Wrestling with Surrender – Part 1

I’m a wrestler.  No, not a WWE wrestler, but a wrestler of ideas.  I value the ability to let an idea marinate in my brain for a while.  To hold it up to different lights and test its muster. To say it out loud and see how it bounces off of other people.  

Depending on the idea, I sometimes do all three.  Many times, however, I skip the “say it out loud” step – especially if it’s an idea that causes a lot of uncertainty.  Sometimes I even skip the “hold it up to different lights” step and just let it marinate. Those “just marinating” ideas, those are the tricky ones. Those are the ones that mean I really have no idea where I stand. Those are the ones that involve a level of vulnerability.  Those are the ones that make me feel exposed – hence the need for them to stay in my brain.

For a long time now, I’ve been wrestling with a big idea. It’s been marinating since at least the spring, but honestly it’s been around for even longer than that.  It shows up in force sometimes and lingers in the background other times. It’s a big one… surrender.

With surrender, there’s elements of faith.  There’s elements of control.  There’s elements of unknown. All of which challenge me.  

Earlier this spring, I had a moment – a moment when it seemed that my wrestling with the idea was becoming less of a wrestling match and more of a dance.  It’s something I wanted to write about right then, thinking I’d made some headway, had come to some level of understanding. But I’ve struggled to capture the words – to be able to explain.  

So I went back to wrestling.  I’m pretty positive that I’m nowhere near figuring it out, but I’m also confident that I’m not the only one struggling with this idea.  So I’m strapping on some courage and putting it out there.  

As much as I’m unsure and I will likely say the wrong thing, or rattle someone’s perceptions, I believe vehemently in the power of conversation.  I believe that we are stronger when we put ideas out there. When we show up to conversation with humility and a desire to learn. When we wrestle together and honor yet also challenge each other.  

So welcome to the conversation…

I grew up in a household that practiced religion loosely.  My parents exposed me to God, the Bible and church, but we were not overly active in any of them.  There was a stage in middle school where I was much more active in a church because I joined the youth group with a friend.  Even that, though, was a surface level exploration of faith and more of a social gathering.  

As I grew older, I embraced more of an agnostic point of view.  I believed there was a greater power, but I was unsure of the why, the how, the details.  I often defaulted to the word “God” because it was a habit more than a deep rooted belief.  The way that many of the world’s religions have such an overlap in stories fascinates me. 

Obviously, getting married and starting a family, brought questions of beliefs to the forefront.  Ziggy and I came at it from similar angles and both felt strongly that our children should be exposed to a variety of beliefs, armed with information, and then given the freedom to make their own choices.  

Some of our most wonderful dinner conversations have revolved around different world religions and cultural beliefs.  Neither Ziggy, nor I, are experts in any of them, but I loved having these conversations with the kids, watching their minds at work and hearing their perspectives.  

Somewhere along the line, Rylie gravitated to Christianity.  She enjoyed learning about other beliefs. She loved reading Greek and Roman myths.  She loved exploring how people in different places responded to things, but Christianity called to her.

The summer between sixth and seventh grade, Rylie asked to go to summer camp – overnight camp. She wanted to go to Eagle Lake, a Christian camp that was recommended by one of her favorite teachers.  I’m still not exactly sure how they came to talk about things like this, but I have no doubt that it came from this teacher’s authenticity and the fact that belief in Jesus is wrapped into her being.  It is never forced on people, but is simply part of who she is.  

Rylie went to camp that year and fell in love.  She not only loved the experience of being away for a week with campfires and blobs on the lake, but she found power in community and God’s word.  I’ll never forget what it was like when she came home. She was excited. On the way home she told us how she had it all mapped out. She’d attend as a camper for another year or so, become part of the crew for a few years, and eventually become a counselor.  She told us about her counselor who took her under her wing and invited her in with a genuine love. The next day, Rylie stood proud and asked me to take her to get a Bible.  

I say stood proud because in our household, although we encouraged exploration and discussion, we also had a number of conversations that held pretty strong opinions about the organized nature of religion.  There have been times from growing up to even the present day, that I’ve hesitated to say much for fear of causing unrest on a generally sensitive topic. Yet, here she was, just shy of twelve years old and braver than brave.  

So we went to Mardel’s and scoured the Bible options.  She knew more than me at that point. We sat in the aisles on the floor flipping through different versions.  Discussing their merits. Looking for ones with a concordance. Choosing one that was functional and also aesthetically pleasing.  Finding one that felt right her hands.  

She settled on one and also chose a journal that said “Send It Up to God.”  Once we were home, she set about creating space to embrace and explore her belief.  Much like the teacher who introduced her to camp, Rylie never made a production of her belief.  It just simply was. That summer she would spend time in the Bible, underlining verses with gel pens and writing in her journal.  

Overtime, her attention to the practice waned.  Some of that was likely due to her age. I imagine a lot of it had to do with the environment.  It’s not as if I was actively encouraging her or offering to take her to church. We never stood in her way, but we also didn’t make it easy.  Something that I deeply regret in hindsight.  

Regardless, I believe that Rylie was comfortable in her faith.  She believed in Jesus and it is my deepest prayer that she is alongside him in heaven looking down on all of us.  

That sentence… is so hard to write.  It’s hard to say out loud because I still am wrestling with my own beliefs. I don’t know if it’s the result of a lifetime of uncertainty or feeling like the subject is taboo.  Perhaps it’s more to do with a brain that constantly wants to poke holes. More likely, it’s because I’m afraid to be wrong or be judged. Perhaps it has to do with this whole idea of surrender.  Regardless, it’s the truth.

The death of a child, the death of anyone, can cause people to question their beliefs. It can either strengthen or shatter those beliefs.  When Rylie was in the hospital, I brought her Bible in. I took comfort in having it nearby. I began praying with her each night. I would hold her hands and whisper prayers, but only late at night when no one could see.   Late at night when I felt safe to explore the little voice in my head that just told me that was what I was supposed to do. I don’t remember the words. I just remember the act. The moments of knowing that no matter what anyone else thought or felt, that is exactly what Rylie need from me. And so I prayed. 

After she died, I kept her Bible with me.  I began opening it on my own periodically. I began exploring.  I found a verse she’d underlined and clung to it.  

But decades of habits, of questioning instead of surrendering, are hard to break.  When things are hard, I, like most people, default to the path of least resistance.  While no one was really standing in my way, and in fact I had many people walking alongside and encouraging my exploration, the story I told myself was one of judgement.  One that told me it was easier to default to questioning or at the very least just not make a statement one way or another.  

It felt too scary, too ambiguous, too vulnerable.  But, the idea of accepting that this “greater power” as God had taken seed.  With that idea came thousands of questions. Thousands of ideas that clashed with certain notions that I’ve held on to for years, both good and bad.  

With it also came some amazingly wonderful opportunities to openly explore with a trusted few people.  I have been taken under the wing of several fantastic human beings, two in particular, that accept me “as is”.  They know I wrestle. They know we all wrestle. They invite me wrestle with them alongside as a coach, or even to spar.  To ask questions. To poke holes. To explore possibilities with an open heart. They never judge, but simply ask me great questions which have helped me become more comfortable in my own beliefs.  

I still have so far to go, but I’m am more open about where I am on the journey.  It is because of these experiences, these people, and the example of my Rylie that I was able to start wrestling with the idea of surrender these past months.  

I’ve read books.  I’ve listened to podcasts.  I’ve had deep conversations with others.   I’ve attended studies. But still I wrestle.