Immersion

If you are Southern born and raised like me, you know a little about immersion. I’m talking hot summer days and swimming pools. The feel of water washing over you the first time you go completely under is incredible. You can almost physically feel the cares of the day washing away.

But to get that feeling, you have to give up being dry. You have to not care about your hair. You might end up dealing with a little pain, because everyone knows being in the water can intensify a sunburn. You might experience water in your nose, or ears, or eyes. But for me, the carefree moments in the water have always been worth it.

I’ve been thinking lately about immersion in life. It would be nice to be qualified to talk about this, but my only qualifications, like with so many topics I broach here, probably come from failures.

Immersion is not something that is taught at Teacher’s Prep. At least, it wasn’t years ago when I attended. I wish it had been. But no one tells teachers that part of their job is giving themselves completely to the congregation. No one warns them what it takes to blend in to a new way of doing things and a new youth group.

It’s easy to try to hold a little part of yourself back, to wait for people to reach out to you, first. That’s my nature, anyhow. But immersion means learning how to give. It's such a beautiful thing to watch those who appear to effortlessly become part of a place.

One of the definitions of immersion is “deep mental involvement.” I love immersing myself in a new subject. There have been plenty of them over the years: personality types, camels, ancient architecture, female pilots from the 1910’s-1940’s, medieval life, learning and behavioral disabilities—the list could go on.

But immersion into a congregation is usually a little harder. There have been times when I’ve moved to a new place and consciously held back from the vulnerability of giving myself completely, days I’ve tried to keep a clear line in my mind between me and “them.” Instead of blending, I hold myself apart, keenly aware of the different that is me.

Deep involvement in a place requires more than just mental positioning. It requires heart involvement. It requires getting to know people in a way that allows you to cry with them and laugh with them. It requires letting them know you in the same way. It requires forming connections in the moments of time in which you exist, letting yourself be completely present.

Immersion means becoming part of a type of harmony in which your existence could go completely unnoticed—it doesn’t really matter whether you are there or not. The spaces you leave are easily filled in, and the spaces you fill are filled smoothly if done correctly, with hardly a ripple caused at all.

But here’s the thing: It isn’t just teachers that need to practice immersion. Most people will get a chance to practice it at some point in their lives. The young bride, moving to a new congregation. The youth girl, submitting to the fact that her youth group isn’t as fun as she wishes or starting her first job. The woman who struggles with holding herself apart from the congregation because she feels different. The career girl who suddenly finds herself married with a family, and is trying to accept the un-glamorous reality of being a homemaker. The wife supporting her husband’s position on the schoolboard or trying to figure out what a youth leader’s job actually is. The missionary’s wife, trying to learn a whole new culture.

Sometimes we fail to give ourselves fully because this isn’t what we wanted or imagined it would be. Sometimes we might feel a little rebellious about where we are, grudging to embrace this part of life we didn’t want. In one congregation, I felt bitter because I didn’t even want to be there. But what I have discovered is that if I can submit to God’s plan and Delight myself in the Lord…he will give me the desires of my heart (Psalm 37:4). There was joy waiting for me when I finally reached a place of acceptance. I cried many tears when the time came for me to leave.

It’s so important that I keep my purpose in the forefront of my mind. And whatsoever ye do, do it heartily, as to the Lord, and not unto men (Colossians 3:23). It’s easy to start focusing on what I want out of a situation and feel burdened down by the perceived expectation of having to work to please those around me.

But it’s not my work at all. It is God’s work. And I can safely trust Him to take charge. I can leave the details completely in His hands. I am a servant, not a manager.

To let go of my own pride and ideas and allow myself to become part of whatever state I find myself in and therewith to be content (Philippians 4:11), is rarely easy. But as the Psalmist writes, Thou wilt shew me the path of life: in thy presence there is fullness of joy; at thy right hand are pleasures forevermore (Psalm 16:11).

So this is to you, and to me, too. A reminder that immersion is a place of blessing, not regret. That submission is a heart-set, not a natural reaction. That letting God take charge means letting go.

And most of all, a reminder that although the plunge might feel terrifying, you will also discover a joy you’d maybe forgotten existed.

Wishing each one a week of fulfillment!

Versions

I’ve been thinking about how we change as we go through life. What would it be like if we could put all the versions of ourselves together in a room? The 5^th grader, becoming aware of how big life really is, the insecure sixteen-year-old headed to the first youth deal, the person you’ve become as the true weight of life settles on your shoulders.

