I accidentally clicked a software update today.
I wasn’t ready for it.
I like the old software. I found out how to use it, and all the sudden, here I was again, trying to figure out something new.
It also had an element of surprise, sleepy eyes this morning which led to accidentally clicking a button, not able to go back or hit a “stop update” button.
I wasn’t ready for it.
Sitting at a table in a restaurant in Prague, I think about the past week, the me that I am at this moment, the fogginess from trying to go to the market that morning, the language barriers, the cold, and I want to go back.
For a brief moment, I want to go back to the person that I was, the person that I was sitting on the plane coming over, the person who knew which isle to go for the shampoo, or toothpaste for that matter, but then I realize, I can’t go back. There isn’t a “go back” button.
Here I am again, trying to figure out something new, and I’m caught with an element of surprise.
I don’t feel ready for it. I’m molding into someone new, and the old skin just doesn’t fit anymore, the ways of doing things in normal, day-to-day life are needing reconfiguring and it creates a feeling of uncomfortable.
I don’t feel ready. I don’t like the uncomfortable.
It’s foggy on the way to work today. I can only see what’s right ahead of me. There’s a veil of mystery and unknown, and I used to be uncomfortable in the fog, because I was afraid of what’s up ahead. But I’m not anymore.
There were many moments that I wanted to hit a “go back” button, but there’s no going back–only forward. I learned to sit with the uncomfortable.
Sometimes, the only way forward, is through the fog, the fog that we weren’t expecting. There’s an element of surprise, like something being pulled out from under. We feel wobbly, teeter-tottering between jumping all in, cannon ball style, and wanting to stand on the edge of the pool and enjoy what it was like before getting wet.
There’s an element of the unknown, of not knowing the road ahead, of navigating language learning and cultural learning, and there’s no easy, mapped out, step-by-step-for-each-moment manual.
And in the midst of it all, we are invited to just be, be here, sitting in the uncomfortable, be present, and fix our eyes not on our surroundings, but on Jesus, the One who knows, who sees, and the One who is our very light.
And so we walk the road, through the fog, the narrow road that leads to life, and we know that we are not alone. Like a Shepherd, our Father takes us and holds us, close to his heart. He leads us along paths we wouldn’t have chosen for ourselves, and there is surrender and acceptance, and in the midst of it all, a joy that’s hard to even put into words.
His light shines in our hearts, and we hold our gaze on the Light itself, the True light, and we take one more step, into the wild unknown.
We anchor our souls with hope, and we believe, we trust the One who is guiding us along this road, that He has plans to prosper and not to harm. We take one more step and then one more, and before we know it, the fog lifts, and we are on the other side, looking back at the places we came from with gratitude.
I open up the new software.
Click. Wrong button. Try again.
Maybe one day it will get easier but today, it’s not easier. And for right now, I’m learning to be okay with the uncomfortable. Because I know, there’s something beautiful at the end of this. It’s not just about the software anymore. It’s this journey with Jesus who takes broken things and makes them beautiful. I know Him, the Life-Giver.