Depth

The entire house was still… the only sound I could hear was the trickling of the water fountain on my coffee table, and the cats purring next to me…

I was snuggled up on my Grammy’s oversized red couch that has now made its home in my family room—transforming this once-neglected space into our sanctuary. The blinds were open, and the Christmas cactus—in full bloom—was soaking in the sunlight flooding the room. It was Christmas Eve and my girls were in Montana for the first Christmas with their dad’s new girlfriend. I had been dreading this week for quite some time—eight days without my kids at any time of year feels unnatural, and for our first Christmas apart—seemed unbearable. Yet, here I was. I had woken up early for my morning Facetime with the girls, then finished a movie I’d started earlier in the week, on the couch. I’d been out a little late the night before, having drinks with a new friend, so I went back to bed for a mid-morning nap. Napping is not something I do. I don’t like the way I feel when I nap—always waking up groggy and grumpy and more tired than I was before—but I could barely keep my eyes open, so I listened to my body.

Grief will do that to you, you know. It’s exhausting—not just emotionally, but physically.

I didn’t sleep long. I had opened the curtains in my bedroom before I laid down so that my body would respond to the light. I got up and made myself a little plate of cheese and crackers and fruit and turned on a TV show… returned some text messages… pet the cats. After a little while, my eyes were heavy again, so I spread out on the couch, turned off the TV, and let myself doze off once again. I woke to one of the cats walking over my hips and curling into the nook between my belly and the couch. We snuggled for a bit, with the other two cuddled up together at my feet, before I got up to get some more water, let the dog out, and then nestled back into couch.

It was time for me to get ready to head over to my parent’s house for dinner before our Christmas Eve service. I took a deep breath and was acutely aware of my whole body—I felt relaxed…calm… at ease… and I realized in that moment, I wasn’t sad at all.

It was a strange acknowledgment, but grief and sadness are not the same thing. Yes, sadness can be a part of grief—but so can joy, gratitude, peace, and hope… and in that moment I realized it was the first Christmas I’ve felt peace in close to a decade. Christmas was always a point of contention in my marriage—like a teeter-totter trying to balance the time with each of our families—back and forth, splitting hairs over the minutes spent in both places. Breakfast and presents at his family’s, lunch and presents with mine, back to his family’s for dinner. No matter how many conversations we had about it in advance, we never found a way to avoid the Christmas fight.

When we were negotiating the divorce, our original agreement was to split Christmas day. Because my family has Christmas Eve traditions, the girls would be with me for Christmas Eve and Christmas morning, and they would go with him at noon. So last year, before the divorce decree was filed, that is what we did. My family agreed to celebrate Christmas on Christmas Eve while the girls were with me, and we ended the evening with a Christmas Eve service—my first service with my family in 5 years because it was the first year I wasn’t serving my church in Dallas. Christmas morning the girls and I awoke with hot chocolate and opened presents, made breakfast together, and hung out in our new robes. At noon I hugged their necks and sent them to celebrate with their dad. It was hard, but we live in the same city, and I knew it was important to our girls to celebrate with both of us.

Before the decree was filed, our agreement changed, alternating years we spend for each holiday and splitting their Christmas break in half—one week with Mom and one week with Dad. I was not in favor of this plan. I didn’t think it was in the best interest of our children. I knew for a fact it wasn’t what they wanted—but I was exhausted by the negotiations and I just wanted it to be over.

So, as I sat on my couch that afternoon, soaking in this feeling of overwhelming grief, acknowledging that the children were fine and I was at peace, I was filled with hope.

True hope doesn’t simply lead my soul out of the deep.
True hope also teaches my soul to breathe in the depths.

Justin McRoberts

The past three years have been heavy years…
2020 was—collectively—it’s own beast.
2021 I had the “come to Jesus” experience of finding myself in the hospital with shingles in my brain in late September—beginning my process of uprooting my whole life… my whole self.

I decided that my word for 2022 would be Sagacious.