Following is an excerpt from something I once wrote titled Dear Girl I Used to Know:

 

I don’t know exactly when you disappeared, that girl that made up songs while driving on the Mississippi River levee. The one who hauled a scarecrow along to an organized youth deal… How long has it been since I’ve seen you, the girl who crawled on her belly through the grass to sneak up and fix window clings on car windows? Who sang off key on purpose and at top volume with her friends late at night? The girl who has a sordid history with dummies and toilets in Tennessee.

 

There are days I miss you—the way you laughed so readily, the way you truly believed that all the world was at your fingertips. How you were innocent enough that you were not afraid…of big dreams, of the future…

 

There are days I think of you and smile wistfully. I know I’ve outgrown you—some friendships are like that—but I wouldn’t mind squeezing into a vehicle with you and laughing until my sides ache once in a while.

 

The girl in this letter has long since been replaced. I wonder how many versions of me are left? Is it fair to compare the past versions of me to who I am now?

Too many times I look back and cringe at the younger me. The current me is mortified and impatient with what she sees. The current me wonders how in the world my parents put up with raucous sleepovers and string confetti and girls making up songs at midnight after eating chocolate cake. How did my boss have patience for the things my young coworkers and I put him through? (There was far too liberal a hand when it came to fixing certain stickers to people’s backs and tying tags on apron strings.)

If I think about it long enough, I start wondering how God had patience with me. I did so many things that I shouldn’t have. I stumbled about and made mistakes and had to ask for forgiveness again and again.

Paul speaks in Philippians about forgetting the things of the past. If only it was that easy!

I want to think that things are “one and done.” Somehow I get stuck on the idea that since I was saved at a young age, I ought to have lived a fairly perfect life since then. I ought to be making all the right decisions and know just how to present myself by now. But the truth is, I don’t. I still mess up. I still make mistakes. And let me tell you, my mistakes look pretty big when I compare them (which of course, I shouldn’t) to the tiny mistakes of others. They talk about little things like feeling selfish or being impatient. My sins look much bigger. 

In 2 Peter 1:2, we read that “Grace and peace be multiplied unto you through the knowledge of God, and of Jesus our Lord,” (Go ahead and read verses 3 and 4, too.) This verse gives me a tiny glimpse of hope. Maybe I wasn’t meant to have everything figured out. Maybe if I make choices to continue to know God and His Word and His will for me, there’s hope that I can grow.

And then there’s Philippians 1:6: “Being confident of this very thing, that he which hath begun a good work in you will perform it until the day of Jesus Christ.” This verse helps to bring things into focus. God has begun a work in me. It is not finished. I need to trust His timing.

When I realize I am a project and not even supposed to be perfection like I so often mistakenly believe, things look a little more doable. I am able to give the younger versions of me more room, more grace for the mistakes and poor choices and the bad attitudes. I am able to hold more gently who I once was, and regard that person as beloved of God, not disdained. He has spent so much effort trying to refine me, I must actually mean a lot to Him.

I have a terrible tendency to spend so much time dwelling in the past and worrying about the future that I forget to be present in the moment where I am.

Understanding that I am a work in progress and being OK with the disastrous past and trusting an unknown future into the hands of God, gives me the space to be in the now. I don’t know the “day of Jesus Christ” until which I will be continuing to be sanctified. All I know is that God’s timing will be impeccable. He will not expect me to be a finished vessel months before that day comes. Relaxing into God’s timing for my growth means I can relax into a place of peace and joy. It means doing what I know in the moment and leaving the rest up to Him. It means continuing to find new versions of myself as He continues His good work.

And those other versions of me? The ones from 10 years ago, or 5, or even a year ago? If I could hang out with them, they would remind me of how far I’ve already come. They would probably tell me the progress is greater than I realize. That girl from 18 years ago? She would tell me to breathe easy and laugh freely. It might even be good advice.

And so I say the same to you. Don’t let things from your past dictate your future. Those old things that you’ve already been forgiven for can be rendered helpless to steal the joy of today. Lay your future into the hands of the One who knows how to do the work—it is a good work, remember—that your life needs. Trust that He will perform that work when, where, and how it will be most beneficial for you.

I really think what I’m trying to say here is to trust God. Trust His compassion and understanding for where you’ve come from. Trust His grace for where you are. Trust His love and desire to give you good things in the future.

Trust the process. Change is scary, but there cannot be growth without change. And there’s no one you would rather have working on your vessel than God.