Grieving

Historically, I have tried to avoid Good Friday services. Walking into the Good Friday service last week, I told Ben: “I don’t like Good Friday services, they are always so morose and sad.” The truth is, I avoid the feeling of sadness when I can… a burdened and heavy heart is something I tend to talk myself out of and move past with the lightness of positivity. I try not to cry because the weight of tears makes me feel helpless and scared. It brings up feelings that I try to ignore and reveals that maybe I’m not as strong as I thought I was.

Since my natural predisposition is to stifle out grief, Good Friday services are a healthy discipline to show me the value of lamenting. Celebration can’t take place without mourning; the Risen King doesn’t exist without the grave; the weeping and dancing work together in rhythm; the grief and joy are a natural relationship.

Lately, in moving towards our Hubbard Home, I have felt the weight of moving away from one season and into the next. Our Idaho Street Home is our first home together - and I love it. The 1920’s charm, grand stone fireplace, black-and-white checkered floor – this home struck me the moment we stepped into it. We have built memories in this home - pancake Saturdays, cheeseboards on the porch, movie nights, hosting friends, fireside games - that have served as the foundation of our marriage. To leave this home feels like we are walking away from our life as Newlyweds. Strolling down to our favorite Trolley Barn Park for a picnic or Meraki for coffee or Tajima for Ramen… nothing beats our favorite neighborhood eats, walks, and hangs.

The move to Clairemont feels like a loss of these memories. Our free and easy life of newlyweds seems forgotten amidst the responsibilities of parenthood + homeownership. Is it wise to manage a new home, a move, a mortgage, and a baby all at the same time?! These thoughts put me in panic mode and cause me to go down a trail led by anxiety alone.

Weeping on the couch last night, I was reminded that sadness doesn’t mean the decision is wrong; I have to grieve what I am leaving behind in order to step into what lies ahead. There are unknowns, questions, and scary parts of this journey that make me want to run back to what I know – where it feels safe and stable. But the truth is, it is through these seasons that growth and refinement happen. It feels right and good to enter into a new home for a new season of becoming a family. It also feels terrifying, but that’s okay. I can acknowledge the fear and move forward into it; because that’s what it takes to have courage.

There is always a point in the Rebe Decision-Making Process that I look back and question what I’m leaving behind. I doubt everything and it feels like what I’m stepping into is the wrong decision. What I’m learning is that this is a healthy component of decision-making. It causes me to reflect and forces me to grieve. Instead of jumping in headfirst, I take these moments to be sad in order to remember the beauty of what is left behind. This is the only way to experience the fullness of joy on the other side.

When I look back at the major decisions I have made in life – choosing Baylor, moving to Chicago, teaching in Spain, walking the Camino (twice…), living in Portland, moving to San Diego, dating Ben, quitting my job, starting at PLNU… I can point out a mark in each of these decisions where I wanted to turn back and settle into the familiar instead of navigate the questions. There were days where I thought maybe I ruined my life, causing a cascade of angst and overwhelming distress.

The truth is, each of these decisions was the exact right decision for me. Each of them led me into something even greater that I never could’ve predicted. Each of these decisions ushered in a turning point in my journey that matured and rooted me into my identity.

Decisions also feel so much less scary with Ben beside me as my best teammate. God gave me THEE most patient, loving, level-headed, consistent man. He knew I needed someone stable, who would sit with me in my fears and love me in them. As I poured out my heart and my doubts and my setbacks last night, there was Ben – with his kind eyes peering into mine, listening with such patience and love that comes only from a deeply committed and intimate relationship. I know that together, nothing is too much for us. Together, we are the best team. Stepping into this house will bring its host of unknowns (what lies behind those walls we are knocking down?!) – but I wouldn’t choose anyone else to stand beside me in it with the laughter and dedication only Ben can bring.

It’s going to be an adventure together, and that’s what I look forward to most. We are going to make this home OURS, and I can’t wait for every step along the way. I want to remember to value the process over perfection; and the journey over the destination. This is a constant discipline and one that will grow us closer to one another and forever be a part of our story.