I've always been ill-equipped for monkey bars

(thoughts on hanging on and letting go)

The church searching feels a bit like a part-time job for me. I spend time reading website information and statements of belief, scanning their social media presence, and watching clips of their services. If the church is part of a denomination, I check what the official position is on topics like baptism and marriage and women in ministry as well as how Reformed they are. We visit the church(es). We debrief. We list out pros and cons and wait for an email, a postcard, or a phone call from a pastor or an elder. We pray.  All throughout this process, I feel my grip continue to loosen on where I’ve called home for so many years, a place we have left but that I haven’t 100% withdrawn from yet, physically or emotionally. It’s like I’m hanging on the monkey bars, with my feet dangling and my arms burning. And instead of being able to move seamlessly to the next bar, I know I need to release and drop to the ground. It’s not that far of a drop, I remind myself, but sometimes the pain of hanging on feels more comfortable than the unknown of letting go. 

We have visited ten churches since the end of January, not including repeat visits nor the church I had to visit with my high schooler for one of his assignments. The Easter visit to another new-to-us church felt like taking one arm off the monkey bars, not because I necessarily think we will end up at this church, but because of the strange reality of being a visitor rather than a member somewhere on Easter. I don't know that I have ever been a first-time visitor somewhere on Easter Sunday. It felt both painful and necessary with a little bit of joy and exhilaration mixed in. A caring and wise professor advised me a few weeks ago, “Give yourselves until the end of the summer to decide on a church.” These words took off much of my self-imposed pressure to “find a church right now.” But it is still hard to release every bit of my trust and illusion of control to the Lord. 

Recently I met with a woman, thirty-plus years my senior, who gave me a message to let go, to seek healing, and to prepare for what is next. I worry over each potential decision, speculating what others will think and how I will be perceived. I want to still teach the Bible in the same ways and places I have been teaching it.  Yet I have been confronted with the importance of honestly assessing the current emotional pain and the spiritual tiredness that has accumulated over the last couple of years, and thus recognizing I need some pastoral care so that someday I can return to being able to care for and shepherd others. The hanging on has been more painful than I have wanted to admit.

I cannot move to the next rung on the bars today. But I can let go and trust that when I release, I will find rest and gain strength. I can consider that letting go of my grip will allow me to continue to care better for those who have always been entrusted to me. And I can wait without fear for the next opportunities the Lord has for me, some known and some yet-to-be-known. 

3 You will keep the mind that is dependent on you
in perfect peace,
for it is trusting in you.

4 Trust in the Lord forever,
because in the Lord, the Lord himself, is an everlasting rock!

5 For he has humbled those who live in lofty places—
an inaccessible city.
He brings it down; he brings it down to the ground;
he throws it to the dust.

6 Feet trample it,
the feet of the humble,
the steps of the poor.


7 The path of the righteous is level;
you clear a straight path for the righteous.

8 Yes, Lord, we wait for you
in the path of your judgments.
Our desire is for your name and renown.

(Isaiah 26:3-8 CSB)