest, in-between part that I’ve had described to me by my friend Sarah as feeling like “walking through mud.” It has been incredibly validating to see the emotions and drop in productivity that comes from being in this liminal space, and that a new beginning emerges with time. For me, it has helped to take a piece of shame out of my responses to transition, and see them for what they are: part of the process.
I had the gift of childcare unexpectedly last week as dear friends hosted our kids for a sleepover, and I was curious how best to use that time. It has been a full summer and I wondered if some time to retreat, even in my own house, could be helpful.
So, I made myself an iced coffee, put on the instrumental version of Christy Nockels’ Be Held album and pulled out my journal. I wish I could say the words flowed and I was able to process what the summer has held so far, and the transition to come. But it was a struggle. Words didn’t come the way I’d hoped. It was like I was holding too much to even know where to begin. I wrote out some of my gratitude from recent weeks, and felt stuck where to go from there.
I’m grateful to notice that at this point, a younger me would have begun a quiet cycle of shame. I would have turned the disappointment of discovering my limitations into a shame narrative of not being able to do something I “should” be able to do. I should journal. Why couldn’t I get my act together? Try harder, try again.
It was a gift to notice that I’ve grown more compassionate and curious towards myself. It wasn’t a failing but information worth listening to. Journaling requires a certain kind of head space and perhaps I was too weary for that. Maybe I needed something gentler to meet me here. So, I pushed play on this 10 minute mini-retreat, allowing myself to receive the gift of rest in these gentle words.
I also pulled out a few magazines, my scissors and glue to create space for the practice of art journaling and found poetry that I learned recently from Kris Camealy. If I couldn’t write words, maybe I could receive them. It honestly felt like nothing much would emerge, and at best, I’d be cutting out a few images and words that I’d felt drawn to and save them for a day when I had more to show up with.
But this was what I had and I still asked for the gift of the Lord to meet me here, even if it ended up looking more like showing up and less like a certain result. As the Lord so often does though is take what looks to be a meager offering and turn it into a feast.
My limits become an invitation.
My tears become sacred ground.
My weariness becomes a place to receive.
My desert becomes a spacious place.
I came to the other side of this time with the gift of words that I knew I could not have written myself. They were the answer to my prayer to be met in this messy middle of transition, where I don’t even know fully what I need or how to get to the other side. I wonder if they will be a gift for you too.
A beginner’s guide to
something new
growing
Aches, pain
decisions
decisions
decisions
Honor where you are.
Time for soft touches
beauty
nourishment
favorite things
joy to all senses.
Goodness is your story.
“Surely goodness and mercy follow me all the days of my life” (Psalm 23:6) has been a gift to hold onto in recent years, so to hear it echoed in the final line of this found poem felt especially for my tender heart. I may feel disoriented and unmoored in transition, but His “beauty and love chase after me every day of my life.” Goodness is my story.
And to end, I want to share a few of the glimmers that are adding goodness to my story these days. I may have to hunt a little harder for them when I’m in the midst of transition, but goodness is here. Here are 5 good things—
This one is delicious, can be made with any kind of milk, is simple to make and is such a fun texture with the chia seeds. I’ve made multiple batches of this recently, and it is quickly becoming a crowd pleaser.
I rarely have space for podcasts these days, but this one came when I really needed it. I can’t stop thinking about what Emily P Freeman says in these 16 minutes, contrasting what our souls and schedules need. If you are more a reader than a podcast person these days, you can also find the transcript here. Here’s one of my favorite lines:
Our priority in the present when it comes to our schedules is efficiency, but with the soul, it’s simply existence, be here now.
Family walks
We’re taking these (almost) daily, and I love having space to notice the clouds, subtle shifts in the neighborhood, bunny sightings as we walk the same paths together and talk.
These have become a new favorite dinner, and they’re easy and flavorful. I make these with gluten free breadcrumbs, and substitute the teriyaki sauce with gluten free soy sauce & a bit of honey, and the ground chicken with ground turkey. They’re amazing even without the sesame slaw.
Dancing to this song
I’m trying hard to let my body experience joy whenever she wants, and not worry about how I look. This one is my current favorite.
Dear friend, I'd love to hear from you. Feel free to just hit "reply" to this email. I read and savor every email that comes my way, even if I don’t always have the space to respond. Whether you want to share a bit of what transition you’re in, your recent glimmers of goodness, or if my words brought up anything for your heart, I’d be so glad to know.
Warmly,
Alison