catch and release

On my way home today, I felt the need to write, my fingers literally itching in anticipation. But my creative juices refused to flow, and then I realized that what was in me was not anything creative at all. It was a need to spill out my emotions. A need for release.

What a funny word, "release". It seems strange to me that I am needing it so badly when all I have done for the last four months is release things, and each time I have completely fallen apart.

I went to Colombia and became a different person because of the children there, a person who was overwhelmed to find out that who I'd grown up to believe I was, was really not me at all. I was stronger, more powerful, more compassionate, more selfless, more brazen than I gave myself credit for. I realized that I could sacrifice a lot, and not just if I had to, but so willingly that I could give up all I know in a heartbeat. I realized that I could love someone enough to die for them. I saw God, I saw how big He was, I saw His amazing love. I was humbled one moment and honored the next, honored that God would use me for a purpose so fragile and precious...and then came the release. I had to leave, say goodbye to thirty little faces maybe smiling, but still so full of desperation for love, acceptance, and hope. I had to get on that plane and go home...but what was home?...with a heart refusing to just chalk it all up to another life experience, my emotions a mess as I pleaded with God that that wouldn't be the case.

I relished in my at-home job, because it allowed me more time than ever to play with my dog and appreciate every detail of him. My dog, who helped me out of depression and taught me over the years why they call dogs "man's best friend." They never judge, never gossip, never control, never want anything but to love you. And then, despite all my procrastinating and trying to find ways to make it work, I had to give him away. As pathetic as it sounds, giving him away was like giving away my child. I felt like I had failed him, and still want him back despite knowing what we did was for the best.

Release. The action is supposed to bring comfort, relief, make you feel lighter. Yet all it has done is burden me. And now here I am, seeking that same word, but in a different way.

I am desperate for God to relieve me. I want to release my burdens, my fears, my concerns, my hopes, my dreams, my anxiety. I want to place it all at His feet, and go back to that place I found in Colombia, content with nothing and feeling like the wealthiest person on earth, a girl not only comfortable with who she was, but knowing that in that moment she was exactly who God wanted her to be, doing exactly what He called her to do.

How do I get to that place? I write to the children, knowing they can't write back but hoping the small window of connection will bless them and at the same time keep me sane. I talk to the family who adopted my dog, a wonderful family who will give him everything he deserves, and pray a special blessing on them for blessing us in a way that they may never know the extent of. And I work, and I try to be a good wife, and I try to be a good friend, and I live by two rules: No compromise, and No regrets.

But I long to go deeper. Quality, not quantity. Am I living my life to the fullest, and what does that mean exactly? Am I walking the path that God created just for me? If I died tonight, what would people say about me, and how would heaven judge me?

Catch and release. When I catch something, whether it's good like a vision or a longing, or bad like a fear or a burden, I need to release it to God. Catching it's easy, but releasing is much, much harder.

Bottom line: I am still, and always will be, a work in progress.