Sometimes A Thing Is Just...Over

Sometimes a thing has simply run its course and is just...over. But, oh God, I get so attached to people, situations and things. I get comfortable, in a rut, and I never want to come out. Situations change, people grow impatient and still I will not budge. I remain loyal to the cause, to the project, to the person, even though they are long since defunct.

The people are tired of me.

I sense it.

I know it.

I feel it.

There's nothing left. But I can't let go. I sometimes wonder whether God is weary of it too. Because He sees. He knows. And He understands. He feels the yearning in my heart. To prolong this joy. To continue this feeling of belonging, home, friendship and psuedo-love. The closest I can get to real family.

And it hurts so bad. As long as they're still living and I'm still here I want to reach out. For old time's sake. But I sense this ship has sailed and that they've moved on. And that means I must be moving on too.

But I'm stuck. And I can't get up. I can't let go yet again and witness another passing. But I must.

Can you relate?

The committee fails to return you calls and they don't respond to your emails in a timely manner anymore. Your once-important input on daily matters had dwindled from a trickle into the dust.

Has God moved on too?

Perhaps He has. In fact, I'm sure He has. So why won't we? It's like Samuel who continued to weep for Saul when God had another King in mind. Or like the Jews who still hold on to their crumbling temple when God has moved on to the resurrected Messiah.

And I think there's this universal need to sometimes just accept that a thing has run its course and that it is, indeed, over. There's the need for space and for the grace to heal after making the cut and there's also the need for your feelings to have your permission to catch up with reality a little bit later on. You may need to walk on while allowing your heart to lag behind a little.

Yesterday's paintbrush will always leave a few marks on today, no matter what we do.

And while you don't have to like moving on, moving on is happening whether you accept it or not.

There is something so much better in that which is new and alive than there is in old, dead things. There is the need for your new wine to be poured, red, lusty and vibrant into new skins. Put it in to the old and they will burst. They simply cannot handle what is coming.

And so I ask you, can you let go? Can you let go of the dead things to make room for life? Can you let a thing run its course and simply be over?

Will you accept that an ending is also always a new start? That where one paragraph ends a new one is beginning?

Can you get rid of the branches of your tree that are weighing you down and let them go in order for new blossoms to burst forth?

Can you let go of lost hope and dreams, of memories of time and importance and laughter to make way for the new? Can you make space for the sacred? Because where God is moving is holy ground and we'd better follow him there. Hanging on to old and finished things will never lead us to the blazing, good trail that God is paving.

Opening your hands and letting go means you're free to grasp the new. Will you be brave and admit what things have run their course and are simply just over? There's a new start waiting when you do.   

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