How To Find Peace When Things Are Changing
This morning I am watching as my front yard turns into a construction site. Old things must be ripped up in order for new things to be moved into place. I am nervous for my own interests — two beautiful old trees rooted precariously close to the place where a very large machine is now digging a very large trench.
Uprooted Peace
Seeing the star magnolia and vine maple disappear, hearing the sounds of cracking wood and the ripping open of the ground, I feel disappointed. I realize that I feel a sense of ownership over those trees, though the land I live on is not mine. The thought went through my mind: “Here is just another example of what can be lost in the blink of an eye.”
The loss of something that was not even mine to being with, but that I clearly feel entitled to. I also realize that what I want in this instance does not really matter. No one needed to ask for my permission or blessing. The land is not mine. My family and I are here as custodians on the pure generosity and kindness of others. They have allowed us to make a home here, however temporary, and have trusted us as caretakers.
Now they have a chance to use the land as well, something that has been a dream of theirs for many years. And I begrudge them two trees because it changes my scenic view and alters my false sense of security and privacy?
The truth is that change can be hard for me, and with this change I am having a difficult time. I am feeling selfish and self-righteous. A very nasty combo.
Facing Change
In my devotional for this morning, A Lamp Unto My Feet, written by the lovely and formidable Elisabeth Elliot, I was reminded of the need to sit quietly before the Lord with my plans and ambitions, taking them to Him before anyone else. It was about change. And about coming to the Lord before making decisions. The scripture given was Psalm 86:11: “Guide me, O Lord, that I may be true to Thee and follow Thy path.”
I sat in my favorite chair near the front window, where I could see and hear the construction in all its heaviness. When this morning started, I kept going to the window to check the progress (to worry). I knew that was not the right choice, and served nothing good. So I turned away from the window and repeated that scripture to God, sitting quietly, alone, thinking of my desire to be true to Him and to go only where He leads.
Later I got up and did chores around the house as I normally would. Just dishes, bed making, toy tidying, etc. I noticed first the ugly thoughts: that this situation proves nothing really belongs to us, that even now we could lose it all in a moment, and that we still had not found a place we could truly rest in as ours. I noticed the thought that what I wanted did not matter and that this was just another loss to add to the others. Terrible thoughts, very unhelpful, and actually quite embarrassing to admit to.
Peace that Lasts
But then I noticed a shift. Almost as soon as I had those thoughts, new thoughts came in. As if the Holy Spirit came in with correction, and it changed everything. I realized that those thoughts were true, but in a different way than I originally meant them.
Yes, it is true that this land does not belong to us. We have invested in a greenhouse, a fenced garden, landscaping, a prayer path, even though we are not guaranteed our time here. Isn’t that the point? Isn’t that what I am always talking about and thinking about anyway? That I am a stranger here, not only in this land but on this earth (Heb 11:13-16).
I truly do not belong here, and nothing that I have is mine. I surrendered everything I am and have to God long ago. Things can change in a moment, but I have trusted my life and my family to God’s perfect will and expect His course corrections to come often and sometimes abruptly. The things of this world can be taken from us, gone in a moment. I have lost much worse than trees.
As followers of Christ we are not at home here and do not expect these things to last. They have no eternal value because we are on a journey to the Celestial City — the one place that does not fade.
Part of Something Bigger
I think about the history in those trees. They have been on this land longer than I have been alive and they were planted with care long ago by previous owners. Some part of me feels uncomfortable with the idea that their history is gone and that the legacy of the people before us has literally been bulldozed.
This is something I run into often when I think about keepsakes and wanting to share a sense of belonging and heritage with my children. So I must be reminded yet again that our heritage and inheritance are not on this earth.
The history and future of humanity is much larger than I can imagine, and is not impeded by fallen trees on a fallen earth. All this will pass and something more glorious — beyond my imaginings — will take its place (1 Cor 2:9). That is what I am a part of. What every Christ follower is a part of. As the royal priesthood of God, we — like the Levites before us — have no earthly inheritance (1 Pt 2:9). We live and work on land that is not ours, in complete dependence. The Lord himself is our inheritance (Deut 18:2).
Uncomfortably I also remind myself that what I want does not actually matter. Especially in this situation, where kind and generous people are just doing what is needed to make a home for themselves. Even beyond that, I am called to give up my hopes and desires to God and to put others before myself. I am called to lay down freedoms and rights for the love of another.
Love “does not insist on it’s own way; it is not irritable or resentful” (1 Cor 13:5). In our culture we have been taught to think of ourselves first, to ensure our own happiness and justify it as caring for ourselves — a higher good we place a lot of value on. But the hard truth is that my aim here on earth, as a disciple of Christ, is not my personal happiness and self-preservation.
My highest goal is not about caring for myself or making myself more comfortable and happy in the moment. I am called to die to myself — to sacrifice my life and desires for God and others. That is what I desire to do and what the grace of God allows me to do. Surrender.
When we look inward, our world becomes smaller and smaller. We quickly start to feel misunderstood, wronged, alone. Looking outside of ourselves, the world begins to open up again. If I am a pilgrim on a long journey and I start to look down at my feet, thinking only about how tired and hungry and lonely I am, how slow my feet are moving, and how all the ground just looks the same, I am defeated on the spot.
