On Sunday, amidst the usual flurry of activity, my friend, Kerry, shoved Freefall to Fly into my hands. The exchange happened in seconds. I don’t really remember why she gave it to me, except that we had talked about it recently. She was spot on. This is what I needed to read.

Somewhere hidden in the text is a quote I can’t fully recall, but the concept hung on: “You will never change until it is impossible to continue living the way you’ve been.”

I’ve felt the whisper this week, the Spirit of God asking a hard question. “So, how much longer do you want to live this way?”

By “live this way”, Holy Spirit means so many things, but it’s all wrapped into one: this busy, frantic avoidance of the very things that will give me life. Dodging God with activity, silencing quiet with noise. Making my soul a priority by limiting social media, but cramming in more motion cause I’m not ready to calm down. Not yet. 

I heard it this morning on the way to work. And I’m pretty sure I heard it again, or at least it echoed, on my way home.

The question is nagging, aching, gnawing. It’s doing the thing hunger does. It’s growing.  I’m becoming uncomfortable.

God is saying other things too. He’s telling me some things about my character I would rather not hear, pulling a layer back so I can see the underbelly.

I am beginning to see myself as I am, seeing from his perspective the impact my faults are having, even though I wanted to think of my choices as relatively harmless.

It’s a hard and painful lesson. God is telling the truth, since it’s all he knows to do. I want to hear it, to submit to it, to reap the reward of the change.

But change is hard. No, it’s impossible. Until continuing in the old ruts, paths and traditions is too impossible to maintain. That’s when change happens.

So it’s almost impossible over here. And that word isn’t usually good news, but this time it is.

“How much longer do you want to live this way?”

Maybe I should pray a bold prayer as my husband encouraged my small group to pray. Maybe I should say, “Make it impossible, Lord.”

I’m afraid. But I’m uncomfortable. And that’s good.

It means this impossible change is coming. Soon.

One thought on “It’s almost impossible

  1. ‘I’m afraid. But I’m uncomfortable. And that’s good.’- Oh I know the feeling. The discomfort, the challenge, the truth. And I also know that it is good…


Comments are closed.