Transitions Are Always Hard, Even the Good Ones

Photo by Catlane

Here we are, just a couple of days away from October—the month I thought couldn’t come soon enough and yet, came faster than expected. 

The weather is cooling off, the fires are waning, and we are approaching my favorite seasons: fall and winter. Markets are busy as they stock up with pumpkins and all sorts of treats spiced with nutmeg and cloves. My mood is shifting upwards, towards the giddiness and anticipation of the holidays while I try not to dwell upon how different the holiday festivities will look this year.

Thanks to all of you who sent in comments of both support and “I know what you’re going through” empathy. (Sidenote: You have no idea how much I cherish your comments in response to my blog posts. In addition to the glee of knowing that people out in the world, whom I have never met, read my writing, I learn so much from you as well. By “comments,” I mean the ones you post at the bottom of this blog post or email back to me. Commenting on the bottom of the blog post is always fun because it enables other readers to join in the conversation if they want to.)

To my great benefit, I did gain one gem of a realization through that trying period, which I spotted out during morning coffee with a colleague last week. After I shared with her how much distress all of these events were causing me, I said, “What’s worse is that I don’t even have weekly church anymore to unload these burdens!” 

Silence. 

Ahhh…

I miss church. 

Who would’ve thought? Not me, that’s for sure. Never did I ever think I would utter those words when I began my sabbatical this past June. I was burnt to the crisp and ran towards my parents’ house like a panting woman towards an oasis. 

Online church really isn’t the same. Ministers need to know that families with young kids can’t tune in. 

One would think that online church would be easier for young families than getting dressed, packing up the car, and doing the multiple steps required for people with young kids to leave their homes. But once we’re at church, freedom rings. The kids are whisked away to Sunday School or the nursery and we adults are left to sit in peace, breath deeply, and have AN ENTIRE HOUR TO OURSELVES—a friggin’ luxury. 

Because church has been a part of my entire life since the moment I was born, I wasn’t aware of how much impact these rote and humdrum practices of singing hymns, chatting with people over coffee, and praying collectively had upon me. They were doing much more than I gave them them credit for.

I remember once, before I became a minister, one Sunday when James and I went to church. We began the service stiff and distant towards one another because of a spat we had earlier that morning. By the end of the service, his arm was around my shoulder and my hand was resting on his lap. When I shared this progression with my pastor, he nodded, “yeah, church has a way of doing that to us.” It sure does.

Therefore, in the absence of church and consequently, its effect upon my life, I decided to become much more intentional about nurturing my spiritual life by scheduling in regular spiritual practices. I shared some of my favorite ones a couple years ago here and I’ll be taking those up again. My spiritual hygiene got sidetracked with the onset with a second baby, the pandemic, and moving.

The other important aha moment I had in regards to the difficulty of the past few months is that when I look back upon my life, I notice that every single transition period in my life was an emotional rollercoaster, even the ones that were unquestionably for the better.

Between college and working life; working life and seminary; single life and married life; seminary and working life part two; working life part two and ministry; and now, ministry and stay-at-home-mom-life, there were always several months of destabilization, crisis, self-doubt, and nostalgic pangs for what was. In Volume II of A Simple Workbook to Solve Life’s Intricate Dilemmas, which is “Discover Your Calling and Career,” I noted this. I wrote that whenever you discover what you truly want and take a leap of faith, you’ll immediately be tempted to revert back to your original default state because humans crave homeostasis. We don’t like change, we don’t like disruption. But once we ride out that rocky transitional period, we elevate to a new norm. 

The past few months have been liberating yet destabilizing like nothing else. I remind myself now that this is all normal. It always passes.

Then, onto the next.

Welcome, fall. I’m glad you’re here.