And it was a year of acute discernment, curiosity, and prophetic divining—a year of uprooting.

In 2023 I decided I had had enough of heavy—and after much resistance, finally embraced Freedom as my guiding word.

And it was undeniably a year of freedom—a year of release, emancipation, liberation, autonomy, liberty, sovereignty, self-determination…
A year of returning to my people…
to my roots…
to my family…
to my tribe…
to the people and places where I have been loved and safe to love…
A year of returning to myself—of letting the roots dangle… exposed, dirty, messy, slightly untethered—celebrating my messy roots as proof of life and a promise for new growth.
I’ve learned to trust my gut again.
I’ve learned that boundaries are how I choose to react to the world, not my expectations for how the world must interact with me—which puts the responsibility and accountability on me—Ouch! and Amen! (as my pastor would say).
Ouch because, when my boundaries are broken, that’s on me!
Amen because—HOLY SHIT—I get to choose where I invest my energy…
I get to choose who and where and what I surround myself with…
I don’t have to exhaust myself, going rounds trying to explain myself to someone who is hellbent on misunderstanding me. Is the conversation honest, productive, AND respectful? If so, let’s rumble—if not, go with God!
I don’t have to make myself smaller or adjust my emotional needs or expectations in order to preserve relationships with people who don’t have the capacity or willingness to hold space for all of who I am.
I get to speak my truth in love. I get to ask for what I need. I get to be home for myself.
It’s okay to release relationships in love—whether that be potential romantic interests when we find our needs, wants, and lives aren’t aligned, or friendships that have fundamentally shifted.

I’m leaning into being present in the moment—the moments of grief, heaviness, and discomfort and the moments of joy, laughter, silliness, and deep connection.
I’ve gotten comfortable with intimacy and vulnerability in ways that have cracked my heart wide open.

And I feel grounded… I feel at home with myself… I feel rooted again.

So, as I pondered my guiding word for 2024, the word that kept stirring in me has been depth.

Depth:

• the farthest, innermost, or extreme part or state
• used to specify the distance below the top or surface of something to which someone or something percolates or at which something happens
• Old English dēop (adjective), dīope, dēope (adverb), of Germanic origin; related to Dutch diep and German tief, also to dip—to lower down into, immerse, baptize.

Synonyms: profoundness, discernment, sagacity, penetration, insight, wisdom

Of course… Baptize… of course discernment, sagacity, penetration…

The distance below the surface where “someone or something percolates or […]something happens.”

Yes, please. Now that my roots are planted again… now that it’s winter and time for hibernation… it’s time to go deeper…

While your tree is dormant above ground, the roots are hard at work, preparing for the springtime. While its dormant, roots still seek out and soak up water and tend to extend further, creating a better, stronger base for your future mature tree. Keeping your plant watered is vital to keeping it alive during this time. […] It’s this underground growth that helps create a thicker trunk for your tree as well. The transport of sap from the tree to its roots encourages growth specifically in the trunk of your tree. This means that every winter, while your tree is preparing to go dormant, its trunk is growing thicker and stronger to support the tree when it flushes again in spring.

Plant Me Green

Since they aren’t producing new food, trees have to slow their metabolism and rely on sugar that was produced during the spring and summer.  These sugars are typically stored in the roots.  In fact, the fall and winter is when the tree’s roots grow the most since the tree does not have to worry about growing leaves, flowers, fruits and cones.  […]The tree hasn’t died at all.  It’s just busy resting and strengthening its root system. 

Trees Charlotte

Time to enjoy moments of quiet and stillness…
Time for rest, curiosity, reflection, awe and wonder… taking in the beauty of the world around me while my roots grow deeper and my base grows stronger…
Resting…
Rooting…
Grounding…

It’s time for connecting with my roots… with myself… and with those who aren’t afraid of depth—who see me and let me see them, so we can grow together.

That I might seek to come so close to God, and invite God to come so close to me, that I know what to do.