I cast my first vote in a presidential election on my 18th birthday.
The year was 1988. I went to the city hall in my little town after school and filled out my ballot. It was a rite of passage I’ve never forgotten.
We have let go of so many things this year. I started to make a list, but then I stopped. You have your own list; you don’t need to see mine.
The point is, nearly every single activity or event that we thought might happen since mid March has either not happened or been strangely modified in some way or another. And the only way I’ve been able to cope with all these cancellations and changes is to do what I’ve encouraged my girls to do since the Covid-19 closures began: hold our plans loosely.
It’s not a new message for me. I began grappling with it during our years of infertility, when learning to hold my desires for biological children loosely helped me embrace the beautiful truth that God had other plans for our family.
In the last decade—as we’ve downsized and Randy changed jobs and worked out of town, as we’ve dealt with unexpected health challenges and supported both my parents in their final months of life—this practice has become even more important.
And it’s taken on even greater meaning in recent days when we took our older daughter to college for the first time—in the midst of a global pandemic.
Learn to hold things loosely.
It sounds so simple, doesn’t it? And yet, as I shared last week, that’s the one bit of advice I would share with someone who was about to turn 40 (or any other milestone age, for that matter).
I don’t know if the learning ever stops, honestly. But given all that we’ve already been through this year, I can’t think of a better time to start.
So how do we do it? How do we loosen the death grip we have on our plans, desires, hopes, expectations and loved ones and relinquish them into the loving hands of our heavenly Father?
How exactly, in the year 2020 when nothing is turning out the way we thought it would, do we learn to hold things loosely? I don’t have all the answers, but here are seven practices that might help.
• Ask God to help you loosen your grip, and be specific. Say, “Dear Lord, this particular thing is really important to me right now; let it be less so.”
• Find a friend or mentor who lives like this and learn from his or her story.
• Pray for God’s will to be done, not yours. Over time, I don’t think there’s a more effective way to practice holding things loosely than this.
• Vocalize it. When you feel yourself gripping a future plan or desire tighter, tell yourself, “I can’t do anything about this right now, so I’m going to let it go for the next day (or hour or 15 minutes).”
• Ask God to help you not to worry about tomorrow. (See also Matthew 6:25-34)
• Investigate God’s sovereignty and goodness. He is both, fully and completely. And the more deeply we allow this truth to penetrate our hearts and inform our theology, the easier it is to trust Him.
Finally, especially in 2020:
• When you write in your planner, write in pencil.
♥ Lois
How do we learn to hold things loosely? Pray for God's will to be done, not ours. Share on X How do you learn to hold things loosely in the year 2020? For starters, when you write in your planner, write in pencil. Share on XP.S. I’m linking up this week with Purposeful Faith, #TellHisStory, InstaEncouragements, Recharge Wednesday, #HeartEncouragement, Let’s Have Coffee and Grace & Truth.
“Any advice for my 40s? I only hear good things about them.”
I read that line recently in an Instagram post, and it sorta stopped me in my tracks for a minute.
It made me want to go down to the basement storage room, dig out the box of letters Randy secretly requested people send me when I turned 40, and see what they had to say about the coming decade. Especially those who were already there, or had been there long ago.
I’m turning 50 in a few months. I can’t wrap my head around it. Fifty still sounds so old.
And yet, my friends who are older than 50 don’t seem old to me. Nor do I feel old personally.
I mean, my knee joints definitely feel older. When I look in the mirror, I see my mom’s saggy upper arms and my dad’s white hair (especially during the quarantine when I went four months between hair colorings). And the bags under my eyes appear more pronounced and wrinkly with every passing year.
But, truth be told, saggy arms and white roots and noticeable eye bags were not new developments in my 40s. Not by a long shot.
At the same time, I think my 40s have been good to me—and for me. In many ways, I’ve experienced what others said would happen in this decade.
I’m more comfortable in my own skin. I’m more confident in my ability to handle hard things and make hard decisions. I’m much more flexible.
I have room to improve in all of these areas, for sure. I also think it’s fair to say I’m not how I used to be, and that’s a good thing.
But the growth didn’t come overnight, nor was it acquired without loss, grief or stress. Had I been in charge of doling out my own life circumstances, I doubt I would have chosen significant portions of what I got.
I can relate to Frodo in the Lord of the Rings, lamenting to his mentor Gandalf about the heavy burden it is to carry the cursed ring.
“I wish the Ring had never come to me. I wish none of this had happened,” the Hobbit says.
“So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide,” replies the wise wizard. “All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.”
What happens to us in our 40s—the good, the bad and the ugly—is often not for us to decide. But how we respond? That is entirely up to us.
Ten years is a long time. It might not seem like very long to an octogenarian, but here on the cusp of 50—perhaps for the Instagrammer on the verge of 40, and maybe for you too—it seems like an eternity.
What the next 10 years will hold for us—as individuals, as a country, as a community of believers—is anybody’s guess. Perhaps the only thing we know for sure is that change will come.
Some of it will likely be good; some will probably be difficult. Even changes that are beautiful and joyful may be tinged with sadness—that’s just the nature of life as we get older.
That said, there’s only one bit of advice I would offer someone turning 40—or 50, 30 or 70, for that matter.
Learn to hold things loosely.
Loved ones, expectations, material possessions, homes, desires, dreams, relationships, plans for your future (or your children’s futures)—all of it.
If it’s possible to hold on to something—literally or figuratively—learn to hold it loosely.
• • •
Next week, I’ll elaborate on this counsel a bit and share some ways we can facilitate the learning (it’s an ongoing, lifelong process, at least for me).
