I am choosing to walk away from NACWE, my baby. I am letting her grow up and go to the next Momma. I had to prepare. I had to be willing to get her ready. I had to trust the process and see that this was not the end. Much like many of you who have “empty nest syndrome” from sending your kids off to college or to kindergarten. I have not had a baby, so NACWE has been my baby. In fact, NACWE has also been my beloved for many years, too. It is time to let her fly free and trust the vision that God is showing me.
What do you do when God asks you to let go? Do you say NO? Do you ignore Him? Do you keep working? And work harder, not listening to your Father? That is what I was doing. I am a stubborn, stubborn woman. I work hard. I had the time to do it. To work harder and harder. To dive deeper and deeper until I was lost in the mud and the muck. The shovel of digging my own burnout. The deep dive into “figuring it out” and “making it work.”
And now, I am done digging. I have stood up. It is time to see the sun and the stars and the paintbrush. It is time to wander new paths and marry a fine fellow. It is time to let God give me a new career or bring an old career back into my life. I might get a job . . . I know, it is like admitting a deep dark ugly secret . . . but it is true. I updated my résumé and realized how fabulous I am. It is easy to forget all that you have learned and all that you have created. But I could see it on paper. I have sent it out and let it fall into the right hands once so far. But I am willing to be willing, and I am willing to not do anything for a brief minute. That is the hardest part. I am a doer. A massive D0-ER. I get it done. I make it happen.
It is time to breathe and sit and be next to my own self in my art nook. It is time to write and linger and go on little trips with myself to find the random little treasures that are all around me. It is time to trust my Father in this season where I have no clue what I am going to do.
I hope you will remind me when I forget . . . to not feel guilty. To not feel like I am supposed to hurry. To say yes when someone asks to go to coffee. To remember that the miracle looks different than I thought it would.
I might stay, or I might go. I might go back to school to get a new degree, or I might embrace the ones that I already have inside me. I might . . . I just might see how this change is another chapter, a gorgeous blank canvas that is being painted in front of me.
Choose. I choose.