If I look up, toward the horizon, to the sun lighting the path before me and the scenery all around me, everything changes. I feel a sense of hope and momentum. I see where I am headed and know my destination is before me if I just keep moving.
Looking Outside of Self
The same principle exists in Psychology. Those who are anxious and depressed have often been spending much too much time thinking about themselves, their feelings, their problems. They end up closing themselves off to the things and people around them that could be of most help. In the name of self-care they often neglect to do the basic things that keep them fed and functional.
As part of their treatment, those clients are often encouraged to take their eyes off of themselves, to clean their house and brush their teeth, to connect with others in meaningful ways, to give their time and service to others, and to reconnect with what they value.
Clients often realize this need for themselves. They talk about needing to get out of their own heads, stop thinking about what troubles them, stop obsessing over their desire for connection and their fear. They worry about how much energy they need for themselves and how little they want to give to others. They realize the need to move away from self.
Oddly, it seems like this common sense notion of getting outside of ourselves stands in a strange contradiction with some of the most circulated ideas from pop-psychology. Maybe it is an honest misinterpretation of psychological principles, as often happens when a method meant to address complicated systems and symptoms is boiled down to a sound bite.
Whatever the reason, so much popular wisdom now focuses increasingly inward — digging for the different parts of self, noticing only how we feel and what we need, and putting that first. I doubt the original intention was to cause harm. However, I have seen these skewed notions in clients, acquaintances, and friends.
I have often seen the ideas of self-care elevated at the expense of caring for others. Boundaries, instead of being protection from truly harmful people, become a justification for the unkind treatment or cutting off of those who get in our way and don’t make us feel good.
Looking inward to what I want and need can be a hopeless, damaging experience. When I put myself first, or assert what I want above those I care about, I can feel that it is wrong. Yet the more I do it, the easier it gets to do it again and the more I want to do it. It creates a tearing, searing action within me. I damage others but I also damage something very precious within myself. My conscience, my tenderness, my willingness to serve, they grow hard and shriveled. I move further away from those I love and from God himself, the ultimate source and target of my devotion. And the more I “take care of myself” by doing what I want, the more I want. I cannot be satisfied that way, and more is never enough. I only resent others and their needs the more. No true refreshing of the spirit can happen this way.
Love and Peace
I am thinking all of this as I look outside and see the construction work in full swing. I think of my initial, ugly reactions and I have to wonder: “Where is my love in all of this?” I see the selfish part of me that wants to believe no one cares and is ready to do whatever it takes to get what I want. That part is not acting in love.
“Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things” (I Cor 13:7). Bearing, believing, hoping, enduring. I want those virtues to grow within me, producing strong roots and desirable fruit.
Perhaps instead of fretting over the Star Magnolia and Vine Maple, I ought to pay more attention to the growth and construction within myself. Perhaps it is my heart that needs excavating, with the old growth torn away and burned. “Forgive me Lord, for my sins of selfishness and anger. Forgive me for seeing only what is in front of me and not all that lay beyond. I lay these feelings at Your feet, sacrificed to You because I do not want them. Show me Your way. Give me wisdom. I trust You.”
I am calmer, and more than that I have my mind fixed in the right direction. I am in contact with God, with my faith in His direction and not my own. There are still feelings of sadness and frustration but they have moved into place, into perspective. And thankfully, as Elisabeth Elliot would remind me: “Faith is not a feeling. Faith is willed obedience in action” (Suffering is Never for Nothing).
I can obey, despite how I feel. I can turn my will toward the Giver of all and be so thankful for what I have. There is no need to see only what I think I have lost.
It is afternoon. The laying of pipes is almost half complete. I see the bones of the trees in the yard, gathered in a pile of rubbish. So much commotion, so much noise, and it is fine. It did not feel very fine this morning, when I could tell that the carnal flesh in me wanted to get up in arms and feel betrayed. But God… I am thankful for this morning’s devotional that reminded me to sit quietly with a singular thought: “Guide me, O Lord, that I may be true to Thee and follow Thy path.”
There is a new path now, that will carry water and electricity to the new home of my friends. Life will come into the empty spaces and fill them in. Spring rain will encourage new growth. New trees and flowers will find their way and perhaps I will even grow to love the changes.
Either way, it does not matter. I am surrendered to God, sacrificing to Him my thoughts and feelings on this matter. He puts everything into perspective for me, and though there is a great deal of noise and chaos outside, I have the gift of peace.
Disclaimer: This is a blog, which contains a mixture of my current knowledge and opinions. The information is accurate to the best of my knowledge but may contain omission, errors, or mistakes. I am a psychologist licensed to practice in the state of Washington, but this article does not create a psychologist-client relationship. I am providing psychological information and my own opinions for informational purposes only, and anything I present should not be seen as psychological, emotional, or medical advice or treatment. You should consult with a mental health professional or your primary care physician before you rely on this information or take any action. I reserve the right to change how I manage or run my blog and may change the focus or content at any time.