In the meantime, if you’re over 40, what bit of wisdom would you share with someone who was about to hit that youthful milestone?
♥ Lois
What the next 10 years will hold for us is anybody’s guess. Perhaps the only thing we know for sure is that change will come. Share on X What happens to us in our 40s is often not for us to decide. But how we respond? That is entirely up to us. Share on XP.S. I’m linking up this week with Purposeful Faith, #TellHisStory, InstaEncouragements, Recharge Wednesday, #HeartEncouragement, Let’s Have Coffee and Grace & Truth.
This has been such a weird season that I seriously considered writing a post called “What I Failed to Learn This Summer.” I’ve actually started such a list, and maybe I’ll post it sometime.
However, in the interest of keeping traditions during a time when so many have been postponed or altered, I’m sticking with Emily Freeman’s original quarterly prompt and sharing what I did learn this summer. Beginning with an observation that I never would have dreamed of writing about prior to Covid-19.
• I have a small head.
This is a fact, not a criticism. I don’t wish I had a different head, nor am I hoping that people will reassure me that my head looks perfectly fine the way it is.
That said, in this age of mask wearing, being an adult with a smaller head is a bit of a challenge. The child-sized masks I’ve tried pinch my nose (which is decidedly not child-sized), and most adult masks are much too big for my face.
I think I’ve finally found a mask that will work, but it took a while. And I will not be sorry when I don’t have to wear it anymore.
• I’m very thankful for the people in my life who are comfortable with silence.
This occurred to me several weeks ago when I was reading You’re Not Listening: What You’re Missing and Why it Matters by Kate Murphy.
“To be a good listener is to accept pauses and silences because filling them too soon, much less preemptively, prevents the speaker from communicating what they are perhaps struggling to say,” she writes. “It quashes elaboration and prevents real issues from coming to the surface. Just wait. Give the other person a chance to pick up where they left off. … You get so much more out of interactions when you allow people the time and space to gather their thoughts.”
I love the talkers in my life, of course, but not everyone can be silent for long periods of time in the company of others and be totally OK with it. My dad was this way, and so is my younger daughter. As I see it now, it’s a gift.
• Making steamed dumplings is easier than you may think.
If you’ve been reading this blog for a while, you may recall that last spring, my girls and I taught ourselves how to make French macarons. It was a fun and tasty experiment that gave us—or at least me—a good bit of confidence when it comes to trying recipes that I’ve previously considered intimidating.
So when I asked Molly to look through my favorite food blog and pick out some dishes that might help me as I figure out how to cook for three instead of four, I was actually kind of excited when she chose Japanese Dumplings.
Dumplings are one of the few dishes that everyone in our family embraces enthusiastically. But I’ve never used wonton wrappers in a recipe before, and getting the dumplings into a shape that, well, even remotely resembles dumplings always seemed above my skill level.
Molly has never met a how-to video she doesn’t like, though, so with the aforementioned food blogger’s guidance, we decided to give dumplings a shot.
I mixed and prepped, Molly worked her magic with the wonton wrappers, and soon a skillet full of dumplings was sizzling on the stovetop. The end result was definitely worth the effort (and possibly even better than we’ve had at a restaurant).
• The build-up to a Very Big Thing can seem more stressful, emotional or difficult than the actual thing.
This isn’t the case every time, of course, but it’s happened to me enough now that it seems noteworthy. It can be some kind of anniversary or milestone, the start of something new or the ending of something enduring. It doesn’t even have to be an event or situation that others would consider significant.
Whatever it is, we can be assured of this: God will meet us there—in our anxious anticipation or stomach-churning dread—and He will strengthen us for what lies ahead.
• Taking your first child to college for the first time is a highly individualized experience.
It doesn’t hit all moms the same, or all dads. Not every parent cries all the way home, or much at all. We worry about different things ahead of time, and for different reasons. Personality plays a role, and so does how this transition played out in our own lives.
It’s still early in the process for us, and while only God knows how anybody will feel in a month or two, it seems to be going well on both ends (at college and at home).
At this point, I’m grateful for grandparents who have prayed, for friends and mentors who have invested time and love into my girl’s life, and especially for the assurance that the God who began a good work in her heart and mind so many years ago will carry it through to completion.
• • •
Although I suppose I could come up with a few other lessons that have to do with quarantines and trusting God during a pandemic, I think I’ll leave it at this. But I am anxious to know about you. If you’ve learned something this summer—anything, really—please share it in the comments.
♥ Lois
Whatever Big Thing we're dreading, we can be assured that God will meet us in our anxious anticipation and strengthen us for what lies ahead. Share on XP.S. I’m linking up this week with Purposeful Faith, #TellHisStory, InstaEncouragements, Recharge Wednesday, #HeartEncouragement, Let’s Have Coffee and Grace & Truth.
When my dad died last year, I got short text from my friend Kim. “Your dad’s in heaven,” it read. “Good for him!”
This might sound like a strange thing to say to a grieving daughter, but coming from Kim, it was perfect. Not only is she is a dear friend who knows me well, she also knows a great deal about missing a precious loved one who has gone before her to heaven.
On the first day of August, we packed the car for an overnight stay and headed north to Iowa for my niece’s belated high-school graduation party.
The road trip—our first since the Covid quarantines started—was a strange mixture of excitement to be going somewhere and apprehension about wearing masks and keeping our soon-to-be college freshmen healthy. Also—in my heart, anyway—there was the added emotional weight of remembering the last time we had taken this very same trip.