Weather in Minnesota is funny; at least it’s funny if you’re not the Meteorologist. Often times in the spring, the sky will look so beautiful and clear in the morning that you just can’t imagine there’s going to be a drop of rain. These are the most deceiving days, and ones in which I would cringe when telling people they might want to pack an umbrella—just in case. For some, this is a huge inconvenience. Why would they want to lug around an extra umbrella “just in case” it was going to rain. These people are generally okay if they get a little wet, and don’t beat themselves up for not heeding the warning from the meteorologist that morning. They don’t mind if they have to hold a newspaper over their head while they dash from their office into the car. They might actually like feeling that cool refreshing drop of rain on their face as they move about their day.
For others—like me—lugging around an umbrella gives them a sense of security, a little insurance policy for the “what ifs” that may come about during the day. I don’t even mind if the rain never comes, as long as I know I’m prepared for if it does. There will be no newspaper holding in my future… nope, I am ready to thwart the rain from my groomed hair and the two-year-old I’m lugging through the streets. For me, an umbrella is the sign of the one who is prepared and in control.
I often use the structure of my life as one big umbrella—something I keep tucked away in my gigantic carry-all purse, for those moments when I see something coming that might sprinkle a little chaos into my perfectly-coifed life. When the sky gets a little dark, and I feel the wind pick up, I can feel the outline of that umbrella under my armpit and I have an immediate sense of security that even if it does rain, I will be just fine.
I have always been a planner. From early in my life, I learned how to set goals and map out a plan to achieve them. As a musician, I saw the value of practicing, just a little bit every day, in order to accomplish a goal. In the same way, I take time each week to plan out my time, fitting in each event with the precision of an engineer, making sure that each episode is contributing to my goal of being a spiritually and physically fit individual, a capable and caring mother and wife, and a woman seeking God’s own heart. I carefully schedule in workout time, prayer time, work time, and playtime. Every day is carefully crafted in order to put forth a little bit of effort each day toward the priorities I have for myself and my family. So when something comes up that might threaten my well-organized routine, I just open up my umbrella and shield myself from the storm that threatens to rain on my plans. I rush to the car under my protective shield and I’ve even figured out how to position the umbrella over the open door so that I can avoid virtually any trace of wetness escaping my dome of dry space.
I understand how in the maturation process of mounting commitments, worries and agendas of adult life that I might have lost that reckless abandon of stripping down to my bare feet and running through the streets during a rainstorm, feeling the squishy sensation of worms beneath my feet and raindrops pelting my head like a big huge shower. Somewhere in managing the chaos of my life I forgot how to be okay with the fact that I might have to accept a little wet hair in order to receive the benefits of enjoying the fun-filled moments of spontaneity that might bring joy I was not anticipating.
When did I lose the ability to just let even a little rain seep through? Has my schedule and structure made me a wicked witch of change, melting at the slightest touch from God’s beautiful sprinkling of moisture which is sent to nourish and grow the vegetation in our world? When did I gain this disdain for chaos and draw into this rigid hole of safety? Perhaps the rain is actually God’s way of getting my attention, moving softly through the sky just waiting to sprinkle some goodness my way, when all I’m doing is blocking it out.
Sometimes I miss the wonder God has in store for me. I shut out the opportunities that he lays before me, like having a spontaneous cup of coffee with a friend, or looking at an interruption as a chance to experience the goodness of God in a way I hadn’t predetermined through my schedule. Perhaps if I just let down that shield, I would feel that getting wet is sometimes refreshing, freeing, and liberating in a way that I hadn’t considered.
Christ calls us to give ourselves to him—fully and completely. Luke writes in chapter 9, “Then he said to them all: ‘Whoever wants to be my disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for me will save it.’”
When Jesus calls us to give up everything to follow after him, he is telling us to give it all up, not because he wants us to be miserable but because it is good for us to live that way. am thinking that I should relinquish the key to my life rather than holding onto it with such rigid, white knuckles. After all, he might have an experience waiting for me that I can hardly cease to imagine. In order to experience it, however, I have to quit blocking out his goodness. I need to feel the drops, the showers, and even the storms.
Perhaps I’ll leave that umbrella at home for awhile and just see what showers life brings my way… or at the very least, I’ll buy one of those umbrellas that are clear, so that I can look out at what I might be missing—after all, I relinquish control in baby steps, of course.
